The Life and Times

by Jewels5

She was dramatic. He was dynamic. She was precise. He was impulsive. He was James, and she was Lily, and one day they shared a kiss, but before that they shared many arguments, for he was cocky, and she was sweet, and matters of the heart require time.

14. Two Steps Forward

A/N: Originally entitled "A Very James Chapter" this is all about James Potter. I love James, and something occurs in this chapter that every dutiful citizen of the twenty-first century will (dutifully) advocate.

Disclaimer: Universe, song, and Lucky cigarettes, consider yourselves disclaimed.

Recap: James learns from the newspaper that Luke Harper's (Lily's boyfriend) brother is probably a death eater. The Harpers' Hogsmeade shop, meanwhile, is implicated in the investigation of the attempted suicides at the beginning of the year. Alice moves on from Frank. Frank realizes that he's still in love with Alice. Donna believes she hooked up with Marlene's boyfriend, Miles, and even though she didn't, she accidentally spills Miles' misbehavior to Marlene.

Chapter 14- Two Steps Forward

Or

"Faith in Something Bigger"

This was it.

"This is it, Prongs," murmured Remus gravely, clapping his mate on the shoulder.

Tense, James nodded. "I know that, Moony," he snapped in an undertone. "I know that, alright? Just... just give me a minute, yeah?"

"A minute," said Sirius breathily. "Yeah. You got it. Whatever you need. Take your time, Prongs. Leave 'em alone, Moony."

"I was just..."

"Shhhh!" hushed Peter. "They'll hear." The Marauders—sans James—cast wary looks over their shoulders at the gathering of Gryffindors watching and waiting across the Common Room.

James stood a few paces from the other three, his back to them as well, one hand extended to his temples. He squinted his closed eyes, chewing his lip and concentrating hard. He could hear Sirius, Remus, and Peter bickering in attempted muted tones, but then forced his mind back onto the matter at hand. This was it.

And then it struck him.

James's body visibly relaxed; his shoulders fell to a more natural level and his back grew straight. He exhaled deeply, and a slight, self-satisfied smirk began to spread across his lips. The other three Marauders, craning to get a clear view, noticed.

"Oh, thank Merlin," said Sirius, inaudible to anyone but the four of them. James paid him no heed. He spun theatrically around to face not only the Marauders but the two or three dozen other Gryffindors, some of whom watched James with skepticism, some with excitement, but all with a certain anticipation.

The Quidditch Captain ran a hand through his already terribly disorderly hair. Noting the expectant faces of his housemates, James stepped forward, moving through the Marauders and up to the front of the small crowd gathered across the room. He stopped the advance when he was a few steps from the foremost member of the group, and he began to pace along the front line, flexing his fingers pensively.

This was it.

James halted quite suddenly, about halfway down the line. He spun around again, and walked directly towards a fifth year girl—a cute blonde with round eyes and a button nose.

"Elaine Pleasance," said James seriously, and several people—including the blonde, Elaine—gasped. "Elaine Pleasance, it was you."

"I—I..."

James held up his hand, calling for silence among the crowd. "It was you," he repeated. "And..." He touched his hand to his temple once again, as though a sudden headache had seized him. He winced, chewed his lip, cocked his head, and went through a series of similar gestures that no one around him really seemed to understand, until at last, James's face became solemn once again. "Twelve."

Elaine stared, blinking as though in awe. "H-h-how did you...?" She stopped and began to smile. Shaking her curly haired head, Elaine began to clap. Suddenly, she wasn't alone, as the rest of the common room broke into applause as well. James grinned, bowing slightly to them all. He started to turn back towards the other Marauders, but a voice stopped him.

"That doesn't prove anything," protested Bertram Aubrey, a fifth year prefect, indignantly. "None if it does. Maybe it was Occlumency... if she was thinking of..." Bertram had held his head quite high, until James crossed towards him. The younger (shorter) wizard broke off, seeming to shrink as James approached. James, meanwhile, sent him a very, very piercing look, saying nothing for nearly a minute. Then—

"Daisy Hookum."

Bertram attempted to maintain some composure as he faintly inquired: "W-what?"

"Daisy Hookum," repeated James, quite naturally. "You asked her to the next Hogsmeade weekend, didn't you?"

"I—I… but... how could you know...?" spluttered Bertram. "Y-y-y-you couldn't possibly... no one was... alone, and…"

James clapped a hand on the fifth year's shoulders. "Cheer up, Aubrey. I mean, the way I'm seeing it..." He paused to touch his index and forefingers to his forehead, allowing a few seconds for the words to resonate, "...she said 'yes.' And, to tell you the truth, mate, you should feel honored. True, she probably only accepted out of pity, but, let's face it..." James leaned in confidentially; "Daisy Hookum is way out of your league. Actually... I'm not quite sure she's playing the same game..."

This earned approving laughter—and then applause—from the group; Bertram Aubrey flushed red, but made no more remonstrations. James, meanwhile, winked at Elaine, and turned to face the other three Marauders. Peter enthusiastically applauded with the others; Remus tried to look disapproving, but smirked—partially amused, partially disbelieving, partially relieved—and shook his head. Sirius, on the other hand, positively beamed, starting towards his best mate. When the two were parallel to one another, Sirius pretended to shake his hand, while leaning close and muttering: "You are one lucky bastard, James Potter."

James grinned. "Not lucky, Padfoot. Not lucky."

Sirius merely shook his head, moving past James towards the group of chattering students. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you. Thank-you for your time, thank-you for your refusal to believe in my mate's extraordinary talents, and most of all, thank-you for your money and valuables." He turned gleefully towards a table off to the side, atop of which was stacked a fair amount of money—knuts, sickles, galleons, and even a wristwatch.

Peter joined Sirius in examination of their newly acquired wealth, while Remus joined James in sitting on the nearest sofa. The chattering crowd dispersed, and Remus chuckled, almost in spite of himself.

"What?" inquired James, amused. "You didn't think I could do it?"

"I can't believe you just convinced the entire Gryffindor house that you could read minds, no," said Remus quietly so that the housemates would not overhear. "I never thought I'd say this, but, blimey, I'm glad Padfoot insisted we sneak down to the kitchens last night... if we hadn't overheard Bertram under the cloak..."

"You were really invested in this," James remarked, amused. "'Didn't want to see your best mate look bad, did you?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Sirius took five galleons from me and put it into the betting pool," he pointed out dryly. "Speaking of which... hey, Black!" Remus rose from the couch and made his way towards the spoils in order to claim what his undoubtedly his. James was left alone, but only for a moment.

Lily Evans appeared. Flustered and preoccupied, she did not seem to notice James at all. She dropped to her knees and began to look below the sofa, around the end table, under cushions. James arched an eyebrow, but allowed her to continue the search without commentary. At length, Lily got to her feet and looked to James.

"Have you seen a book?" she inquired.

"Many in my lifetime, actually."

"Clever," deadpanned Lily, crossing her arms. "It's an Herbology book... I've searched everywhere, and I can't find it."

"Have you tried 'Accio?'"

"I did," said the prefect. "But I can't remember the title... it's something really long... Thirteen Styles of Vegetation and Other… I don't know, something like that. It's got a green cover, and the picture of the author is on the back... a twitchy wizard with a mustache...?" She trailed off hopefully.

"Sounds boring," remarked James.

"It is bor..." Lily began to say, but she paused. "It's educational."

"Like I said... sounds boring. Why do you need it, anyway? Our Herbology homework was to draw a picture of a tree. Have I mentioned recently how much I love that class?"

"I... I borrowed it," muttered Lily, pushing what she imagined to be flyaway tendril behind her ear. "That is, it was lent to me, and I told Luke I'd return it today, and I'm late, and for Merlin's sake, have you seen it?"

James nodded solemnly, and Lily visibly brightened.

"When? Where?"

"Just now," said James. He tapped the side of his head mysteriously. "Up here."

Lily rolled her eyes. "You may be able to convince everyone else that you're a seer or a mind reader or a psychic or whatever, but, James, I took two years of Divination with you: I was there when Professor Seastone said you were the least spiritually perceptive person he had ever encountered. Where's the book?"

"I am sensing," James persisted stubbornly, "that it is somewhere in that part of the Common Room." He pointed to another quarter of the room, and Lily hastened over. James got to his feet and followed. "Professor Seastone is as dodgy as they come; if he can see the future, why didn't he see that not-so-rogue stink pellet coming at him in third year?"

Lily briefly paused in her search for the book. "You threw a stink pellet at Professor Seastone? He's about eight-six years old!"

"He said I was the least spiritually perceptive person he had ever encountered!" James protested defensively. "'Total bunk, too. I'm quite spiritually perceptive."

Lily arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

"Didn't you see me winning all that money a minute ago?"

"You mean," said the witch, resuming an examination of a stack of books on the corner table, "did I see you taking the mickey out of Bertram Aubrey?"

"Is that all you got out of the demonstration?"

"Please," scoffed Lily. "I've seen the cloak—it's not all unreasonable to suppose you overheard Aubrey asking out Daisy Hookum during your... nighttime tomfoolery... and yes," she cut him off, "I did say 'tomfoolery.'"

James grinned. "And what about all of the other 'spiritually perceptive' things I've done today."

"You're a sneak," said Lily lightly. "I don't find it ridiculous that you and your friends know secrets about half the school."

"Alright," allowed the Quidditch Captain, folding his arms, "But how would I know Elaine Pleasance was the one they picked to choose a number?"

"Well..." Lily finished searching one stack and moved to another table; "it would be simple enough for Sirius or Remus or Peter to cast a quick 'Protego' so they wouldn't be affected by Adam McKinnon's 'muffliato;' then they might overhear Elaine being picked and... well, given the strange things I've seen you lot get up to, I wouldn't be surprised if they found a way to signal you." Lily paused. "In fact, the only thing I don't have quite figured out is how you would know Daisy Hookum picked the number twelve." She sent him a slightly curious look.

"Do you want to know?" asked James conspiratorially, and in response, she half shrugged, half nodded. He leaned close and murmured: "I can read minds."

Lily cocked her head. "What am I thinking right now?"

James pretended to concentrate, and then he looked at Lily as though scandalized. "Too dirty to say out loud!"

She repressed a laugh. "Twat. I was thinking: tell me where my bloody book is."

"Don't you mean Prince Charming's bloody book?"

"Potter."

"Over there somewhere." He pointed to another table in the area, and Lily headed over. He once again pursued.

"What's the rush anyway, Snaps? Afraid Prince Charming will find someone else to lend boring books?"

"I'm late, that's all," Lily replied airily. "I told Luke I would meet him at six."

James glanced at the grandfather clock across the room. "You've got a minute and half till you're dishonest."

"And it takes five minutes to get to the library," Lily finished, checking the bindings of another pile of books. "I don't want to keep Luke waiting. Agrippa knows he's got enough to bother him without that... and he's always extremely punctual."

"What a turn on," muttered James sardonically. Lily warned him with a look. "I guess," he resumed after a few seconds, "I guess the real question is: why are you running late this evening? Did something distract you?" He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets and a slightly suggestive smile on his lips.

"Yes." She started looking through the stray books. "But not you and your little 'seer' demonstration. Donna and Marlene were bickering... guess who got to play referee."

James nodded. "I thought I noticed an increase in cold-traffic stare lately."

"It's ridiculous," Lily sighed. "Everyone in my dorm is feuding right now. Marlene's angry with Donna because Donna lied to her about Miles about snogging Miles... or not snogging miles, and Marlene's angry with Carlotta for actually snogging Miles, and Mary's angry with Carlotta for being a tart, and Carlotta's angry with Mary for thinking she's a tart, and Donna... well, Donna's always angry." The redhead stopped suddenly, as though uncertain as to why she was telling all of this to James.

"That would never happen in a boys' dormitory," he noted. "We have so much healthier ways of dealing with our problems."

"Physical violence?"

"Absolutely."

"Potter."

"Yes?"

"Where is my book?"

James grinned. "How would I know? It's not like I'm a seer." He turned and started towards the other three Marauders.

"James Potter, you're a twat."

(Ill)

One Friday afternoon in the middle of January, Peter drew the metaphoric short straw and was thus designated to carry his three friends' Herbology books and supplies up to the dormitory, while James and Sirius escorted a very pale Remus to the Infirmary.

"If anyone asks," began Remus, who slumped along as though barely able to hold himself up, "I'm going home for the weekend, because..."

"Your Mum is ill," supplied James. "Yes, we know. She's ill again, and the Healers think it's more serious this time. We know the story."

"Don't elaborate too much," Remus instructed crossly (he was always in a foul mood before his "disappearances"), "it makes it obvious.'

"Moony," chided a weary Sirius, "it's not as though James and I are solely responsible for spreading your alibi. The teachers say the same thing if anyone asks. You don't have to worry so much."

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Remus. They reached the doors to the Hospital Wing, and he checked to make sure they were, indeed, alone. He had nothing to worry about. At a few minutes till five, most students were still in class. Indeed, so would the four Marauders be, if they had decided to go. "Be careful, tonight, alright? January's rough."

"Every month is rough," James reminded him. "We'll be there just after dark, yeah?"

Remus nodded. "And since I won't be up to going tomorrow, good luck on the match against Ravenclaw."

"The game isn't till one o'clock," said James.

"We'll stop by before then, if you're up," finished Sirius.

"But you'll want to sleep," Remus protested in a cautious whisper. "I feel rotten enough as it is having you out all night with the match the next day... you ought to get a few hours of sleep at least."

"Rubbish," said James. "We've been sleeping through Transfiguration all week in preparation. Don't worry about it, and stop being a girl."

"Holloway's waiting," agreed Sirius. "Go on, Lupin."

"You're both rubbish mates," Remus informed them grouchily. "And so is Peter, even though he's not here."

"Yes, we know," said Sirius. "Go on."

Their friend begrudgingly complied, slouching into the Hospital Wing like an injured dog. When he was gone, Padfoot turned to Prongs.

"What now then? Supper won't be out for at least twenty minutes..."

"I don't know," admitted James. "We could flood the Slytherin Common Room. I've wanted to do that for weeks."

Sirius smirked. "You see, this is why we're friends."

The boys moved away from the infirmary, and James withdrew from his pocket the folded up parchment that was The Marauders' Map. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," announced the wizard, tapping the map's surface with his wand, and at once, ink sprawled across the page. "Fourth floor, fourth floor," murmured James, finding their location easily. When beginning something as elaborate as flooding Slytherin Common Room, one ought to know who was around and where he might have a believable alibi. "Strange," remarked James, glancing about their surroundings as represented on the map.

"What is?" asked Sirius.

"We're not the only ones to skip out on Herbology," James told him. "Have a look, then." Sirius did.

"What's Snivellus doing only one floor below us?" he demanded suspiciously. "You don't think he heard...?"

"He wasn't on our floor," James interrupted confidently, shaking his head. "He couldn't have overheard. But I wouldn't put it past the creep to be following us."

Sirius hesitated. "You know, it seems like it would be rude, us knowing that he's so close by and then not paying him a visit."

"Where are our manners?" agreed James seriously.

"Do you have the cloak?" asked Padfoot, causing the other to scoff.

"What a question."

A few minutes later, James was tucking his silvery Invisibility Cloak back into the inside pocket of his robes, while Sirius peered around the corner at Snape, who seemed to be deep in thought on a loan bench on the side of the third floor corridor.

"What's he doing?" wondered the Marauder, baffled.

"No idea," said James, matching his friend's tone as he surveyed the scene. "Plotting our deaths, maybe?"

"'Wonder why he skived off Herbology," Sirius mumbled.

"It's Herbology," James pointed out. "Does there have to be a reason?"

"Fair enough." Sirius drew his wand. "What do you reckon, then? Read about any new hexes lately?"

"No," said James, and Sirius scowled.

"Prongs," he said, "what the bloody hell is the point of you reading all the sodding time, if you're not going to have anything to show for it when it matters?"

"I've been prepping for the Quidditch match," James defended himself. "I haven't had much time for reading. Just use one of your favorites."

Sirius made a face. He readied his wand and looked about to act, but hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" asked James, and Sirius looked at his friend anxiously.

"Something's wrong," he said. "It's not working."

"Your wand?"

"No... this. This isn't working."

James arched his eyebrows. "What are you talking about, Padfoot?"

"I'm not feeling it," said Sirius. "I don't want to hex Snape. Here... you do it."

Sadly, James shook his head. "I don't want to do it either," he confessed. "This is weird. What's the matter with us?"

"Are we getting old?"

"We're only sixteen."

"Going on seventeen."

"The difference is negligible."

"Is it? Is it, Prongs? Then why in Dumbledore's name don't we have any energy to do what we do best?"

"And when did we start using 'Dumbledore' to swear by?"

"Exactly! By God, Prongs, what's happened to us?"

James crossed his arms. "Well, I know what's happened to you," he said, earning him a curious look from Sirius. "Parental supervision."

Sirius frowned. "It would have to be very super vision, as my parents live in London, Prongs."

"Well, it's not strictly 'parental,'" James admitted. "Adult supervision, I suppose. It's Professor Black that's got to you. You don't go looking for trouble like you used to."

"Bullshit," argued Sirius petulantly. "If anything, it's you... you and your seventy four detentions. You don't want to get in trouble, and I'm abstaining out of courtesy."

"Bullshit," echoed James. The two boys stood in temporary stalemate for several seconds, just staring at each other with suspicion.

"Maybe we're maturing," suggested Sirius at length. "Maybe this is that thing they're always calling 'self-restraint.'"

"Don't be thick. It's only 'self-restraint' if you want to do something and don't. We don't want to. We're not mature... we're just old."

Sirius's handsome face contorted into a somewhat childlike frown. "That's sad," he observed. James nodded.

"Kitchens?"

"Yes, please."

They were about to start in that direction, when it became apparent that neither had been paying very close attention to Snape on his bench. He had deserted his seat and was upon the two Marauders before either noticed.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the Slytherin venomously.

Smothering his surprise, Sirius held his head high and replied: "Same question, Snivellus."

"I have a note from Healer Holloway," said Snape coldly. Then, something like mirth spread over his thin lips and eyes. "I'm a prefect. I could dock points."

"Will that make you feel important?" asked James. His hazel eyes burrowed into Snape's black, daring him to do as he threatened. Snape broke away first.

"You're not worth my time," he spat.

James grinned. "Right. Of course." The Quidditch Captain could tell, instinctively, that his friend's hand was getting twitchy with regards to his wand, and James nudged Sirius's arm. "Let's go, yeah?"

"Your call, old man," replied Sirius carelessly. With something between a grin and glare, he moved quickly past Snape, followed closely by James. "Is that what they call 'self-restraint?'" Padfoot inquired casually, as they walked away.

"I dunno. It depends. How much did you want it?"

Sirius never did answer that question. The sound like a flame igniting came from somewhere behind them, but as James spun around to see what had happened, Sirius went flying forward, hitting the floor some distance away and skidding. Before James could so much as draw his wand, he felt his body seize up, pulled by some invisible force which swept him into the air. He was too familiar with the levicorpus curse to be confused by the time he was hanging upside down, strung up by his ankle.

Snape's wand was pointed directly at him, orchestrating this, but—as quick as the Slytherin was—he did not react quickly enough when James drew his own wand. Still upside down, he fired a curse at Snape, who was hit in the arm by the jet of blue light. James fell to the found in a heap, and he heard something crack as a pain shot through his leg. Still, Snape was recovering quickly, leaving the Gryffindor no time to tend to his wounds. Before Snape was on his feet again, James wordlessly shot a disarming spell at his opponent, flattening Snape again and sending his wand rolling away.

James gasped in pain, trying to straighten his limp leg. He grabbed his shin, locating the source of pain, and jabbed it with his wand. Another crack and the throbbing subsided without vanishing. James breathed again; he was starting to get to his feet again, when an invisible force pushed him onto his back and pulled the wand from his grasp.

Snape had recovered quicker than he thought.

The Slytherin stood with wand readied, and he advanced upon James. The Gryffindor awaited his fate with a determined face and set jaw. Snape came very close, and though his eyes were fixed on James, he said nothing. That alone was unusual—no taunt, joke, or declaration of victory. Not even an insult?

Snape continued to advance towards James (who was still, but propped up on his elbows now), and the closer he came, the clearer James's view became. Snape's expression was unreadable. His eyes were not spiteful or pleased or anything that they ought to have been... he stared at James but did not seem to see him at all. And when he was very close, wand still aimed at James's heart, Severus hesitated.

James did not waste time wondering why. He aimed a kick at Snape's knee cap, causing the Slytherin to stumble backwards. James had just enough time to get to his feet (his weak leg throbbed) and make a grab for Snape's wand arm. He took the Slytherin's wrist, wrenching his weapon free a moment later. It fell to the ground, clattering and rolling towards the wall, but James didn't notice. Suddenly, the world was very quiet, and James didn't notice much of anything.

He was vaguely conscious that his leg hurt, that Snape had attacked him, and that Sirius lay unconscious somewhere not far off. Then he was conscious of a new pain, in his knuckles, and then the rest of his right hand. He realized why, as the image before him came into focus. Snape's body contorted, reacting to the contact of James's fist and his cheek. He fell backwards, sliding along the stone floor.

James grabbed his opponent's wand and his own, and had them both pointed at Snape before the Slytherin could recover from the punch.

"What the hell is your problem?" shouted James. Surging through his veins was anger and adrenaline and why wasn't Sirius awake?

Snape said nothing. He winced a little from the pain in his face, but otherwise remained expressionless. His eyes were vacant, almost apathetic, which just made James angrier. He wanted nothing more than to rain every hex he could contrive down on Snape, throw him across the corridor so that he flapped to the floor like a doll—like Sirius.

And yet...

James's arm buckled back and, with all the energy inside him, he threw Snape's wand as far as he possibly could. It hit the wall and ricocheted back, rolling along the ground till it hit another wall. Without a look at Snape, James turned on his heel and jogged at first, then sprinted, to Sirius's side. The other Marauder was just coming to.

"I'm fine," mumbled Padfoot before James could ask. He rubbed the back of his head.

"Hospital Wing?"

Sirius shook his head. "I've had worse. I've fixed worse. Let me just set my legs, and I can do the rest in the dorm. Where's Snape?"

"Never mind it," said James quickly. Sirius fixed his bruised leg in about ten seconds, and then James helped his friend to his feet. They started towards Gryffindor tower, and James glanced over his shoulder at where Snape had fallen, but he was gone.

"But why would Snivellus hesitate?" Sirius was wondering aloud, nearly half an hour later, when James had related the details of the fight to Peter and him in the boys' dormitory. They sat on Remus's bed, the Marauders' Map flattened between the three.

"No idea," James admitted.

"Maybe he was trying to come up with something really painful," Peter suggested.

"Maybe all of that grease has finally started to affect his brain," Sirius suggested. James shook his head.

"No, it was... bizarre," he said pensively. "He was definitely hesitating... like he wasn't certain if he really wanted to do what he was about to do. He got all... blank-faced... I don't think he was paying attention to me at all."

"Snivellus is always paying attention to you," Sirius pointed out. "Creepily, so. It's something of an obsession, if you ask me. The only person he's more rabid about is..."

"I know what I saw," James interrupted. "I can't explain it, but I know what I saw." A moment of silence settled between the three boys, and then James spoke up again. "Anyway, we'd better get to the map. This wing is acting up, is it?" He pointed to segment of the map.

"Yes, Peter spilled pumpkin juice, and now people start disappearing if they move to that side of the castle."

"Sorry."

"No worries, Wormtail," said James. He drew his wand. "We needed to add the new passage anyway. So... shall we?"

(The Hangover)

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

He didn't open his eyes at once, but chose instead to stay still, eyes closed tight as he breathed and listened to the beat of his own heart. Slowly, things began to slide into focus in his mind—he was conscious of clean, cool sheets and a soft bed enveloping him. He was in the Hospital Wing.

He was alive.

Nothing had gone wrong.

It was going to be alright.

The first waking moments were always the worst—the first seconds after a night like that, when he couldn't quite remember much at all... when he wasn't quite sure about anything... when he didn't know what he would see when he opened his eyes. Brief terror gripped his stomach as he tried to recollect...

He opened his eyes.

"Aaaaand he's awake," announced Sirius Black's voice. Remus found just enough energy to look around and spot the speaker, Sirius himself, sitting on a stool at his bedside. James sat across from Sirius—to Remus's right—and Peter was near his feet. Curtains enclosed the lot of them, no doubt at the discretion of Healer Holloway. Sirius's exclamation caused the other two Marauders turned to verify the third's claim.

"Good morning, Moony," said James cheerfully. "Sleep well?"

Remus cleared his throat. "Funny," he croaked sarcastically. "What time is it?"

"Oh, quarter past ten or so," Sirius estimated. "We were expecting you to sleep for another half hour at least..."

"Well," began Remus, "I—I—I..." But he stopped. A lump grew in his throat, and he automatically grabbed for the bucket that Healer Holloway had left on the nightstand, vomiting into it.

A minute later, he was finished, and—coughing and wiping cold sweat from his pale brow—Remus lay back in bed. Sirius vanished the contents of the bucket with his wand.

"That's got to be the last of the rat," he mused casually, causing Remus's grey eyes to grow wide.

"You let me eat a rat?" he demanded.

"To be fair," James interjected, "we thought it was Wormtail."

"Well, thanks," said Peter sarcastically.

"Well, you got it all up, Moony," Sirius cheerily went on. "That's the important part. I'm sure you won't get any diseases from it now. So..." he looked about the group expectantly; "who's up for breakfast?"

"Don't even say the word," groaned Remus. James handed the patient a green tinted bottle from the nearest table.

"Holloway left this for you. It should help the nausea."

Remus took the indicated potion, and when he was finished wincing at the sour taste left in his mouth, he added: "Does Holloway know you're here?"

"'Course," said Peter. "He's in his office, now." Remus did not seem pleased. "I don't see how it matters if he knows that we know about you... as long as he doesn't know what we've done about it."

"I agree," Sirius agreed. "Now... breakfast."

"Be patient," James ordered. "Moony needs a minute for the potion to take action." Loath as he was to admit it, Remus had noticed that Holloway's medicine was taking effect quickly. He sat up a little straighter in the cot.

"So... last night," he began.

"It was good for me," said James. "Was it good for you?"

"Ha, ha," deadpanned Remus. "But... everything went fine, didn't it? Some of it's a little hazy, still."

"Besides the rat," said Sirius. "Don't worry about it, Moony. Everything went... more than fine, actually."

"We'll talk about that later," James continued quickly. "Holloway could come at any minute."

"Yes, Mum," Sirius teased, but he complied nonetheless. "So—you're stomach alright there, Moony? Good." He smiled and pulled a brown paper bag from the floor, setting it on the edge of Remus's bed. "Breakfast time."

"I really don't think that's a good idea..." mumbled Remus, clutching his stomach

"The potion," James reminded him, also pulling a paper bag on the other side of the bed. "And anyway, you don't want the last thing you ate to be a rat, do you?"

Sirius was searching through his bag. "Alright, I've got... eggs, bacon, bangers, and drop scones..."

"Mine," declared Peter, and Sirius handed his friend what appeared to be a plate tied up in a cloth napkin.

"This," James interjected, withdrawing a similarly packaged dish and peering through an opening near the knot of the napkin, "has crepes, sausage, kippers, white pudding, eggs, bacon... way, way, way too much food. This must be yours, Black."

"They didn't forget the pain au chocolat, did they?" asked Sirius anxiously.

James handed him the dish. "No, it's there, you prat." The Quidditch Captain took another plate from his bag, and checked its contents. "Toast, one egg, fruit, sausage... Moony's, I believe." He set it on the nightstand. "Do you have mine, Sirius?"

"Right here, Prongs," replied Sirius, handing over a fourth covered dish. "And you have the extra potatoes."

"And you have the salt, pepper, and butter?"

"That's right."

"Who's got the marmalade?" Peter wanted to know.

"It's here."

Sirius drew his wand and flicked it a few times. The salt and pepper shakers, as well as a tray of yellow butter and a marmalade jar flew out of the paper bag and levitated in midair somewhere between the four boys over the bed. They remained there even after Sirius had returned his wand to the pocket of his robes.

"Oi," said James, pulling out two long, cylindrical containers from the bag. "Last item. Coffee or tea, Moony?"

Remus surveyed his friends. "You lot are idiots, you know," he informed them. "Bringing all this food down here—Holloway has breakfast for me. Healthy, substantial… the sort of thing I ought to be…"

"You're welcome, Moony," James interrupted. "Now, coffee or tea?"

"And I've got butterbeer for a little later," Peter added.

"Oi," said Sirius, "and I almost forgot—chocolate." He set a bar on the bed-side table. Remus considered them all and then sighed.

"You're not rubbish, as far as mates go, you know."

"We know," said Sirius.

Remus nodded. "Tea, Prongs."

"Right away, Moony."

The waking moments after a full moon were, for Remus J. Lupin, the worst. The truth of it was that he was a werewolf… for more than ten years now, he had been such, and for more than ten years, he had feared, more than anything else, those first moments after the whole thing. The uncertainty, the ache…

And for just under ten years, Remus J. Lupin had done all of that alone.

Now, he had breakfast.

(Lucky)

While Remus napped, Sirius prepared for the Quidditch match, and Peter idolized the latter, James set out for the Quidditch pitch. More than an hour early, he arrived before even the Ravenclaw Captain, and he found himself reveling in the solitude of the quiet pitch. If they won the game that afternoon, he would be surrounded by people long into the night—a pleasant prospect, but one which James sought now to balance with a little healthy isolation. If they lost... well, to tell the truth, he never thought about the "if they lost" possibility before a game. It was bad luck, and it depressed him.

The pitch had been cleared of snow, but the cold wind remained, and James wouldn't have changed it if he could. Quidditch in January was its own particular brand of perfection—its own particular kind of high. He sat down in the wet grass. Withdrawing the standard Luckies from his pocket and his wand from his belt, he lit a cigarette and leaned back. His hair got damp in the grass, but as he took the first real drag, he barely noticed anything else.

With the wind ripping between the wooden spectator stands, the silver sky up above, and the unmistakable scent of Quidditch, it was like his first cigarette all over again. When he exhaled, he felt lightheaded. The intricate swirling white smoke he breathed was assimilated into the cloudy sky, and James felt calm. As the cigarette returned to his lips, it seemed like the only color—besides grey—in the whole world was the orange ember at the end of the light; it became black as he inhaled again. Then—

"Potter?" a far-off voice shouted, echoing throughout the pitch and causing James to sit up suddenly. He looked around for his companion, finally locating a minute form sitting in the Gryffindor stands so far away. James squinted to catch a better look—eyesight had never been one of his gifts.

"Marlene?" he shouted back, recognizing the blond haired figure.

"What are you doing here?" Marlene Price cried, and even at this distance James could see her shivering in the cold.

"Smoking! What are you doing?"

She did not answer at once, and James thought she might not have heard him, until she replied with somewhat less confidence: "I really don't know!"

James thought for a moment. Lily came briefly to mind. "Well c'mon down then... you'll freeze up there! It's much warmer down here!"

It was, too, as Marlene noted when she arrived, sitting on the grass beside him. "My jeans will be wet," she added, slightly concerned.

"You're a witch," James reminded her. "I'm sure you'll find a solution."

Marlene laughed. "Right." An awkward pause, then... "So... did you hear about Alexa Kyle? It's sad, isn't it?"

"Yeah," agreed James, nodding in conjunction with another drag. "Her parents weren't the first, though... won't be the last, I reckon...."

"On that positive note..."

"You brought it up."

"Fair point." Marlene's eyes wandered towards the cigarette.

"Oi, sorry." James withdrew the pack and offered it to her. "Do you want...?"

"Oh, no," said Marlene quickly. "No, I don't smoke. I was just... I mean, I didn't know that you did. I thought all smokers had yellow teeth and bad skin."

"Another advantage to magic," shrugged James. The pack of cigarettes returned to his pocket. "So why are you out here so early? You must be freezing."

"Donna was dominating the dormitory with her pre-match preparation," Marlene explained, tugging her scarf a little closer. "I'm just a little sick of her at the moment."

James nodded, turning his head to exhale again. "Yeah, I heard something about that." Uncertain if he really wanted to get involved in a conversation like this, he nonetheless added: "How are you holding up, then?"

"Really?" asked Marlene, surprised. "You don't really want to hear my adolescent boy problems, do you?"

"No," agreed the other. "But, y'know... 'thought I'd be polite."

"Well, I won't bore you with that conversation," Marlene assured him.

Five minutes later, James's cigarette was gone, but Marlene was not. "...And the worst part is," she was sobbing onto his rigid shoulder, "I miss him. I miss that cheating, slagging git, and I can't help it!"

"Er..."

"I know the rules!" the blonde tearfully continued. "It's so stupid! He cheated! He came onto my... roommate, and then made out with... my other roommate! A girl is supposed to break up with blokes that do that! But... I can't help it. Miles and I were together for three years, and even though sometimes he was a complete prat, a lot of the time, he was really sweet. I honestly did love him. He made me laugh, and he was always there... well, not always, but... when it counted. He knew things about me that no one else knows. We went through a lot together, and now it's just... done. And I've got nobody." She finished with a sniff, and James awkwardly patted her shoulder.

"C'mon, Marlene," he attempted to console, "You've got people. What about Evans? And Mary Macdonald?"

"Yes, they're lovely," muttered Marlene dryly. "But they never cared for Miles. Maybe they were right, but it's not exactly helpful when I want someone to see it from my point of view. Anyway, all my girl mates are about self-empowerment, dropping the bloke, and moving on... I don't want to move on yet. I want to wallow."

James sniggered a little at that, and Marlene joined him. "I'm pathetic, aren't I?"

"Yes, but... whatever. Everyone's pathetic."

With something between a laugh and a cough, Marlene said: "That's not exactly encouraging, is it?"

"S'pose not. What about McKinnon? You've got him, don't you?"

Marlene shrugged. "I can't... I can't talk to him about this."

"Why not? Aren't you mates?"

"He's a bloke." James sent her a look. "It's different with Adam," the distraught witch endeavored to explain. "I dunno; he's Adam. I've always brought this sort of thing to him before, and he's always been wonderful about it."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know. It's... he's just Adam, that's all."

"Marlene," began James sternly. "You're avoiding the answer."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"I am, aren't I?"

"Yes."

Staring across the empty pitch, Marlene exhaled. She cold see her breath. "If I talked to Adam about this," she unsteadily began, "I would feel as though he were thinking 'I told you so.' I don't want him to see that I... that I completely failed as a girlfriend... that Miles found someone better." She turned her earnest blue eyes to James again. "Why is that?"

James shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"

"Fair point." Marlene frowned. "I'm sorry for talking like this. I know you don't want to hear any of this rubbish."

"I didn't, but... There you go." He sort of smiled at her.

Marlene got to her feet. "I'll let you get ready for the match, then. Good luck." She started to leave, but James stopped her.

"You didn't completely fail as a girlfriend."

The blonde crossed her arms. "I didn't exactly succeed, did I?"

"I dunno, but... you should know: I spoke with the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain a few days ago... I guess they're using their second string Keeper for the match today. Stimpson usually plays, and he... er... he's been a bit distracted in practice. The Captain reckoned he didn't have enough focus to play."

Marlene looked at James quite oddly. "Really?"

"Really."

She smiled. "Thank-you."

"You're welcome."

Marlene returned to the castle, and James lay back, pulling out his Luckies and lighting another cigarette, and though he would have denied it in court, James felt better before he had even inhaled.

(Donna Drama)

"It's freezing today," Hufflepuff Liam Lyle unnecessarily pointed out from the announcer's booth on the Quidditch Pitch, some time later. The stands were packed, nonetheless. "We'll be seeing the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams in a few minutes, though, and hopefully they can make this quick. If Ravenclaw loses, they are out of the running for the Cup—they lost to Slytherin back in November, if you recall. Gryffindor is undefeated, since Seeker Ricki Nivens caught the snitch against Hufflepuff in an unprecedented five minutes, which, as anyone can tell, was a matter of luck more than... anyway, Ravenclaw Captain and chaser Malcolm Davies has made a few changes to the line up..."

The Gryffindor Locker Room was characteristically tense. James stood near the gate, looking out at the crowded stadium and embracing the nervous feeling in his stomach. It was strange to think that had once bothered him... it was thrilling now, the anticipation, the anxiety, the sense that very soon, he would be flying...

Sirius lay on one of the benches, tossing a quaffle up in the air and catching it repeatedly, either to relieve stress or out of boredom. Adam McKinnon led the two beaters, Michael Mitchum and Damacus Weasley, in stretches, and Ricki Nivens sat near Sirius, anxiously watching the quaffle rise and fall. Donna, meanwhile, stood in a corner, murmuring plays to herself and frowning.

"Son of a bitch!" she quite suddenly swore, causing Damacus to topple over, mid-stretch.

"Shit, Shacklebolt," said Sirius.

"Merlin, Shack!" said Ricki.

"Ow," said Damacus.

"Sorry," muttered Donna tersely. "I can't remember the newest play."

"Well it doesn't end with you killing Weasley," Sirius snapped. "Honestly, Shack, if you're having women's troubles, maybe you should just sit this one out..."

"Oh, sod off, you great prick, I..."

"Shack," interrupted James, and she backed down. The Captain sent Sirius a warning look. His friend shrugged and resumed the quaffle tossing. "Shack, can I have a word?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Potter, it's..."

"Shack." Begrudgingly, she followed him out of the locker room. "For the love of Merlin, you're making a big deal out of nothing."

"This isn't about the swearing," said James, when they were alone. "I want to make sure your game isn't off." He was surprised to see that Donna actually looked a little hurt.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he pressed, "I know that you are in the midst of some complicated, weird, vaguely irrelevant dormitory drama at the moment, and I've noticed that you've been a little off in practice... you're usually the first one to have a play memorized, and you've been forgetting the new ones for weeks."

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Donna demanded, the distress in her amber eyes now mixing with more standard irritation.

"Because you usually do better if I don't criticize," said James. "You usually notice if your work isn't perfect and work harder to fix it. Is this any different?"

Donna frowned. "You're only doing this because I'm a girl."

"Please," scoffed the other. "I've seen every bloke in there..." He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the locker room, "behave more like a girl than you do. This has nothing to do with that. This has to do with the fact that I've already had to sit through two emotion-wrought conversations on account of the Gryffindor sixth year girls' spat, and I am not going to lose a Quidditch match on account of it."

"I'm not having a heart-to-heart with you," Donna coolly informed him.

"Bloody hell, I should say not." James folded his arms. "What I'm trying to say is that you need to find a release for all of this crazy melodrama... normally I would suggest Quidditch, but clearly that isn't working. Now, I realize that you're—at least theoretically—a person and you probably—well, maybe—have..." he practically cringed: "feelings..." Donna scowled... "but on the pitch, your feelings don't matter. Do you know what matters? Winning. That is the most important thing."

"Aren't you supposed to say that's not the most important thing?"

This didn't even translate for James. "Why the hell would I say that? It's a game. The whole point is to win..." Honestly, he was beginning to worry about her health...

"Well I know that," Donna insisted. "I'm fine, Potter."

"Good. And, Shack... just... just find a way to release all of the rubbish that's weighing you down. It's not healthy to carry it around, yeah? Find a release. Just... don't eat your feelings, 'cause I need you in shape."

"Well, obviously." She looked at him curiously. "Wait a minute... you're not yelling at me. You're giving me advice."

"Well, obviously."

She frowned. James sighed.

"Do you need me to yell at you?"

"It might help."

"Shack, if you don't get your fucking head in the game, I will drop you from the team faster than you can say 'personal foul!' Is that clear? Because I have two second string chasers who could probably do your job better, and I wouldn't have to deal with their stupid cat fights! Alright?"

"Alright, Potter."

At that moment, Adam McKinnon's head appeared through the opening door. "They're calling Ravenclaw, and they're about to call us," he said. James and Donna followed him inside, collecting their broomsticks as they took their usual places in the line up. Donna looked determined, and James fought a grin.

"And Chaudry!" Liam Lyle finished announcing. "And, now, for the Gryffindor team: "McKinnon!" Adam jetted off out of the gate. "Mitchum! Weasley!" The two beaters disappeared. "Shacklebolt!" Donna was gone. "Black!" then Sirius.

James turned to Ricki. "Catch me a snitch, yeah, Nivens?"

"Potter!"

He took off, amidst cheers from the audience.

"And Nivens!"

Finishing his initial fly-around, James landed in the center of the pitch, while the rest of his team assembled in the air. The Ravenclaw Captain, Malcolm Davies, had already done the same, and Madam Hooch was approaching the pair.

Hooch went through the usual instructions—a clean, honest game, no fouls, good sportsmanship... Then, the two Captains were instructed to shake hands.

"Ready to lose, Potter?" asked Malcolm, grinning.

James arched his eyebrows, and as he gripped Malcolm's hand, he replied as though somewhat baffled by the question: "I'm never ready to lose, Davies."

"Alright!" came Liam Lyle's magically magnified voice, "this should be an interesting match!"

(The Inner Eye)

"For those of you still here," Liam Lyle droned, clearly wishing that he were not among that number, "the score is three-hundred twenty to two-hundred ninety in favor of Gryffindor... it is now 5:37, and I officially hate these Seekers."

James wearily called a time out, and the two teams flew to separate ends of the pitch. When they were on the ground, nearly the whole team was glaring at Ricki Nivens.

"Mate," said Sirius to James, though he was looking directly at Ricki, "Did we pick a blind seeker, per chance?"

"Focus on your part of the game," said James. "I've scored twice as many points as you have. You as well, Shack. McKinnon, the fact that they've scored twenty nine shots should be embarrassing for you."

"What does it matter?" grumbled Adam. "It's all about the snitch at this point. We're not going to get a hundred and fifty points up, and for the love of Merlin, it's been more than five hours."

"McKinnon, you're running lines at practice if they score again," James snapped. "Damacus, nice beating... Mitchum, watch the fouls. You've got three more before they call you out."

"Yes, Potter."

"Ten seconds," Madam Hooch reminded them.

James turned to Ricki. "Find the damn snitch."

"I'll try."

The entire team groaned, knowing what was coming. "Excuse me?" asked James, his voice dangerously low.

"I mean..." Ricki croaked, paling, "I mean... yes, Potter."

"Better." James addressed the entire team. "It's never just about the snitch. Understand?"

"Yes, Potter," they chorused.

The team started to mount again. "You know, Prongs," said Sirius, "that was sort of hot."

"Not in the mood, Sirius."

And they were off again.

A Ravenclaw Chaser had possession of the quaffle, but a swift bludger from Damacus Weasley freed it up for James's uptake a moment later. A Ravenclaw beater, however, gained control of the bludger very quickly and had it spinning towards James. He dodged, and the other beater hurled the bludger back at him. The bludgers danced between the two beaters, with James in the middle, so he quickly ridded himself of the Quaffle by passing to Donna.

Donna jetted off towards the Ravenclaw goals, passed to Sirius, who passed back and sped forward, freeing himself for a pass. Donna tossed him the quaffle, and he aimed a shot into the left hoop; the Ravenclaw keeper intercepted, however, and passed the quaffle to one of his own. James swore and retreated to defense.

It was growing fairly dark now. As the minutes slipped by, Professor McGonagall could be seen levitating golden orbs high into the air, casting the entire pitch in a warm, orange light. So it was that James had just finished scoring his eighteenth goal of the night when, in the light of the orbs, something shiny caught his eye. It caught the eye of one of the seekers, too—the Ravenclaw seeker.

Anna Cho sped off towards the snitch, which flitted near the Hufflepuff stands, and James cast his eyes frantically about for his own seeker. Ricki had just spotted it too, and was in pursuit seconds later, but he was on the other end of the pitch. Anna Cho had quite a head start.

Ravenclaw carried the quaffle.

Ricki was gaining on Anna, but not quickly enough. She was still several broom-lengths ahead of him, and even she was several broom-lengths from the snitch. Michael Mitchum aimed a bludger at the Ravenclaw seeker, but it nearly hit Ricki instead, and James at once called his beaters off.

He cast his eyes about the stadium for something that would save him... something that would help Ricki catch up... something that would help him get to the snitch in time...

Malcolm Davies of Ravenclaw held the quaffle at Ravenclaw's end of the pitch; he wasn't making much progress towards the Gryffindor side, as Sirius and Donna played a tight defense. The other two Ravenclaw chasers had all but deserted the game, paying close attention to Anna's and Ricki's pursuit of the snitch.

James glanced back at his own keeper; Adam looked ready for just about anything. The Quidditch Captain frowned, frantically trying to put the pieces together in his head...

And then it struck him.

James sped towards Damacus Weasley, his nearest beater.

"I can't hit her," Damacus said, the moment James arrived. "They're too close!"

"I know," said James quickly, hovering in the air next to the third year. "I know, just listen. I want you and Mitchum to aim every bludger you can get your hands on at Malcolm Davies."

"The... chaser?" asked Damacus incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Shack and Sirius are defending pretty tight."

"They'll move off. Don't... y'know... hurt Davies, but don't let him score, and... make it look good. Got it?"

Bewildered, Damacus nodded.

"Good. Go tell Mitchum."

The beater complied hastily. James sped back to the Ravenclaw side. Ricki was now even with the tail of Anna's broom, as they circled the stadium for a second time. She came ever closer to the snitch. The entire audience, including the commentator Liam Lyle, was fixated on the two seekers.

Within shouting distance of Sirius and Donna—who were successfully diverting Malcolm Davies' unaided attempts to make progress downfield—James brought his broomstick to a halt, cupping his mouth with his hand and bellowing: "Vipertooth Seven!"

Both chasers heard him, and both sent him confused glances.

"Run it!" James shouted meaningfully. Sirius broke off first, and Donna followed, jetting resentfully back towards the Gryffindor goal posts. However, Donna, dissatisfied to do as she was told, flew directly up to James.

"Why are we running Vipertooth Seven?" she demanded, while Malcolm swooped around the Slytherin stands and started downfield towards Gryffindor's goal posts. "Sirius and I were containing him perfectly and..."

"Just do it, Shack," snapped James. Before she could reply, he kicked off to face Malcolm Davies himself. Donna followed her instructions and returned downfield with Sirius, assuming her position for the play in question.

James flew full speed towards Davies, but before the two were in any real danger of collision, the latter swerved to avoid a bludger. Michael Mitchum had aimed one at—or near—him, and Davies quickly changed directions to avoid the ball and the Gryffindor Captain. James pursued, as Damacus retrieved the bludger after a second and returned it towards Davies, before stopping the other bludger from smashing into Donna and redirecting it, too, towards the Ravenclaw.

"The Gryffindor beaters," Liam Lyle announced to the now alert spectators, "are hitting pretty hard at Chaser Davies... 'not really sure why... Cho and Nivens still in pursuit of the snitch, Cho has a reasonable lead, there... Good Merlin, that was a close one for Davies! Davies nearly drops the quaffle..."

James and Malcolm flew parallel towards Gryffindor goal posts, bludgers still flying from Gryffindor's beaters at them.

"Stopping me from scoring won't stop Annie from catching the snitch!" Malcolm shouted, smirking.

"Oh, Davies!" James called back; "as a chaser, you should know better than anyone that Quidditch is never just about the snitch!"

Davies looked a little confused, but continued forward, quaffle tucked under his arm with little opposition from James. The bludgers were a different story: he weaved ably about, but his expression showed that it required a great deal of concentration to avoid the bombardment that his own beaters were doing very little to obstruct.

Then, something happened. Flying neck and neck with Davies, the Gryffindor was physically quite close to the Ravenclaw—perhaps dangerously so. As Malcolm checked over his shoulder in his rival's direction, James looked up and saw another bludger headed towards Malcolm. In less than a second, James noted both the trajectory and Malcolm's own ignorance of the oncoming ball, and—as usual—James acted without thinking. He dipped his Nimbus, rolling underneath Davies and resurfacing—upright—parallel to the Ravenclaw, but beside his opposite shoulder.

Then—

"Bloody hell!" swore Liam, and there was a collective gasp as everyone saw the reason. "Potter's been hit by a bludger—from his own teammate, if I'm not mistaken, and—blimey, it looks like his arm was hit... hell, that's got to be broken... and... good lord, what is it with the Gryffindor beaters? Another bludger! It's hit Davies... no... no just his broom... Davies spinning out of control there, and... another bludger! Anymore of this, and Davies is in serious trouble... I'm not sure what the Gryffindor beaters are playing at, but... but... wait... what... what just happened? I think..."

James gripped at his searing arm, gasping for air and only barely managing to stay on his broom, which had now ricocheted off course considerably; still, he managed to locate the two Seekers, and he felt himself grinning in spite of himself.

"I really don't know what just happened," Liam continued; "Anna Cho has... lost her lead and... Nivens, he... what?"

What had just happened was this: Ravenclaw seeker Anna Cho, whose fingertips had been mere inches from the snitch, had defied the fundamental rule of all snitch-spotting seekers—she'd listened to the announcer. For the briefest of seconds, as she was so close to the snitch she could almost feel its feathery wings, Anna allowed herself a brief self-indulgent moment, in which she unblocked her ears and listened to Liam Lyle's commentary... to hear his voice as he proclaimed that she, Anna Cho, had caught the snitch. What she heard instead was: "Davies is in trouble!"

Then, her single self-indulgent moment turned into several frantic seconds, as her eyes moved away from the snitch, her focus shifted from the game, and both landed on the unfortunate Malcolm Davies, who was just steadying his broom after its contact with a bludger.

Ricki Nivens, meanwhile, noticed his counterpart's inattentiveness and leaned forward with all his strength on the broom, pushing it just a little faster and stretching out his hand, till the tiny, feathery wings brushed his fingers, then his palm, and he closed his hand around the gold snitch.

"Anna Cho has... lost her lead, and... Nivens, he... what? Nivens has caught the snitch!" Liam Lyle shouted, confused beyond belief. "Ricki Nivens has caught the snitch! Gryffindor has won the match!"

(After)

"And lastly," a rather drunk Sirius Black announced to a large group of spectators in the Common Room, some hours later, "I think we should just bow down and worship the Quidditch Captain, my best mate, and resident mad man, James Potter..."

The crowd—in varying states of intoxication and sobriety—laughed and clapped appreciatively.

"So let me get this straight," slurred Peter to his friend, "you figured that because Anna Cho and Malcolm Davies are dating, she would get distracted from the snitch if she heard Davies was in trouble?"

"I was right, wasn't I? Anyway, Davies had the quaffle," said a slightly drunk James, swallowing a suspicious amber liquid from a goblet he had been too smart to question when Sirius handed it to him ten minutes before, "it was perfectly legitimate."

Peter laughed, not because it was funny, but because the firewhiskey he'd consumed seemed to think it was funny. James pulled away, disappearing into the crowd that constituted the party in search of another drink. A song by a wizard band—The Fletchers—filled Gryffindor Tower with guitar riffs and raw vocals, which were then subjugated in the face of the chanting, chattering, and general noisiness of the celebrating Gryffindors themselves.

James's head spun as he reached a table, lined with butterbeer bottles and an assortment of other, unlabeled drinks.

"Technically, I shouldn't let you have anything besides butterbeer," said Frank Longbottom, who seemed to be the perfunctory bartender. "But seeing as you just defied all logic to win that game, I'll turn a blind eye for a few minutes."

James grinned, filling his goblet with a clear substance he suspected to be vodka. "'You n'joy the match, Frank?" he asked after a large gulp. His lips were almost numb.

"Very much so," replied the Head Boy. "How's your arm?"

"Holl'way fixed it in 'bout a minute," replied the Captain with a shrug.

Frank grinned, clearly amused by his companion's uncertain state. James noticed. "You're sober," he accused. "Perfectly so, that is."

"That's right."

"Why?"

"I dunno. 'Haven't felt much like drinking since..." The Head Boy broke off. "'Just not in the mood." James followed Frank's wandering gaze across the Common Room; the journey ended with Alice Griffiths, who, butterbeer in hand, was laughing and joking with Sirius. James turned back to Frank.

"Sirius likes her," he said bluntly.

"How much?" asked Frank.

James shrugged. "'More 'en he liked the last girl he dated."

"How much does she like him?" Frank asked faintly. James shrugged again.

"'Dunno. She was your girlfriend. Can't you tell?" He took another drink.

"Hey, James," said a new voice, Remus Lupin's, as the boy himself appeared, looking weary but relatively recuperated.

"Lupin!" James cheered, enveloping his friend in a one-armed hug. "You're back! How... how was your Mum?"

"Mum's fine," said Remus. "Watch the liquor there, Potter, yeah?"

"'Course."

Remus eyed the merriment around him. "I take it we won?"

"I broke my arm," James said proudly. Remus looked at Frank, who nodded.

"Congratulations."

"In four places."

"What?"

"I broke it in for places, my arm," elaborated James, beaming. "Stung like death, it did."

"Congratulations," Remus repeated. "Listen, I'm going up to bed. It was... pretty hectic at home. 'Didn't get much sleep."

"'Course."

"Make sure Sirius doesn't bring anyone up, yeah?"

Frank shifted uncomfortably. James patted his fellow Marauder on the shoulder. "You shouldn't have said that, mate. You made the situation very uncomfortable for Frank. Didn't he, Frank?"

"Oh, well..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, James," sighed Remus, removing James's hand from his arm. "But goodnight."

"'Night."

Remus disappeared up the staircase to the boys' dormitory, and James returned his attention to the glum Head Boy. The sobriety of the moment caused James to frown. "You need to be drinking, Frank Longbottom."

Frank snorted. "I don't know if that's such a good..."

"You need to be drinking!" James reiterated loudly. He grabbed one nearly full bottle of firewhiskey and then reached over the table to grab Frank's arm. "C'mon."

The Head Boy reluctantly obliged, following James through a group of giggling fifth years. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere with air."

And so it was that, some forty five minutes later, the two boys sat in the Astronomy Tower, seated with their backs against the ledge and the now half-empty bottle of firewhiskey between them.

James had only enjoyed a gulp or two more, and Frank was feeling the effects of a third or so bottle of firewhiskey considerably. The two sat, laughing and talking, or else staring aimlessly at the night sky, both of them impervious to the cold, January air.

"The thing that I love about you, Frank Longbottom," James drawled after some time, "is you're so honest. I just... I just trust you. Something about you..." James thought about it. "Maybe 'cause you're name is 'Frank.'" He began to laugh, and through hiccups he reiterated: "I just trust you!"

Frank frowned. "Carlotta Meloni kissed me and I kissed her back," he said at length, his head lolling in James's direction to gauge his reaction.

James frowned thoughtfully and then shook his head. "Nope. I still trust you."

The Head Boy stared miserably out across the grounds. "Alice doesn't."

James rolled his eyes. "Are you going to sit here and talk about Alice? I don't want to hear about Alice. I like Alice. I really do. But I have listened to too many people's problems today, and I am drunk, and I am not going to waste this firewhiskey giving more people advice." James took a long swig from his flask. "We are not talking about Alice."

"Why the bloody hell did I kiss Carlotta Meloni?"

"Bloody fuck, we're talking about Alice."

"I was sodding in love with Alice."

"Have another drink."

"No."

"Yes."

"No. Well... alright." Frank had another drink. "The thing is..." he continued, once the firewhiskey had burned his throat sufficiently. "I loved Alice."

"'Said it already."

"...And I didn't love Carlotta!" He reflected before continuing: "I didn't even fancy Carlotta all that much. Carlotta's..."

"Fit."

"Exactly! She's fit, right? She is really, really, really, really, really..."

"Frank."

"...Really good-looking! And I'd just made Head Boy, and... I dunno... we were just there, drinking, and I... she liked me. Carlotta Meloni fancied me... it was..."

"Impossible?"

"Flattering. And confusing. And I was a little drunk." He took another swig. "I wish that night never happened."

"Me too," grumbled James. "Then, I wouldn't be wasting a perfectly good buzz on your ex-girlfriend."

"I'm still in love with her," Frank said flatly, ignoring James, who scowled.

"Then why the bloody hell are you up here with me while my best mate chats her up in the Common Room?"

"S'Obvious, innit? I lost my chance."

James pried the bottle from Frank's figures, taking a drink himself. "I think you'll find," he said, "that given time and an insane number of demonstrations of devotion, birds can be forgiving."

"I don' deserve to be forgiven."

"No," agreed James. "But who the fuck does?" Frank chuckled and leaned his head back. The two Gryffindors sat in silence for a while, until James began again: "Do you know what I think?" He was, however, met with more silence, and an examination of the Head Boy told him that Frank had fallen asleep. James rolled his eyes, muttering, "Rookie."

The Quidditch Captain was just withdrawing a cigarette from his pocket and wondering how he might get Frank conscious again, when a sound that suspiciously resembled a squeak called his attention across the tower in the direction of the shadow obscured door. "Who goes there?" James demanded dramatically. A mousy looking Hufflepuff whose name he could not quite recall appeared, wide-eyed and slightly nervous.

"'Sorry," began the Hufflepuff (even that James only knew because of his robes), "I'll just go..."

As the boy—a fifth or sixth year by the looks of it—turned to go, James called him back. "You don't have to go," he said dryly. "It's not like I'm going to hex you." The other wizard looked doubtful, so to reassure him, James got to his feet, approached the wizard, and held out his hand: "I'm James... James Potter. I don't think we've met."

"Reginald Cattermole," replied the other, taking his offered hand. "And we have met. You used to hex me."

"Oh." James bit his lip awkwardly. "Ironic. Sorry." Reginald looked ready to depart again. "Listen, I'm sorry," James added sincerely. "I was sort of going through this phase in fourth year..."

"It was fifth year."

"It was a long phase." Reginald remained quiet. "Listen," James once again started over. "Really—I don't have an excuse. I'm just kind of a git. It's my thing. Here... I'll make it up to you. Fag?"

Reginald eyed the offered cigarette and shook his head.

"What are you doing up here anyway, Reginald Cattermole?"

"Common Room was noisy. I wanted to practice the Charms homework."

James nodded disinterestedly. "Sure you don't want a cigarette?" Reginald was sure. "A drink then?" James held out the bottle, and Reginald distrustfully eyed the item. "No, it's fine," James guaranteed. "Look, see, I'll even take the drink." He did so.

"What is it?" Reginald asked, as James felt the liquid burn his throat.

"Firewhiskey."

The Hufflepuff's eyes grew wide. "And what happened to him?" He pointed at the remains of Frank Longbottom.

"Oh, never mind him; he's dead," said James lightly. "Have a drink then? You know you want to, Cat."

"It's Reginald."

"Yeah, I'm not calling you that." James once again held out the bottle.

"But you won't have enough to drink if I take some..."

"There's half a bottle, and I've already had more than enough."

Reginald frowned, anxious to say what truly troubled him about the offer. "I'm not seventeen," he confessed.

James only grinned more broadly. "Neither am I," he replied confidentially. He lifted the flask a little closer to his companion. "So what do you say? Let me atone for past wrongdoings? Toe the line of discretion? Take a turn around the slightly-less-sedate side?"

---

"You are awesome," James enthusiastically stated, leaning over the stone wall that overlooked the grounds and shaking his head in disbelief. "You don't suck at all, Reg Cattermole, especially considering that you're a Hufflepuff!"

Reginald, who was smaller and less experienced in the ways of alcohol than his patron, found this extraordinarily funny. He doubled over in laughter. "I—am—awesome!" he snickered. "It's true! And I'm—I'm—I'm..."

"What are you, Cat?" interrupted a slurring James.

"A Hufflepuff!"

And they both laughed at that.

"I cannot believe," James carried on presently, "That I've never spoken to you until today. It is truly... truly... truly unbelievable. Because you are awesome."

Reginald snorted. "Y-y-y-y-you and I don't even exist on the... on the same..." (Trying to recall the word): "planet."

James slung an arm over his new friend's shoulders. "Now, that's not true, Cat. Obviously we exist on the same... the same what's-it. Have another drink." Taking the bottle from the Gryffindor, Reginald did so. James fiddled with the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"'You gonna smoke that or not?" the Hufflepuff demanded, once he'd recovered from the last drink. "You've just had it for a-a-ages." He sent James a pointed look. James merely shrugged.

"'Haven't decided."

"Fact is," the Hufflepuff went on, "when you're s-sober—I won't be awesome anymore. You'll g-g-g-go back to... y'know... ign—ign—ignoring me." He chuckled at the thought. James shook his head, still considering the cigarette.

"Rubbish, Cat, I'm not like that."

"No?"

"No. I prefer having other issues. 'Just don't really give a damn what people think o' me."

"No one?" Reginald took another swig from the flask. "You don't care what anyone thinks of you?"

James started to shake his head but stopped. He would never have said it sober, but: "Maybe one person. One or two people..."

"Well there you are. Or there I am. Or are we both there?"

"You haven't arrived yet."

"Oh. Even still." Another drink followed. James frowned.

"It's not like that, you know. Two people in the whole world... they're the only ones it matters for. And y'know... it doesn't—it doesn't make a difference to them who I think is awesome."

"Why's that?" slurred Reginald, staring out at the night sky with bloodshot eyes. James felt a sobering chill run through him with the realization of the answer.

"'Cause one of them is going to like me no matter what, and the other one's going to dislike me no matter what." Reg wore a very somber expression crossed with an intoxicated pout. James continued to observe the cigarette in hand. "Do you believe in honesty, Cat?"

"Yes."

"Really? Why?"

Reginald frowned, his brow furrowing. "What was the question again? It's fuzzy."

James shook his head. "Never mind. Drink up, Cat. Tomorrow we die."

Reginald readily complied, taking a long, deep drink from the bottle. It was nearly empty now, as the Hufflepuff lamented out loud a moment later.

"S'kay," said James. "You're fairly pissed as it is." Reginald nodded, knowing this was true. "So... Cat... you don't... y'know, loathe me, 'cause I was a bit of a prick to you?"

Reginald shrugged. "Not really. I never r-r-r-really thought 'bout it. Do you loathe me? I mean—you? I mean... do you loathe you?" He frowned. "That doesn't make sense, does it?"

"I dunno," James admitted, staring out over the grounds; he was beginning to feel the cold wind biting at his face and wondered if that was a sign that the buzz was fading. "I'm not saying I'm proud of everything I've done, but if I hadn't done it, I wouldn't be who I am, and I don't dislike who I am... most of the time, I'm fairly awesome. And, y'know, yeah, a lot of rubbish happened, but a lot of good stuff happened, too, and I don't know if I'd have the good stuff without the rubbish... but at the same time, I'm never going to be able to get passed the rubbish... like you. You could be scarred for life, Reginald Whatever-It-Is, and I would never know... I mean, I might know now, but otherwise I wouldn't. And what about Peter? Am I a bad influence on Peter? Peter's fairly innocent... but without Sirius and me, I reckon he'd be some Slytherin's punching bag. So maybe it's a good thing Pete hangs around with us... but maybe it's a mistake. Maybe we're not helping Moony at all... maybe it's selfish. Maybe we did all this for us, not for Moony... and how do we even know? I mean, the reason we thought of it was for him, but we were thirteen, and Merlin only knows what we really meant at the time, right? I don't reckon we even knew for certain. I dunno—sometimes I think Evans is right... it's all a mistake, and I should take it all back... you and Snape and all those stupid fourth years, but... I dunno, Snape I reckon deserves it. He's a git. I don't trust him. I don't trust him at all and someone's got to say something, or someone's going to get in trouble. And it will all be my fault." James turned to Reginald. "Do you know what I'm saying, Cat?"

Reg blinked. "What's a Moony?"

James sighed. "Never mind."

Scowling, Reginald continued: "This is about a girl, isn't it?"

"What?"

"A girl. It's about a girl, isn't it? It's always about a girl."

"What's always about a girl?"

"D-d-dramatic speeches that don't make s-s-sense." He looked at the bottle. "D'ya mind if I finish this?"

James was very quiet. "You're right," he said at last. "It is about a girl."

"I knew it. D'ya mind if I finish this?"

"But what does that mean?"

"It means," Reginald grumbled, "that you go and tell her what's on your mind and d'ya care if I finish this?"

"No," said James, distracted and feeling quite sober now. "No, go on; it's yours. Make sure you drink some water before you go to bed. I think you're right. I think I... I think I have to go."

"But I don' wanna go hoooome," mumbled Frank Longbottom in his sleep, as he was still slumped against the wall.

James looked piteously down at the Head Boy. "But first I'm taking him to his dormitory..."

Reginald just laughed.

The Gryffindor gave one last glance at the unlit cigarette in his hand. Then, he opened his fingers and watched it drift downward, disappearing in snow-cloaked darkness below.

(Waking Moments)

With Frank deposited in his bed, James returned to the party, a goblet of water in hand as he drifted through the crowd. Sirius and Alice sat near the fire, still talking, and Peter chatted with a fifth year girl named Pennie. The one person in particular that he wanted to speak with, however, was nowhere to be seen.

James realized that she must have gone up to bed, and had almost decided to return to his own dormitory as the night was most surely a failure now. However, instead, he—rather inexplicably—decided to take a stroll around the halls... perhaps grab something a tad less sweet to eat from the kitchens. He slipped unnoticed through the portrait hole.

And there she was.

James would swear he didn't believe in fate, but there she was, and fate seemed kind of difficult to deny just now. Lily Evans stood outside the Common Room, a short distance from the portrait of the Fat Lady, drink in hand and far off look on her dream-cast face. She had wrapped around her shoulders a scarlet blanket—protection from the drafty corridors—and she tugged at it every few seconds, like a habitual twitch. The torches gave her pale skin a golden glow, sparked her eyes, and illuminated every strand of red hair. As she unconsciously chewed her lip, James forgot and remembered why he was there. He didn't believe in fate, but what a coincidence.

"Hi." His voice sounded strange to him, but when Lily looked calmly over, she noticed nothing.

"Hello," she replied, as James approached, hands in his pockets. "What brings you away from the revelry?"

"Just—taking a break," he replied, imitating her posture. He was moments from echoing her inquiry, when her voice cut him off.

"That was quite a stunt," she said. "During the match... using the fact that Malcolm Davies and Anna Cho are together to distract her from catching the snitch... getting Liam Lyle to talk about Malcolm by aiming all those bludgers at him..."

"He had the quaffle," James reminded her, somewhat defensively. "And they didn't actually hit him."

"No," agreed Lily, glancing at his healed arm. "They didn't, did they?"

After a brief moment of silence, James asked: "So did you ever find Prince Charming's book?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yes. No thanks to you."

"The inner eye was clouded."

"Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Well, then..." She smiled, somewhat devilishly. "You might be interested in knowing that I've figured you out, you great big fraud." James raised his eyebrows. "I know how you figured out Elaine Pleasance's number... and you're not a seer. It was the Quidditch Match that inspired me," Lily went on, evidently quite pleased with herself. "You knew that Malcolm Davies and Anna Cho are dating, so you manipulated the game so that Liam Lyle would bring attention to Malcolm, and our seeker could catch the snitch, right? Well, you'll never guess what I heard this morning... Elaine Pleasance has been secretly seeing Kellen Burgess, the Slytherin Seeker, for weeks."

James, beginning to grin, tried to look innocent. "So?"

"So," Lily pressed, "Kellen Burgess's jersey number is twelve." She crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall, so that her chin was just about parallel to James's shoulder. "I bet you spotted them snogging in a broom closet or something with that map of yours, and that's how you guessed she'd pick that number..." Lily smirked. "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're wrong," replied James, mirroring her posture. "I'm a seer." Lily laughed, and he joined her. "What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asked, when they had calmed down.

"Waiting for Luke," she replied casually. "He's running late, actually... it's odd. He's never late."

"So I hear," the Quidditch Captain mumbled.

"He's got a lot on his mind, just now," Lily defended her boyfriend softly and seriously. "His family... his brother... it's all so mad. I feel terrible for him... I wish I knew what to say... it's just uncomfortable, and I... I don't know how to relate to that, y'know?" She sighed. "I dunno... I feel like... like I'm being a bad girlfriend somehow... and it's all so complicated. I don't know how I can fix things, and it's... frustrating. Frustrating and complicated, and to tell the truth, I'm sort of afraid of complicated." She stopped suddenly and looked up at James. "Why did you say you were out here?"

And nothing had changed. She was still too good for words, and he was still helpless. He had always known there was no chance for him, and that hadn't changed either. He had always known there was a Luke, and he had always known she would only be confused by what he wanted to say. Nothing had changed, except maybe one factor.

"James?"

"Sorry," said James quickly. "I was… dozing off there."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, not—not you, I just... I got lost in my own head for a second."

Lily laughed. "Is something wrong?"

It shouldn't be Luke. It should be James, not Luke. It was so wrong, and she couldn't see it, and it completely, completely sucked. But she was afraid of complicated, and maybe that took precedence over what James wanted, no matter how desperately he wanted it. So, once again, James had an opportunity—an opportunity to lie, and he took it.

"No," he said. "Everything... everything's fine." And because she didn't look convinced: "Huzzah, lions for the cup."

"That's enthusiasm," she observed sarcastically. "You're sure?"

"So sure."

"Alright." She raised skeptical eyebrows but no more questions. "I don't suppose you have the time?" He did. "Luke really is late... perhaps I'll swing by the Ravenclaw Common Room..." the redhead paused. "Unless, of course, you have that map of yours around?"

James could feel the Marauders' Map burning in the pocket of his Quidditch robes. "Oh, sorry, no..."

Because, after all, he wasn't a saint.

"'Course, it's fine." She started to leave, but paused a short distance away and turned to face James. "What you did today," she began unsteadily, "was a bit stupid... I'm not sure it's entirely fair, either..."

"For the love of Merlin, he had the quaff..."

"But," Lily spoke loudly over him, "I think the other thing you did was really... classy."

"Er... what other thing?"

"That bludger you took," she explained. "It was going to hit Malcolm pretty hard, and if it had, Liam Lyle would probably have been screaming about it, and Anna Cho would have been very distracted, and Ricki Nivens could have caught the snitch. But you were the one who told your beaters to aim around Malcolm, and you felt guilty, so you took the bludger for him." Her eyes were now fixed on him. "Am I wrong?"

James took a long time to answer; at last, he broke eye contact and muttered lightly; "'Course, you're wrong. I didn't even see the bludger. Honestly. It was just Malcolm Davies's good luck, that's all." When he looked up again, Lily was smiling slightly.

"I knew I was right," she said, before turning and retreating down the corridor once again. "Goodnight, Potter."

'Night, Snaps.

"'Bye, Evans."

(Awake)

It was dark when Remus Lupin was summoned from slumber. Someone was fumbling about in the dormitory, and a glance at the alarm by his bed told the Marauder that it was just a few minutes past midnight. Pushing the bed curtains further apart, Remus peered around the dark dormitory in search of whoever had woken him. He spotted James standing near the desk.

"Prongs?" Remus croaked. "What's going on? Are you looking for something?"

"Er—no," said James. "I mean... I found it. Go back to sleep."

Quite mysteriously, James dropped something into the half filled rubbish bin and turned, starting for the door. "'Sorry to wake you. 'Night, Moony."

"'Night, Prongs," Remus, bewildered, replied. The door clicked closed behind his friend, but Remus was too curious to let it drop at once. He climbed out of bed and crossed the dormitory. The glow of the waning moon through the window sufficed to illuminate the contents of the rubbish bin.

In spite at having been so harshly woken, in spite of a hellish week, and in spite of a nauseous morning, Remus smiled. In the bin, on top of the parchment and apple cores and empty inkwells, was a half-full pack of cigarettes.

---

This chapter is lovingly dedicated to everyone who has requested that James kick smoking ASAP.

A/N: This chapter is too gynormous for words...

Love and cookies to the fantastic anonymous reviewers: kittehluver96 (why thank you! Love and cookies :-D),ToLazyToLogIn (ha, story of my life: thank you so much for the review!), Lily-wanna-be (glad you enjoyed; thanks for reviewing),untitled1494 (oh, you don't have to worry about Donna—Donna will always scorn love. Also, I hope you enjoyed James's very symbolic quit! And the Snape-Sirius storyline is coming up... soon-ish. Ish. Thanks for reading and reviewing!) and helene (oi, pretty name. First, I'm glad you liked "Shaken, Not Stirred;" second, sorry you don't like this as much—I think the story of ITISNS is superior in a lot of ways, but there are parts that literally make me cringe re-reading... especially dialogue-wise. Still, some of the better chapters in ITISNS—I'm thinking "Red" and the scenes at the end with Lily and James in the forest—are unsurpassed by anything I've written in "Life and Times" so far... Hopefully that doesn't sound egotistical... Anyway, there's a lot more serious mystery stuff coming up in this... actually, a fair amount in the next chapter, so I hope you enjoy that, and thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! It is always appreciated!).

Reviews are a cure for the common cold.

Love and Cookies,

Jewels