The Life and Times Chapter 19: The Quaffle and the Snitch, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: I realize this was supposed to be another Stones chapter, but I got inspired with Bob Dylan, so he prevails instead.

Reasons I'm so late in updating: midterms; my BFF called me literally every time I got inspired to really get writing (a girl cannot say "no" to her BFF who lives 500 miles away); relationship/non-relationship drama; and just general chaos/upheaval in my life. Also, I got super inspired and wrote most of two chapters for this story... chapters (approximately) 24 and 28. I'm really excited about that part of the story (that's the summer holidays part... so much going on!). Lol, so those updates should be nice and quick! Now I just have to get my head in the game about this part of the story.

Disclaimer: Copyright Jo-Ro. And I also want to disclaim a kind of muggle-y joke that James makes, because I have no idea how the magic economy functions and if they have such things s "copyrights," but he DID take three years of muggle studies, so I'm letting it slide.

Recap: So, Lily wants to break up with Luke, because Luke's brother is a suspected death eater, and Luke was kind of deceitful about the whole thing. But then his dad dies, and Lily figures she'd be a total jerk to ditch him then. A stressed out and kind of depressed Donna has been hooking up with Charlie Plex, who has a girlfriend. Somehow, Mary knows. Frank proves himself adorable, and Alice kisses him. Sirius's uncle—Professor Black—is dying, but he didn't tell Sirius, which pisses Sirius off. Snape and his housemates are recruited for the Death Eaters by alumnus Lucius Malfoy, who suggests they might be doing some recruiting sometime soon. At his birthday party (in January), James gets drunk in the Astronomy Tower with Reg Cattermole—a former victim of his—and the two bond.

No longer called 'April,' because this title just made my little shipper heart beat happily.

Chapter 19- "The Quaffle and the Snitch"

"Going, Going, Gone"

Friday, April 30th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Newspaper article declared a manhunt for Logan Harper and half a dozen others.

Bloody Donna.

Be over, month.

-Lily

Unsatisfied, Lily reread her latest journal entry. The ink had not yet dried, and it glistened in the white light of her illuminated wand. Really? That was it? That was all she had to write for the day?

The short non-paragraph resembled a dozen or so other non-paragraphs littering the last four pages of her notebook—a pretty brown dragon-hide book her mother had bought for her in Diagon Alley on her last half-birthday (she always spent half-birthdays with her parents—well, her Mum, now—since she was in school for her actual birthday). All the recent entries were similarly unsatisfactory: dull little updates that gave a few vague facts, but lacked soul entirely.

Picking up her quill and dipping it in the inkwell on the windowsill beside her, Lily tried again.

Friday, April 30th, 1976 (continued)

Then her hand hesitated over the page, and that was all she wrote... no inspiration, no flow of words from mind to page... nothing. With a great sigh, Lily allowed her eyes to wander from the mostly blank page of her notebook. She peered out the window at the cloudy, moon-less night sky, and then across the green lawns of Hogwarts, and then towards Hagrid's hut near the Forbidden Forest. It was a quiet night, but the kind that made Lily feel so small—like, she was there, on the window seat of the sleeping girls' dormitory, while other (big, important) things were happening far away.

Another sigh, and then Lily forcibly returned her focus to the page. There had to be something else to write...

But there wasn't.

In search of inspiration, Lily flipped to the page before and read the last two entries there.

Friday, April 23rd, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Went to Slughorn's. No comment.

-Lily

And:

Wednesday, April 28th, 1976

Well, I got my copy of Hogwarts, a History back.

-Lily

She snorted. Far from inspiring, those just depressed her.

Instead, she flipped back a few pages to find the last real entry she had... the last detailed description of everything she was thinking and feeling and dreaming...

It took a moment to locate the exact one—it was a March date... the 26th.

Friday, March 26th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Tomorrow commemorates the day that James Potter entered this world, and in celebration of that dramatic event, everyone will get pissed in the Common Room to a soundtrack of hook driven rock and Godric Gryffindor crying out from his grave.

Actually, it will probably be a lot of fun for the normal people out there... the ones whose boyfriend's brothers aren't raging psychopaths, whose souls aren't collapsing in upon themselves like a dying hippogriff, and whose short, previously acceptable lives have not been ravaged by drama of a mostly unavoidable nature.

Lily didn't read the rest of the lengthy entry. The memory of the evening it had been penned returned to her; she had sat there on that same window seat, with her wand propped up on the sill just as it was now, with an extra strong Lumos spell to compensate for the new moon. And, after she had finished that entry (it was nearly four pages long), she had put away her quill and ink and felt empty—cathartically so. It was a nice feeling... she hadn't felt that way for ages. Not since... well, not since March 26th.

April was almost over now. In a few hours, it would be May, and they would be that much closer to the summer holidays. Even that spurred mixed emotions. Of course, nothing seemed to be wholly pleasant these days; no prospect of some happy event went completely unmarred by an unhappy undercurrent. Yes, that summed up the last month very well: unhappy undercurrents.

Yet another sigh, and Lily had half decided to put away her quill and ink (try again tomorrow), when, flipping through the pages, her eyes fell on the next entry in the notebook. April 1st—the first in a month's worth of abysmal excuses for reports. She remembered writing that, too... how annoyed she had been because for the first time in... well, ever... she hadn't known how to write. Subsequent nights had been as bad or worse, until Lily had given up trying to think of anything more to say and surrendered to forced snippets.

Thursday, April 1st, 1976

Dear Notebook,

I had wheat toast and jam for breakfast this morning. Unusually excellent.

It rained. The snow's all gone now, and it's beginning to look honestly like spring. Nothing much happened today.

-Lily

And though she was sure more had transpired that day than was recorded, that was the limit of her creativity. Toast and rain. Breakfast and the weather.

Pathetic.

(One Too Many Mornings)

Thursday, April 1st, 1976

Dear Notebook,

I had wheat toast and jam for breakfast this morning. Unusually excellent..

It rained. The snow's all gone now, and it's beginning to look honestly like spring. Nothing much happened today.

-Lily

Half running down the Charms corridor, Donna Shacklebolt made a mental checklist.

Checklists—mental or otherwise—were rather her specialty: they put chaos into order, told what was finished and what had to be done, and they made no allowances for laziness or procrastination. There was nothing dishonest in a checklist... even when the checklist went something like this:

Two socks, two shoes, all my clothes, all buttoned, book bag, Charms book, quill, ink, parchment for notes, wristwatch, earrings, hairclip... no hairclip... left it on his wardrobe... he can always say its his roommate's...

Stopping in front of a suit of armor, Donna examined her convex reflection, just to make sure her clip-less hair wasn't a dead giveaway as to why she was late for Charms.

Merlin, she was late for Charms!

Practically flying towards the classroom, Donna stumbled in, exactly eight minutes after the bell, and everyone in the sixth year class turned to look at the late arrival. Donna fixed her absolutely most frightening expression on her face, and her peers were silent. Even Professor Flitwick was too stunned to offer a snarky remark about her tardiness.

"Miss Shacklebolt!" he squeaked disbelievingly. What he meant was: "You're late? This has never happened before! Did someone die?"

"Sorry I'm late," said Donna, in a tone that suggested: "If you dock so much as one point, I will hex your rather pointed ears off."

"Have a seat, then," said Flitwick, pointing to a vacant chair in the front of the room. Donna wordlessly complied; her desk-mate was a pokey Hufflepuff she did not know, but that did not bother her until Flitwick announced they would be partnering up to work on what he called Inanimatus Conjurus—more specifically, conjuring ropes.

Donna's eyes shot around the room, locating Lily near the back; she shared a desk with Mary. Rather than be forced to work (or worse, talk) with someone new, Donna rose—while everyone else began to practice—and crossed the room to her two housemates.

"Switch partners with me, Mary," Donna half asked, half ordered.

Mary smirked. "Why-ever were you late, Donna dear?"

The fact that Mary Macdonald mysteriously knew exactly why she was late bothered Donna immensely, but the fact that she had known for almost a month and had not told a soul surprised Donna even more. Mary had never been known to be reliable when it came to keeping secrets—in fact, she was known for telling everything she knew to everyone she encountered. Donna would have been quite grateful that her roommate seemed to have made this one exception, were it not for the fact that the tiny brunette kept dropping unsubtle hints.

"Seriously, Don," said Lily, distracted while reading over the incantation for the spell they were to perform. "You skipped out on lunch early and then showed up late for class... neither particularly Donna-esque habits."

"I had homework," Donna lied, brushing it away with a wave of her hand. "Mary, trade partners with me."

"Who's your partner?" Mary wanted to know.

"I dunno—some Hufflepuff who looks like he's part mouse."

"Mean," chided Lily out of habit; Mary stood on her toes to see Donna's apparently mousy partner.

"Oi, that's Reg Cattermole," she said, scowling at Donna. "He's a nice bloke."

"Lovely. So you won't mind being partners with him." Donna smiled, falsely sweet. Mary rolled her heavily made-up eyes.

"Y'know, it wouldn't kill you to talk with people other than Lily, Slag," she said, but she picked up her book bag and crossed to Reg Cattermole anyway.

"What happened to the pot and the kettle?" Donna called after her, frowning. Lily finished the reading and drew her wand.

"You okay, Don?" she asked. "Something's going on with you that you aren't telling me."

"Of course I'm okay." But Donna couldn't meet her eye.

"Don..."

"Hey," interrupted the witch, "remember how the beauty of our relationship is that neither of us bothers the other about things they don't wish to discuss?"

"That was never part of our relationship. Why won't you talk to me?" Lily wanted to know. "It's not like you to be secretive."

"I'm not being secretive. There's nothing to talk about... and anyway it's none of your business."

"It is my business when it makes you unusually bitchy."

Donna merely scowled. "Do you want to tie my wrists first, or shall I tie yours?" she asked in a businesslike tone. Sirius Black, who was sitting nearby with the other Marauders, let out a low whistle.

"I love this class," sighed the Marauder.

"Shove it, Black."

"Sure thing, Shack, only please say you'll let me watch."

Lily sent Donna a look, before turning appealing eyes to James. "Haven't you got a leash or something for him?"

All four Marauders inexplicably laughed at this, and Lily, rather than question it, took advantage of their distraction. She held out her wrists and said: "Alright, you go first, Don."

It took Donna about fifteen minutes to get the spell just right, longer than usual, but not so much that Lily noticed anything unusual in that respect... at least, if she did notice, she didn't comment. To Donna's even greater relief, besides a casual comment from Professor Flitwick, no one noticed that Charlie Plex did not come to class at all.

(Hazel)

Friday, April 2nd, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Alice thinks she's a tart.

Luke told me a joke when we were walking by the lake. I nearly died of shock, but it was funny, and I laughed. Then he told me it was a joke his dad used to tell...

I know, right?

-Lily

"We need rules," Alice announced, tucking her rebelliously curly hair behind one ear and sitting up. "A code of conduct."

Frank laughed.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," replied the other. "Just—say 'code of conduct,' again."

"Code of cond—why are you laughing, Francis?"

"Because it's funny to hear you say 'code of conduct' when you're... like that."

Alice looked herself over. "Half-dressed?" she asked wryly, and Frank nodded. The witch sighed, folding her legs underneath her so that she was now kneeling amongst the sheets. With firm deliberation she fumbled about in search of sweater she had discarded earlier that afternoon.

"Are you getting dressed?" Frank asked unhappily.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you won't listen to me if I'm not."

"That's not true."

"Code of conduct," she said simply. He was laughing again. "See! I told you. Now where's that cardi?"

"Just because I'm laughing doesn't mean I'm not listening," said Frank, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down onto the pillows. "In fact, it might prove that I am listening." Alice sighed, resigned, and pulled the blankets up to her collarbone, partially concealing her camisole-and-shorts clad body, as she rested her head on Frank's bare shoulder. "Now. What were you saying?"

"I don't remember," Alice admitted. "Thanks."

"Rules. Code of conduct."

"Oi, right." She tried to sit up again, but Frank wouldn't let her, so instead she rolled over onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow rather than her companion's shoulder. "Rules."

"I thought we already had rules," Frank pointed out. "Remember? Like a week ago, you said you couldn't handle a relationship, so you said we had to stop, and then you said some other things, and then you jumped me."

"I don't remember that," dismissed Alice. "Anyway, clearly those rules didn't work."

"Clearly," agreed Frank.

Alice toyed with the sheets, not meeting his eye. She spoke very rapidly: "I think we should be rational about this. The thing is... before, what I think went wrong, is that we were very... wrapped up in everything. We are really young—I don't even turn eighteen until May—and to be so invested is just... it's just... well... it's difficult. And dangerous. For both of us..."

"You're letting your hair curl again—I like it. Not that I didn't like it straight, but I like it curly, too..."

"Frank."

"I'm listening! Dangerous for both us. Got it."

Alice sighed and regained her composure. "So," she went on, "I think a way that we can... avert... such a situation and avoid problems that... caused problems before..." (Frank made a face like he really didn't understand where she was going with this), "is to eliminate the problem factor. And before you say it, yes, I know I said 'problem' three times." Clearing her throat, Alice continued tensely: "That factor, I think, is exclusivity."

Frank frowned. "I'm fairly certain the problem was non-exclusivity where there was supposed to be exclusivity, Ally."

"Exactly! And if there was no problem of exclusivity, there would have been nothing to worry about with non-exclusivity."

"Yes. There would be something to worry about. Non-exclusivity."

Alice sat up. "I'm just saying we should take things slow."

Frank also sat up. "There's a difference between 'taking things slow' and non-exclusivity."

"Well, that's what I want," the witch continued firmly.

"No."

"Frank!"

He crossed his arms adamantly. "I don't want to do that."

"Fine," she huffed. "But it's that or nothing."

Frank was quiet for some time. "Fine," he said at last.

"Fine. Fine what?"

"Fine... non-exclusivity."

"Really?"

"Yes." But he didn't look pleased.

"Okay..." Thrown a little, Alice lay back down. Frank did not. "Don't you think it will be better without... you know... the pressure?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"No," said Frank. "But if it's what you want."

Alice exhaled heavily, sitting up again. "I'm not saying somewhere down the road we can't... but right now, I just feel... I just feel too close to where we were before." She watched her companion carefully, and when he was quiet, she prodded: "Does that make any sense?"

Frank met her eye. "Yes. It does." He smiled weakly, and she returned the gesture more convincingly. "But just to be clear," he continued, "you're not testing me, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Great Agrippa, you're testing him!" exclaimed Lily, much later, as she sat with her seventh year friend in the latter's dormitory. A Friday night, Alice's roommates had gone out to socialize, but Lily and Alice maintained the window seat in the seventh year dorms, a bottle of firewhiskey and rather a lot of potato crisps and strawberries laid out between them.

"Of course not!" Alice protested. "I wish people would stop saying that."

"Non-exclusivity?" echoed Lily skeptically. "That's 'crazy-girl' code for: 'this is a test. Don't muck it up, or I'll castrate you.'"

"Lily."

"Well then what's the point?" asked Lily. "Is there someone else you're interested in?"

"No," admitted Alice. "No one in particular. I just think it would be best if Frank and I both kept our options open. That way, neither of us gets hurt if he starts to realize he has a thing for Carlotta Meloni or Prudence Daly... or if I want to date someone else."

Lily frowned. "Are you planning on—y'know—being with other people?"

It took a moment for Alice to realize what her friend was saying. "Oh! Oh, no," she said swiftly, tossing a crisp in her mouth. "I mean—for one thing, it would be... I mean, I was with Frank for years, and I wouldn't be comfortable with..."

"Oi, I don't need details!" laughed Lily, selecting a strawberry from the bowl.

"But you see my point, don't you?" the older witch asked, once they had stopped laughing. "It's just so much more logical to keep things... casual."

"And physical," joked Lily.

"Well, of course."

They both laughed again, before Lily added: "As long as you know what you're doing, Honey. It seems to me like this is an open invitation for trouble."

"I don't see that," said Alice, taking a drink from the bottle they shared. "As far as I'm concerned, this is a way to avoid trouble. I just—feel more in control of myself this way."

Lily shrugged. "And you know what the poets say—control is love."

"I detect sarcasm."

"I dunno. Just... be careful. I mean, no one could be happier than I was when you told me you and Frank were... sort of together again. But things like this could get complicated, and someone might get hurt."

"Trust me," said Alice confidently. "I'm not going to get hurt."

Lily raised her eyebrows, taking a sip as well. "I wasn't just talking about you."

Alice frowned petulantly. "Am I tart?" she whined.

"No," insisted Lily, handing her the bottle. "Really, Al. If you're happy, I'm happy. And you are happy—right?"

"Very."

"And Frank? 'Cause, you know, he's my mate, too... unfortunate mistakes aside."

"Yes," said Alice slowly. "I think he's happy. Relatively."

Lily nodded. "Well then—what more could you ask for?"

What more, indeed.

(It Ain't Me Babe)

Wednesday, April 7th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Rain again. Sirius Black's birthday..

Luke kissed me after Herbology. We sort of made out. I'm his girlfriend—that shouldn't be weird, right?

-Lily

All his kisses seemed the same now. Soft, cautious (or if not cautious, controlled), unassuming... Luke. The old Luke, only the innocence now seemed strangely affected.

Lily dismally reflected on this as she walked with her boyfriend into the Great Hall for supper. They didn't hold hands, but he followed her to Gryffindor table, and they sat down together. At once, a slice of chocolate cake appeared on their previously empty golden plates.

"What's this about?" Luke wanted to know.

Lily smiled at the cake—a delectable looking slice, with lots of fudge icing. "Sirius Black's birthday," she explained. "It's today... that's probably what this is about. I wonder how they convinced the House Elves to arrange it, though." The prefect picked up a fork and took a bite. It tasted even more delicious than it looked.

"Skipping supper?" asked Luke.

"Life is short," replied Lily. She glanced down the table to where the Marauders sat, laughing and joking easily. Catching James Potter's eye, Lily nodded her appreciation, and James grinned in reply. Lily supposed she ought not to have been surprised when—halfway through the meal—a dozen house elves entered the hall and announced that they would be acting out important events "from Mr. Black's life," which included, among other things, the discovery of the Polyjuice Potion, the slaying of a dragon, and the invention of magic.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," marveled Sirius.

James snorted. "Padfoot, you've already seen one before. As a matter of fact, you've already flown on one before... mine. Y'know—the broom you steal from me at least twice a week... the one you nearly destroyed last month when..."

"Don't be dramatic," said Sirius. "I was able to rescue it before Filch found the goat. And anyway, this is different. This is my Nimbus 1500."

James grinned, exchanging a look with Remus that Sirius missed entirely, so busy was he examining the freshly unwrapped broomstick that lay on his bed in the boys' dormitory.

"It's about time you got one," noted Peter, smirking. "Watching you race Prongs with that ancient Nimbus 1001 of yours is getting pathetic."

Sirius glared. "Careful there, Cleansweep Five."

Remus and James laughed appreciatively. Sirius picked up the Nimbus, and all four Marauders sat down on his bed, examining the present with the greatest of interest.

"Best of all," Sirius glowingly observed after some time, "I won't have to fly the broom my evil wench of a mother and git of dad bought for me in second year. This is untainted." Abruptly, he sighed. "I should thank him, shouldn't I?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Remus at once. "And before you ask, no,a note will not do."

"You know me too well," grumbled Sirius. They were all silent. "I don't want to face it," he vaguely continued. "Any of it."

"But," said James, "don't you think it will be worse if you don't?"

He was right, and Sirius knew it perfectly well. So, fifteen minutes later, he was knocking on Professor Black's office door, half hoping he wouldn't be there, half hoping he would.

He was.

"Got your present then, did you?" asked Black when he opened the door. There was a slight smile on his tired face. "Sorry it didn't arrive until tonight—owl post is damn unreliable sometimes."

"Thank-you," said Sirius soberly. "It was really... er—great."

"I thought you might like to fly it for the big Quidditch final against Slytherin," said Black, a twinkle in his grey eyes. "Although I am, myself, a Slytherin at heart, I might find my loyalties flexible for this particular match."

Sirius grinned. They were both quiet, and then he said seriously: "I'm sorry I shouted at you. It wasn't fair."

"I shouldn't have kept my condition from you," replied Black.

Sirius nodded. "I would have done the same thing, though."

Black opened the door wider. "Would you like a cup of tea? I suppose you and your mates have something planned for your birthday, but..."

"Eh, I've got plenty of time before lights out," said Sirius, shrugging. Professor Black laughed.

"Who exactly do you think your kidding, Sirius? Lights out, indeed." Sirius also laughed, following his uncle into the office. "Excellent. Now you can tell me all about how you invented the Polyjuice Potion..."

"Or slew a dragon..."

"Oh, yes, mustn't forget that..."

(This Wheel's on Fire)

Monday, April 12th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Listened to the new album from The Hobgoblins. Eh.

-Lily

Evan Rosier and Regulus Black were both dark haired, good-looking sorts, fifth and fourth years respectively. Rosier was taller and thicker, but Regulus had a shrewder look about him, so that if he were to choose between the two, Snape would have picked Black without hesitation. Of course, there were other motives for that, too. For one thing, his older brother would be furious...

Not that it mattered. They both had the name, and—judging by the fact that they had both answered Mulciber's semi-enigmatic owl and showed up—they both had the inclination. The two younger students waited for one of the two older (Snape and Mulciber) to speak; Rosier looked nervous; Black did not, but they both seemed keenly aware that their presence there in the deserted dungeon classroom was a matter of significance. They had been asked to come there, while others had not.

"We've been asked to find a few wizards," began Mulciber, "whom we believe have potential."

"Asked by whom?" Regulus Black wanted to know at once. Mulciber looked angry at the interruption, but Snape spoke up. After all, it had been he that suggested Regulus in the first place.

"I think you know the answer to that, Black," he said calmly.

"You," demanded Rosier skeptically, "are in contact with him? I don't believe it. My father is one of them. Nick I can understand, but you expect me to believe that a half-blood like you..."

"That's enough!" snapped Mulciber, as Snape drew his wand. The former stepped close to Rosier. "Snape has proved himself, which is more than anyone can say for you... everyone knows about you and that little Hufflepuff blood traitor..."

Rosier flushed. "We were through ages ago."

"Good." A smile flashed across the sixth year's face. "Lucius Malfoy has been in contact with a few of us for months... training, gathering information... they want to build a—ah, group, here at Hogwarts. Your father, Rosier, has also been in contact."

"My father? He would have told me something..."

"No, he wouldn't have," said Snape. "Because there are rules about that sort of thing. There are a lot of rules, and one of them is that you have to keep your mouth shut. We don't want a lot of idiotic children running around bragging to anyone who will listen."

"If you go through with this," continued Mulciber, "we'll all have our chance at fame and glory. But that's not what this is about now. Now, we have to keep quiet. Only discuss this thing with people we know we can trust, which—in your case—is no one. No owls to Dear Daddy, Rosier, because anyone could intercept that. No taunting your blood-traitor brother, Black. Nothing."

Regulus and Rosier both nodded.

"Good. That's all."

"That's all?" echoed Regulus.

"We'll talk to you when we know more," said Mulciber.

"I want to talk to Malfoy myself," the young Black told them. "I want to know that this is... real. Because I want in, and I don't want to have everything I do interpreted through you two. It's not that I don't trust you, but if I'm going to be tested, I want to be tested by someone who..."

"Someone who what?" demanded Snape.

"Someone who has the mark," finished Regulus boldly. Mulciber's eyes grew wide.

"You know about the mark?"

Regulus nodded.

"That's something else you shouldn't be talking about," said Snape. "But as soon as we know that you are serious, you'll talk to Malfoy too."

"In the mean time," Mulciber went on, "You'll do what we tell you. You won't mention this to anyone, and you'll act as if nothing's changed."

"Has something changed?" asked Regulus.

Mulciber smirked. "Everything has changed."

(It Hurts Me Too)

Wednesday, April 14th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Skipped breakfast. Skipped lunch. Supper didn't taste right. Bad day.

-Lily

P.S. Frank Longbottom. Oh, what can be said?

"And, lastly," said Frank to the prefects (a mix of bored and absorbed) gathered in the small Head student office, "if I could remind you all to please remember to put the nature of the infraction on your point-deduction documentation. Otherwise, we have to add the points back. Any quest—yes, Aubrey?"

Bertram Aubrey puffed up his chest, with all his fifth year, prefect self-importance, and asked: "Is it true that there's to be a new rule banning the use of any magic in the corridors?"

"There's no rule like that now, which is all that concerns us," chipped in Marissa Higgs, the intimidating six-foot-something Head Girl. "Are there any questions of relevance?" Silence. "Excellent. See you all next week."

Most of the prefects began to file out, while Marissa Higgs dropped a few scrolls of parchment off on the desk before following them. Lily Evans, with a farewell to Severus Snape at the door, hung back.

"Alright there, Lily?" asked Frank, who was himself filing away some papers on the shelves.

"Oh, yes," replied the redhead absently, stepping closer. "Remus Lupin wanted me to tell you he's sorry he couldn't make it tonight. He's home visiting his mother—she's ill again."

Frank nodded. "I supposed as much. 'Seems like he's missed several meetings because of that... poor witch, his mum. Hope she's not too badly off."

"Remus doesn't like to talk about it," said Lily with a shrug. "It's got to be difficult, though."

"Hmm, rather." Frank pulled a spare slip of parchment from the desk, as well as an inkwell. "Haven't got a quill on you, have you, Lily? I've been meaning to restock in here, but..."

"What? Oh, yes." Lily shuffled about in her book bag before locating a long eagle feather and handing it to the Head boy. "What's that?" she asked vaguely.

"A letter to Dumbledore," said Frank, scribbling away. "I was hoping we could move the next Hogsmeade trip from May fifteenth to the eighth."

"Why?"

Frank blushed. "It's supposed to rain on the fourteenth," he said, not quite meeting her eye. "Filch always whines that the students track mud inside the castle."

Lily raised her eyebrows skeptically. "That's diligent of you," she noted. "'Didn't know you kept up with the weather forecasts a month in advance."

"It's in The Prophet," replied Frank, a bit too hastily. "As long as the Ministry takes the time to release it that far in advance, someone ought to pay attention to it. And anyway, as Head Boy, it's really my responsibility to pay attention to that sort of thing."

Lily nodded. "I suppose so."

Frank quickly finished his note and returned the quill to Lily, who, responding to the Head Boy's "Thanks," bid him goodbye and left the office. She returned less than a minute later.

"Alright, I was going to let it drop, but I decided not to," she said, folding her arms. "What's the real reason you want to change the date?"

"That is the real reason." But he was blushing again.

"You're a rubbish liar, Frank Longbottom."

Frank scowled, unable to vanquish the flush of color to his cheeks. "It's stupid," he mumbled. "Honestly, I..."

"Well now I'm curious," complained Lily. "C'mon. You can tell me."

"Really, it's nothing." Frank truly looked as though this was something he would much rather not discuss, and so Lily relented.

"Fine. But I will investigate." She turned to leave again, but paused on the door, comprehension dawning on her. "Wait a minute," said the prefect, wheeling back. "Alice's birthday is May 8th."

Frank sighed. "Don't tell her, please?"

"That her birthday is May 8th? Frank, dear, I think she's caught on to that one."

"That I changed the date of the Hogsmeade weekend," Frank clarified. "She'd think... well... I just would rather you didn't. Please?"

"'Course, if that's what you want," said Lily, shrugging. "Though I think it's a little late in the game to be coy."

"I'm not being coy... I just—she might be offended. She's awful touchy about me doing anything nice for her these days." The Head Boy looked tense, as though he wasn't quite sure how much Lily knew of his current relationship with Alice.

In an attempt to put his mind at rest, Lily queried: "Even though you're sort of together again?"

"Sort of together," emphasized Frank. Lily nodded understandingly.

"Non-exclusive," she elaborated, and Frank, too, nodded. "Well, alright. But I think it's sweet you want to take Alice to Hogsmeade on her birthday."

Frank looked doubtful. "Well, who knows about that?" he said. "I mean, with this... casual situation, she's being very careful—not that I blame her—but she might just as well want to go with someone else. The whole non-exclusive business, you know. Even still, she'd like to spend the day in the Village, don't you think?" Lily was silent; she was staring at Frank very strangely. "What? You think she wouldn't? I just..."

"No, it's not that," said Lily quickly. "Frank, it's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." She closed the distance between them and hugged the bewildered Head Boy.

"I—er..." stammered Frank, when she pulled back. He was saved a response, however, as a new voice interrupted.

"Lily?"

She turned to see Luke waiting by the door; apparently, he had come to collect her from the prefect's meeting. It was a part of the extremely dutiful attentiveness that he had been showing for the past few weeks.

"Oh, hi, Luke, I'll be right there," said Lily briskly. She turned to Frank again. "I am routing for you completely," she assured him. "Good luck."

Frank smiled. "Er... thanks, Lily."

Out in the corridor—once Luke had insistently taken her book bag and slung it over his own shoulder—the Ravenclaw inquired of girlfriend: "What was that all about?"

"Just boring couple stuff," said Lily.

"Er—what do you mean?"

"Frank and Alice," she explained. Luke, much to her surprise, looked relieved. "You were jealous?" she asked, annoyed.

"A little," said Luke; he, apparently, found it amusing. "I don't know. It was reflex, I suppose."

"It was Frank," Lily replied stiffly. "We've been mates forever."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's fine."

She was quiet, though he chatted on, until they reached Gryffindor Tower. "You don't have to go in," said Luke, as they stood a short distance from the portrait of the Fat Lady. "We could go for a walk. It's a full moon tonight."

"It's almost curfew," said Lily softly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright."

She stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek, but Luke turned his head and took her lips with his. He deepened the kiss almost at once, his warm lips moving fervently against hers—which seemed to be on automatic-pilot. Soon, she pulled back.

"Goodnight, Luke."

"I love you, Flower."

Then he was gone, and Lily was left with the unbearably familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. For the first time, in her mind, she acknowledged what she had subconsciously known for a long time.

I don't love you, she thought, and, more importantly: I'm never going to.

"Quite a looker, that one," said the Fat Lady, as she approached the portrait.

"Runespoor," said Lily dully. The portrait swung open, and the prefect entered the Common Room. Of course, she had no way of knowing about the wizard (on his way down to meet a dog and a rat near the Whomping Willow), who had witnessed the scene from beneath an Invisibility Cloak. What's more, she had no way of knowing the horrible sinking feeling he experienced as he strode away.

(Dirge)

Thursday, April 15th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

More rain. Nothing much happened today.

-Lily

"What the hell were you thinking?" snapped Donna, slapping away Charlie Plex's wandering hand angrily. "Your sodding girlfriend was right there!"

Charlie smirked. "So now when you pull me into deserted classrooms, you do want to talk?" he taunted. "What happened to the rules, Shacklebolt? Shagging, not blabbing, and all that?"

"Part of the rules," retorted a furious Donna, "are that you keep your bloody hands off me unless I say otherwise. And I'm fairly certain that I didn't ask you to feel me up in the middle of the corridor with your bloody girlfriend ten feet away!"

"Oh, what do you care if Cassidy was right there?" sighed Charlie, sitting down in a desk. "It makes no difference to us whether or not I've got a girlfriend."

"First of all, never say the word 'us' in reference to you and I again," ordered Donna hotly. "Second of all, in case you haven't noticed, the Hogwarts population at large is not very forgiving to girls who shag other girls' boyfriends, and I'd rather not be the subject of fifth year gossip."

"Fine." Charlie shrugged. "Just as well—I was thinking about breaking this off soon anyway."

Donna snorted. "A slag like you? Go without a shag? Unlikely."

"Yeah, but I think Cassidy's going to cave about the shagging thing pretty soon," said the Ravenclaw casually. "And then I won't need you anymore, will I?" He smiled cruelly. Donna rolled her eyes.

"Oh, no, the absence of Charlie Plex—whatever will I do?" she sarcastically lamented, starting for the door. "You're an arse, you know."

Charlie rose quickly, crossing the room and holding the door closed before she could open it. "Am I?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. "Or do you kind of like that?"

Donna's amber eyes narrowed. "I like literally one thing about you." They stood very close, his lips only inches from hers.

"And what's that?" asked Charlie.

"That I don't care about you at all."

Charlie sniggered. "I love that about you—the bitchiness." He kissed her, rotating so that her back was against the door, his body pressed tightly against her. When they broke apart, he muttered against her lips: "Y'know, I wouldn't really have broken things off with you."

"I know." He moved to kiss her again, but Donna pushed his shoulders back, giving herself some more room. "No," she said calmly. "I don't want you right now." Turning, she opened the door and slipped out of the empty classroom, and as she walked away, she felt in control again.

In control... powerful...

Awful.

(Day of the Locusts)

Friday, April 16th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Well, fuck.

-Lily

"Reg," greeted James Potter enthusiastically, leaning against the library table occupied by Hufflepuff Reginald Cattermole. "Can I join you?" Reginald nodded, moving some books out of the way; James threw his book bag across the table and sat down, crossing his arms over his bag and resting his chin atop them. "What're you up to, then, Kitty Cat?"

"Herbology," replied the Hufflepuff in his low, gravelly voice. "I'm starting the Hornwort essay." His blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing in the library? I've never seen you here before."

"I don't come here often," admitted James. "At least—not during the day. Why are you doing the Hornwort essay? That's not due till the first Monday of May. Shouldn't you wait until the first Sunday of May to start that?"

Reg looked confused. "But that's the day before it's due."

"Exactly."

"You're really at the top of the year, are you?"

"That's what they tell me," said James with a shrug. "Do they have food here?"

"In the library?"

"Mhm."

"I don't think so."

"I knew there was a reason I didn't come here."

Shaking his head amusedly, Reg attempted to return to his homework. James, on the other hand, did not move. He sat quietly for a moment and then exhaled conspicuously. Reg looked up. "Aren't you going to do your homework?" he asked.

"Theoretically, that's why I'm here," grumbled James. "But in reality, I'm just bored."

"Where are the other Marauders?"

"Abandoning me." James sat up a little, still slumped over the table but with his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up against the table. "Remus went home to visit his Mum, Sirius is lunching with his uncle, and Pete's got detention, because someone claims they saw him turning Mrs. Norris pink, though I don't think they have much evidence. So, I thought I might check out the whole library scene... see what all the fuss is about. Are there always this many books?"

"Um... usually."

"Weird." James picked up a quill—one of Reginald's—and began to twirl it between his fingers. "So, Kitty Cat, you still seeing that fifth year skirt?"

Reginald let out a great, dramatic sigh. "Greta and I broke up."

"Ah, I'm sorry." Sitting up straight, James added: "If it's any comfort, I thought she always smelled like cheese. What happened with her, then? Did she fall in love with a mouse?"

"I called it off," said Reg seriously. "She was pressuring me."

James temporarily stopped all of his fidgeting. "Come again?"

"She was pressuring me," Reg repeated.

"To get intimate?" asked James, matching the solemn tone of his companion.

"Worse," confessed Reginald, shaking his head. "She wanted me to take Divination."

It was fortunate that the librarian Ms. Sevoy was occupied at the other end of the library, for she would surely have reprimanded James for the bark of laughter that he could not contain. Several prefects studying at a table nearby, however, turned to glare at him, and the Quidditch Captain made a face at them. "I'm sorry," he said to Reginald, running a hand through his hair, the amusement not quite gone from his face. "It's really not funny. I mean—it is, but I shouldn't laugh. But honestly, you made the right decision, mate. Divination is a load of dung. Anyway... no worries about the bird: it's like my dear old mum always says: 'don't chase the quaffle if you see the snitch.'"

Reg frowned. "But that doesn't make sense."

"Sure it does."

"But... a chaser chases the quaffle. A seeker chases the snitch... they're two different positions... a chaser isn't even allowed to catch the snitch. He'd be disqualified!"

James opened his mouth to explain but decided against it. "That's true, Cat. Very true. I'll have to tell mum next time I see her."

"I'm surprised you didn't catch that—being a Quidditch Captain."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Reginald promised that he wouldn't. "Oh, there's something else. So..."

But James was cut off by some the sound of snickering, which made both wizards look up. A broad shouldered, seventh year Ravenclaw by the name of Adrian Edgecombe, was standing nearby with some of his friends.

"Slumming it, Potter?" sneered Adrian.

Reginald glowed red and looked away, but James rolled his eyes. "Only since I started talking to you, Adriana."

A few of Adrian's friends looked indignant, but Adrian merely snorted. "I didn't know you were hanging around with Hufflepuffs now. Especially rodents like Cattermole. Thinking of making a new Marauder, are you? Or perhaps you could get him on the Quidditch team? That's how you choose chasers, isn't it? Your mates?"

"Actually, I just draw names out of a hat," retorted James. "And the funny thing is, we're still better than Ravenclaw."

"That was a dirty trick at the last match, and you know it."

"Your chasers are mediocre and your keeping is a joke, Andrea. Get over it."

Adrian's face flushed with anger, as James turned away, leaning over his table again. "Enjoy your fifteen minutes, Cattermole. He'll have you up by a levicorpus by next week."

"Get out of here," ordered James dangerously, but Adrian had three friends with him and felt this advantage keenly.

"Really, Potter, for someone from an old family, you really have no standards, do you? And I don't just mean Cattermole... the riffraff you hang around—Pettigrew, Lupin..."

With a crash, James's book bag fell to the ground as the wizard stood up and whipped around so quickly, he knocked over his chair. The chair, however, had not even hit the ground before the Marauder's wand was drawn and poised at Adrian Edgecombe, who, for the first time, looked legitimately afraid.

"You wouldn't dare," he said, not too confidently (because James had a reputation of doing things that sane people would not). "Ms. Sevoy is right over there, and my friends would hex you till..."

"I'm not afraid of your friends, Angelina," replied James, smirking. "And even if they could do anything to me, I bet I could take your ears off first." Adrian noticeably gulped.

"Put your wand down, Potter," he croaked, "or they'll curse the stuffing out of you."

"Have at it," invited James.

Adrian's three friends drew their wands but hesitated. "What are you waiting for?" demanded the compromised leader.

"Ms. Sevoy is right there," mumbled one of them.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake..."

But before anything could happen, a new voice—in a loud whisper—cut in. "James, Edgecombe, what are you doing?"

James turned smilingly on the new arrival. "Hullo, Head Boy."

Frank Longbottom folded his arms. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Adrian quickly. "Potter was simply showing me a new... wand technique. Isn't that right, Potter?"

James shook his head. "No," he said plainly. "I was about to curse you, and then you told your friends to curse me. Hex 'the stuffing out of me,' I believe were your exact words. Personally, I was looking forward to it."

Adrian glared, but James positively beamed in reply. Frank sighed. "Wands down, everyone," he instructed wearily, and the wizards all complied. "Really, what were you thinking? Madam Sevoy is right on the other side of the shelves."

"But, Head Boy," protested James, returning his wand to the pocket of his robes, "wouldn't it be worth it to see Antonia here with no ears?"

"You're just lucky Longbottom came along, Potter," snarled Adrian.

Frank rolled his eyes. "I didn't intervene to protect him, Edgecombe. Alright break it up then. I suppose you lot have something to do in the library other than get into house rows..." He said this with a particular look at the Ravenclaws, who, glaring at the two Gryffindors and one Hufflepuff, resentfully moved to another part of the library.

"Grateful as I am for the compliment, Head Boy," said James, righting the chair, "you ought to have let me hex him. He deserved it."

"First of all, if you'd hexed him, I would have had to dock points," Frank pointed out. "And second of all, why do you feel compelled to call me 'Head Boy?'"

"Because it sounds cool, and it says so on your shiny badge."

Frank sighed. "I hope one day you're head boy so that people can take the mickey out of you for it." The two Gryffindors looked at each other, and then laughed.

"Right, okay," scoffed James. "When that happens, feel free to mock me." He picked up his overturned book bag and looked to Reginald. "Alright there, Kitty Cat?"

"Fine," said Reg. "I can't believe you almost dueled in the library!"

"Keep it down, you two," warned Frank. "Those prefects at the next table look like they're about to go savage on you."

"Sure thing, Head Boy," James whispered in reply, saluting as he spoke. "Oi, by the way, Slughorn's having a little get-together next Friday. Will you be attending, or will I see you at the Toadies?"

"I have to go to Slughorn's," muttered Frank grimly. "Do you know how many shameless brown-nosing opportunities there will be? And what with N.E.W.T.s coming up, I'm nervous enough about getting into the auror program..."

"Alright, alright. Steal some food and stop by after though, yeah?"

"Alright."

"My best to Alice." Frank blushed a little as he waved and returned to his business in the bookshelves. James sat down and turned to Reg again. "Anyway, where were we?"

"What does Adrian Edgecombe have against you anyway?" asked the Hufflepuff curiously. James shrugged.

"Eh, who knows? Jealous of my stunning good-looks... oh, and his girlfriend might've left him for me, but... don't look at me all doe-eyed, Kitty Cat, it wasn't my fault. Jacqueline fancied me, but she was dating Edgecombe, and I didn't really fancy her, so I told her I wouldn't snog a bird with a boyfriend, and she broke up with him."

"Jacqueline DuPont?"

"Mhm."

"Why didn't you fancy Jacqueline DuPont?"

James hesitated. "Like I said—don't chase the quaffle if you see the snitch."

"But..."

"Yes, I know, chasers chase the quaffle; seekers chase the snitch." James grinned. "So what does Adriatic have against you?"

Reginald scowled. "I tripped over his shoe in second year. He's practiced the hexes he learns in Defense on me ever since."

"That prick!"

"So did you," the Hufflepuff pointed out.

"Ouch, Cat." James thought about it. "Alright, fair, but I'm reformed. And as a gesture of good faith, I'm inviting you to the Toadies."

"The what's?"

James stared disbelievingly. "You've never heard of the Toadies?" Reginald shook his head. "Kitty Cat, I officially love you. In fact, I might even come up with a new nickname for you, on account of how much I love you. Well, probably not, I'm fairly attached to 'Kitty Cat,' but even still..."

"What are the Toadies?"

"A party," explained James, "Whenever Slughorn has one of his big, elitist, 'look at how many friends I have' parties, the Marauders throw an antithesis party in one of the empty classrooms."

Reg looked confused. "Why?"

"Because it's fun, because we'd rather hang out with people who aren't invited to Slug Club, and because it's an excuse to drink too much. I can't believe you've never heard of these... they're legendary. Epic."

"Well, how would I? I've never been invited before."

"Right, but... I mean, didn't you ever wonder how it was that Mundungus Fletcher got so smashed he tried to swan dive off the Quidditch pitch?"

"Mundungus Fletcher tried to swan dive off the Quidditch pitch?"

"Apparently not... well, didn't you ever wonder what Stephanie Belby could have done to start that Ravenclaw-Slytherin feud back in fourth year?"

"When did Ravenclaw and Slytherin feud?"

"Really, Reggie? But—c'mon, you must've wondered about Liam Lyle's black eye that wouldn't heal? Or the butterbeer flood on the fifth floor corridor? Or that one Monday when half our year didn't show up to classes because they were still hung over from the Saturday before?"

Reginald's expression remained blank. James considered him thoughtfully. "You do go to this school, right?"

"I'm not very social," Reg admitted. "I had my first firewhiskey in January, and apparently that's about a year after everyone else."

"A year after the late bloomers," James modified. "But no worries. We'll get you caught up."

"I don't want to be caught up. I don't want to swan dive off the Quidditch pitch, or have a black eye that won't go away, or cause a feud between Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

"Well, don't fret about the last one... I have high regard for you, Reg, but I just don't see you doing what Stephanie Belby did." He shuddered. "Anyway, no one will force you to get sloshed, and there's bound to be other things to do besides drink... I'm not sure what, but there's bound to be." Reginald still looked skeptical, so James added: "Marauders' honor. I promise. Plus, there'll be birds... loads and loads of 'em."

The Hufflepuff hesitated, and then asked: "Will Lily Evans be there?"

James's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Lily Evans? Great Merlin, what is it about that girl? No, I don't reckon so. She's a Sluggy. Hey, I thought you were more of the Mary Macdonald persuasion..."

Reginald blushed. "Mary's really nice... I do like her, but Lily's..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," sighed James, rolling his eyes. "Everyone loves Evans. It's that whole damn perpetual sunshine thing she has happening. Uncanny. She's got a boyfriend, though. Anyway, you in for the Toadies?"

"I supposes s..."

"Brill." James slumped over his bag once again. "So, Kitty Cat... tell me, are you allowed to borrow these books...?"

The slamming of the girls' dormitory door caused Lily to sit up with a start, pulling apart the curtains around her four poster bed. Donna stormed into the room, geared up from Quidditch practice. She threw her broomstick on the floor and went directly into the bathroom.

"Don?" asked Lily, following her friend. They were alone in the dormitory, as it was still relatively early, and Lily had only retreated there to hide from Luke. "Is something wrong? Did something happen at practice?"

In the bathroom, Donna was splashing water over her mud speckled face. "No," she snapped. "Nothing's wrong. I'm absolutely dandy! Can't you tell?!" She ripped off her arm guards, throwing them in a corner, before slipping past Lily back into the dorm.

"What happened?" Lily demanded, following again.

"I couldn't get the sodding play right," said the other; she tore out the elastic that held her curly hair and God only knew where it landed. Her boots fell with a violent thud near a bed, and when Donna opened the drawer of her dresser, she nearly pulled it out all together. "We ran it fifteen times, and I fucked it up every time! Then Potter shouted, and I shouted, and it was raining, and we wasted half an hour, and I still couldn't get the fucking play!"

"Don, honey, it's alright... you'll get it tomorrow. Calm down."

"I will not fucking calm down!" shouted Donna. She closed the drawer with a slam and knocked off several items from the bureau. "I have never been that slow to learn a play! I was like a sodding second year! Oh, yeah, and on top of that, I got an A on the Ancient Runes assignment. An A! How the hell am I supposed to get Head Girl with "acceptable" marks?!"

Lily was quiet, while Donna angrily threw the things she had knocked over back onto the bureau. "You'll be okay," she said soothingly. "No one is better in Ancient Runes than you. And you'll get the Quidditch play, too. You just need to calm down and breathe, okay? I know you—if you just calm down, you'll be fine."

"You don't know anything," snapped Donna. "You have no idea what you're talking about. How could you? You've been so wrapped up in your perfect little relationship with your perfect little puppy boyfriend, you have no idea what's going on with me!"

Lily overcame her surprise at the turn of the conversation to retort: "That's not fair, Donna, and you know it! I've tried! You won't tell me what's going on with you!"

"Well, I'm sorry I don't fancy spilling every detail of my life with you!"

Lily knew she shouldn't rile her friend up even more, because Donna never backed down in a confrontation, but she couldn't help it. "Fine, but don't bitch at me for not knowing!"

"Fine!" Donna threw the clothes she had just collected onto the floor and folded her arms across her chest. "You want to know what's going on with me?! I'll tell you! I'm sleeping with Charlie Plex!"

Thrown, Lily tried to gather her thoughts: "Charlie Pl—from the...?"

"Yes! From the party at Christmas! Charlie Plex from Ravenclaw! Charlie Plex with the girlfriend!"

"Donna, I..."

"Don't! Alright? Don't. I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear how you think it's wrong, and you know what's best for everyone, and you're just so sodding perfect, that you think you can tell me what to do!"

"Donna, I haven't said anything!"

"You don't have to!" cried the other. "I know exactly what you want to say! You'll look at me all soppy and understanding, and then say something sympathetic—oh I'm sorry, Don..." Her voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm, "and you just feel so badly for me and my decisions, and thinking all along: oh, if only she could be as perfect as me! Perfect, virginal Lily Evans that everyone just loves! And that's why I haven't told you, Lily, because I know perfectly well how you see the world, and if anyone doesn't fit into that sugar-coated fairytale, then it's just too damn bad!" She stopped to catch her breath.

"Where is this all coming from?" demanded Lily.

"It's the truth, isn't it?" spat Donna.

They stood in silence, staring at each other across the dormitory. Then Lily shook her head. "I don't have to put up with this," she said coldly.

"No, of course not! How dare I encroach upon your happy little thoughts! How dare I throw this on you, when you could be off petting with your sweet little Prince Charming...?"

"Whatever the hell is wrong with you, stop taking it out on me!" snapped Lily. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Donna Shacklebolt! You haven't a sodding clue about me or Luke or anything, so don't act like you do!"

"Oh... right... sorry." Donna crossed her arms across her chest, challenging Lily with her posture. "Harper's daddy died. How sodding tragic. Y'know, people die. You move on—I did. But I bet you're just the perfect girlfriend, holding his hand and feeling so martyred and virtuous for it. Merlin, I wish I were as good as you!"

Lily fell silent, a million unspeakable emotions bringing her blood to a boil. Donna appeared to suddenly realize that she had overstepped a boundary, but that passed quickly from her expression; she looked sullen in a moment, as though determined not to redact anything... to let Lily retort as she would. She regretted it when she saw the anger flashing in her friend's eyes.

"Fine," said Lily. "Y'know what, you're so furious with me for not knowing what's going on in your life... when was the last time you asked anyone else how they were doing? Because, if you troubled yourself to do that once in a while, you might be surprised to find that you're not the only one who has shit going on. So don't stand there all self-important about the fact that you're slagging around with some prick, okay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" barked Donna, riled again and laughing harshly. "Something's wrong in your life? Did you lose an eyelash? Did sodding Harper forget to walk you to Charms?"

The color rose to Lily's face, and her eyes flashed dangerously again. "You're right," she said, precariously quiet. "Because your being rubbish at Quidditch is so much more important. Get over yourself, Shacklebolt, and in the mean time, stay away from me."

(Mr. Tambourine Man)

Saturday, April 17th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Today was awful, with undertones of okay.

Rained all day again, except for a little while in the evening.

-Lily

Donna wasn't really talking to anyone. She spent Saturday practicing the play that she had failed to master during Quidditch practice the day before, until the Slytherins arrived at the pitch around three for their own practice. Then, she retreated to the dormitory and spoke to no one.

It became immediately apparent to Marlene that something was wrong between Lily and Donna, but Lily didn't want to talk about it, and Donna didn't want to talk at all, so she had only to speculate.

"Is something wrong, Flower?"

Even Luke had noticed that something was off with his girlfriend. They went for a walk around the grounds just after supper, and when he took her hand, she was once again conscious of feeling nothing.

"No," she lied. "Tired, that's all." But she rather wanted to cry, an urge which only heightened as he kissed her "goodnight" and told her he loved her by the portrait of the Fat Lady. Something seemed to be bubbling up inside of her, like anger or fear or something else entirely, and she didn't trust herself to too many words, lest the pressure become too great and burst. Luke had disappeared from sight before Lily moved.

"Such a gentleman," sighed the Fat Lady. "Password, dear?'

But Lily didn't give the password. "Not yet," she said. "I'm going for a walk." She heard the lady in the picture's warning about the impending curfew but paid it little heed. Now was not the time for curfews.

Walking very quickly and with no idea of where she was going, Lily felt the pressure building inside of her, so that when she finally stopped in the courtyard, her hands were shaking with some strange passion. The chilly spring air on her hot face cooled her but did not calm her. A wave of listlessness overcame her, and Lily sat down on the ledge surrounding the circular elevated garden in the center of the courtyard. And then she cried.

For Luke or Donna or both, she had no clear notion, but it was suddenly too much. She wanted to get up and run, and yet she sensed the futility of it all. She just didn't know what to do with herself, and it was becoming too much to stand. And that was how James Potter found her, quite by honest accident, nearly ten minutes later.

"Evans," he said dumbly, startled by the disheveled, sobbing redhead before him. "Are you okay? What happened?" Automatically and with no devised aim, James started towards her, but Lily—inhaling sharply—held out a hand to stop him.

"No, please," she said—somewhere between a sob and a snap. "Please, don't. I can't handle this now. I can't handle your pushing and your prodding... I can't handle an argument, or a conversation, or whatever the hell it is we always seem to end up doing, so please, please, please just leave me alone!" She spoke with such ardor and desperation that any sensible person would have left the poor girl alone at once.

James was not always a sensible person.

As Lily dissolved in another spate of tears, he sat down beside her. Any sensible person would have let her cry it out...silently waited for her to say anything she wanted to say, but—well, you get the idea.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, not even bothering to keep his tone even. He understood the sympathy and ache he felt, by why he should suddenly feel so irrationally furious—why he should suddenly want to hex something or someone very much (particularly Luke Harper... he had a feeling that git Ravenclaw was in some way responsible) –that was beyond him. James didn't question it. He simply waited for Lily's breathing to steady enough so that she could speak.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she admitted, sniffing and furiously wiping the tears from her face (she was aware, if only slightly, of being utterly embarrassed). "Everything's just so..." she covered her face with one hand, "fucked up."

"What happened?" James asked, bewildered.

"Nothing!" said Lily shrilly. "Nothing happened, I'm just... well I mean, I'm in the worst, most dishonest possible relationship, one of my best mates inexplicablyhates me, and there's a bloody war going on that no one seems to be able to do anything significant about! But, really, everything's fine! Perfect, actually, according to Donna! Perfect Lily Evans with perfect little life and her perfect little boyfriend and—y'know, when I have problems, I don't feel compelled to kill someone, or screw the first bloke that moves, so maybe she should just shut the hell up, because at least I have healthy ways of dealing with all the horrible things going on!"

"Like crying alone in the courtyard?" asked James.

"You're on thin ice, Potter," growled Lily, waving a threatening finger at him. James sighed, kneading his folded hands compulsively. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and asked: "So what's this about Donna?"

"I dunno," Lily sighed. "She blew up at me in the dormitory yesterday... I don't even know why she was angry. She keeps glaring at me and hasn't spoken a word to me since."

"It probably isn't you," said James. "She's been in an awful mood."

"Oh, I know that," said Lily. "But she won't tell me what's wrong, and she—oh, Merlin, this sounds stupid—but she really hurt me with everything she said... I don't know. It was probably the straw that broke the dragon's back, I suppose, but I—I need my friend. I need her to be here for me, and I want to be there for her, but... Agrippa, it's only been one day," she moaned. "I'm pathetic."

"Evans."

They sat in silence for a while, before Lily tiredly went on: "I don't know what to do anymore." Her face twisted into a funny expression, like she was holding back more tears.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm so confused," she muttered. She brushed her thick red hair from her face, folding it sloppily behind one ear to better reveal her paler-than-usual face. Her cheeks were splotchy, her weary green eyes shining in the dim light of the stars and far away torches, but she had stopped crying completely. "...About everything. And I just feel so helpless." She sniffed. "It's like I'm watching myself go through these motions—like it's not me. I feel so... artificial, but I haven't the heart to be genuine, because then I'm selfish. And I'm not sure which is better—lying or being selfish." She coughed. "Do you know what I mean?"

James chose not to answer that question. "Lily, what's this all about?" he asked. She looked at him strangely. She had never heard his voice like that—that soft—and she wondered if there was something wrong with her ears. And he had called her "Lily." Then, without knowing precisely why, Lily told him exactly what it was all about.

She started at the beginning, with Luke and Logan Harper on Valentine's Day, traveled unsteadily through that night, through Lathe's visit, the file on Logan, Luke's father's death, the dozens of times she had tried to end things only to be thwarted by her own or exterior forces, through Donna's outburst the day before, and Luke's kisses goodnight, and finally, her current location—confused and stuck. James listened silently; Lily didn't dare look at him, but if she had, she would have seen a veritable cocktail of emotions playing on his face, none of which he concealed very successfully.

Finally she finished her story; she no longer seemed tempted to cry. Her voice had become stony, calm, and almost (it was the strangest thing) bored. "And that's why I'm here," she concluded dryly. "The damsel in distress you see before you."

James couldn't help himself; a slight smile crept up on his lips as Lily met his eye for the first time since she began her tale.

"What?"

"Evans," said James, shaking his head in amusement, "there's nothing damsel-in-distress about you. You drugged a death eater. No, better yet, you drugged him, right after you stopped him from bleeding to death. You've stuck with a bloke because his dad died, even though he has family members that want to kill you, and I'm pretty sure you've done it all without missing a homework deadline. There is nothing damsel-in-distress about you… except that you're technically a skirt, and you're... technically... distressed."

Lily laughed in spite of herself. "Well thank-you for that anyway."

He nodded, and they were both quiet again, until he continued: "So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," replied Lily. "I'm not sure what there is to be done. What's right is wrong, and vice-versa. "

"What does Harper say about all of this?"

Lily snorted. "He says 'I love you, Flower.'" James clearly didn't understand her reference, so she explained: "I don't have anything to gain from Luke. That sounds horrible—what I mean is: I don't want him to comfort me or help me or talk me through this. I'm with him because he needs me right now, and I can't just abandon him. But I don't want anything from him. I wish I did! He's... he's the ideal, y'know? I wish I could just... but I can't. I feel nothing for him, and it's... awful."

James supposed he ought to feel guilty for the somersaults his stomach seemed to be performing, but he just couldn't manage it. Nonetheless, he managed to keep from his voice all indications that this was in any way pleasing to him. It wasn't difficult, because he honestly hated seeing Lily like this.

"Snaps, you have to think about you too."

"No, I don't," said Lily stubbornly. "I'm just being stupid right now. This whole thing is stupid. I can do this—at least, I... I thought I could. James, haven't you ever had to break up with someone? See that look in there eyes... how you've let them down and hurt them... and everyone's let Luke down. I can't do that."

"So... what? You're going to stay with him forever?" asked James, a little harsher than he intended.

Lily exhaled heavily. "To tell the truth, I was sort of hoping we would kind of drift apart sometime at the end of term, when he finished school..." She chuckled bitterly. "Okay, I know that's a terrible thing to say."

James mussed his disorderly hair even more and sat up straight. Lily unconsciously imitated his posture. "Okay, I'm going to tell you what I think, Snaps, and you're not going to like it."

"Fire at will."

"I don't think you're staying with Luke for Luke. I think you're staying with Luke for you."

"Oh yes," said Lily sarcastically. "Because I'm a masochist who thrives on loveless relationships. Spot on, Potter. Really."

"What I mean," James pressed, "is that you're afraid to break things off with him, because of how it will make you feel."

"I see; so, I'm on a righteous selfless kick. Thank-you. I always love your input."

"Don't willfully misinterpret me," James replied crossly. "I'm not saying you're doing it because you like the idea of being selfless or even because you're afraid of being selfish... I'm saying you're doing it because you don't want to feel like you've hurt someone—even though hurting them is probably what's best for both of you in the long run."

Lily frowned; she didn't answer at first, and when she did, her response surprised James considerably: "You're right."

"Now, see, I knew you were going to—wait... what?"

"You're right," she repeated. "Mostly. Part of me thinks he really can't take it, but... every day passes, and he gets more absorbed with me and less absorbed in his dad or his brother, and part of me realizes that I should end this quickly. But I am afraid of hurting him any more, and I feel—responsible for him."

"Of course, you realize that the longer you wait..."

"...The worse it will get, yes." More silence, then: "I can't believe I just told you all of that."

"I'm still processing the fact myself."

"I really shouldn't have done it," Lily added, trying to regret it. "It's just been so horrible, keeping this inside like I was. But..." She tried to be practical, "telling you was irresponsible."

"I'm not going to tell anyone," sighed James.

"Not even the Logan Harper part?"

He shook his head. "You told it all to Lathe already anyway, right? So even if it... bothered me, I wouldn't... anyway, you told me in confidence. Presumably."

Lily felt a little uncomfortable hearing that she had told James Potter anything "in confidence" (though she knew he was quite correct). She did not know how to respond, so instead the witch said: "What were you doing out here anyway? Checking up on what a prefect was doing out past curfew with that map of yours?"

"It's not past curfew," said James. "And I wasn't even using the map."

"So it was simply fate," observed Lily mirthlessly. "But you don't believe in that, do you?"

"No, I guess not."

Lily frowned, lost in thought. James wondered vaguely if she was thinking about Luke or Donna, if she was weighing the pros and cons of breaking things off with Harper, or if she was simply pondering the potentially negative consequences of having confided all of this in James Potter. As a result, the Quidditch Captain was appropriately puzzled when she resurrected the conversation with: "But what about ghosts?"

James blinked. "Come again?"

"Ghosts."

"No, I heard that part, but I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Oh, right." She realized that he had not been privy to the inside of her head for the last few minutes and could not be held responsible for that information. "If you don't believe in fate or higher powers or souls or anything, how do you explain ghosts? Their bodies are dead and in the ground—they have to be something, don't they?"

James arched his eyebrows. Was she really talking about ghosts? Now? "I—um—yeah, they are something..." He gathered his thoughts. "But I always thought they were sort of like the pictures... imprints, you know? Not really sentient, but—y'know—good imitations."

Lily chewed her lip in dissatisfaction. "Oh," was all she said. "Um..." She rubbed her dry but splotched cheeks: "I guess I should probably get back inside. I think it's going to start raining again." But James was on his feet before she was.

"C'mon..." he nodded towards the archway that would bring them in. "I'll walk you."

"You don't have to," Lily noted, falling into step with him anyway. "You've already—I mean, listening to me and everything..."

"Well what was I supposed to do?" James half joked; "You asked me to leave, and I couldn't very well do what you wanted, could I?"

"It might set a bad precedent," agreed Lily.

"Exactly."

Even the vaguely somber undercurrent in the conversation did not eradicate the oddity of their now bantering conversation, James reflected, as they talked not uneasily on the way to Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady was dozing when the pair arrived at the portrait.

"I'm headed down to the kitchens," said James. "So I'll leave you here."

"Oh. You didn't have to..." But Lily stopped in response to the look that her housemate sent her. "Thank-you," she substituted instead. "For all of it."

James shrugged. "Well, I'm rather fantastic," he admitted. Lily shook her head and rolled her eyes, smiling slightly (but genuinely, he thought) nonetheless. "And, Lily," he added before she turned to wake the Fat Lady, "Shack will come around. You're like the only mate she has—she's not thick enough to just drop that because she's in a foul mood."

In the warm torchlight, James's eyes seemed to have more gold in them. It gave him a very sincere look, Lily thought... or at least, that's how she explained it in her mind. The redhead nodded mutely, and then—appreciating that she ought to say something—added: "Right. Thank-you."

James, in turn, nodded and turned to depart. His heartbeat seemed quicker than usual as he walked, stopping in an empty classroom several floors below. There, he pulled the Marauders' Map and his wand from the pocket of his robes.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."

The Lily Evans dot was in the Common Room with the Marlene Price, Adam McKinnon, and Mary Macdonald dots.

"But you don't believe in that, do you?" she had asked him about fate. He had agreed, but now he wasn't quite so sure. He believed, from a great deal of experience, in luck—was fate so very different? After all, if things had gone slightly differently... if he had pulled the map out earlier that evening, he would have spotted Lily Evans on the map, and he would have chosen the other courtyard for his... errand. That reminded him...

James returned the map to his pocket of his robes and pulled from the pocket of his slacks an intact cigarette—Sirius's, that he had nicked. He dropped it in a rubbish bin on his way down to the kitchens.

(Odds and Ends)

Sunday, April 18th, 1976 (Easter Sunday)

Spring holidays start tomorrow. Hardly anyone goes home for those, though, and Slughorn is having a reception for Celestina Warbeck on Friday that I might actually attend. I've neglected him terrifically lately.

Happy (ahem) Easter.

-Lily

"I'm so sorry, Luke."

The look in his dark eyes was so much worse than even Lily had been expecting, as she finished her shabbily delivered little speech and held back tears with all of her strength.

"There's nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?" asked the seventh year helplessly. She almost wished he would try, but she shook her head, and he nodded mutely. "I guess maybe I shouldn't be surprised."

"I care about you so much," she went on, "so I would like to be there for you if you should need... anything. But being with you is—it's just not right anymore."

"Because of what happened with Logan?" asked Luke.

"Y-yes." This wasn't the absolute truth; there were so many reasons that it wasn't right, Logan being one in a crowd. In fact, trying to remember the last time that it had been truly right between them brought her so far back that she stopped looking. But it was easiest just to say ascribe it to Logan.

Luke nodded again. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek, whispering in her ear: "I really do love you, Flower." Then he walked hastily away.

Lily watched him go and, in contrast, took a long time to walk the short distance to the portrait to Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady was scowling at her and probably uttered some reprimand that Lily did not register.

"Asphodel."

In response to the password, the portrait swung open, and Lily, a little numb, slipped inside.

P.S. I broke up with Luke

(The Wicked Messenger)

Tuesday, April 20th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

I actually wish we had classes this week. It would make things easier to have that distraction, especially since the lack of anything useful to do compels the school gossips to work harder than usual at spreading rumors, and I am suddenly a subject of interest.

Spent the afternoon in the library with Sev. Haven't seen Luke.

-Lily

"Lupin's back, I see," observed Severus Snape, as he sat with Lily Evans at her favorite corner table in the Hogwarts Library. The Marauder in question had just left the shelves with several books tucked under his arm, and though he looked pale and tired, his appearance had improved marginally since just the day before.

"Mmmm," replied Lily, forcibly nonchalant. Even when Marauder-bashing with Snape had not been disagreeable to her, Lily had never approved of her Slytherin friend's intense suspicion and distrust of Remus Lupin. Now more than ever it grated on her nerves.

"Odd that he goes home so much," Snape went on skeptically. Lily could feel his black eyes on her.

"Yes, odd."

"And he always looks ill. I wonder if whatever his mother has is catching."

"Possibly."

"He doesn't speak about it to you, does he?"

"No."

"And those idiot friends of his are always sneaking..."

"Sev," interrupted Lily curtly, looking up from the page of her book at last. "I'm not in the mood. I've heard your theories, and I'm not in the mood."

Severus was wise enough to drop it.

(4th Time Around)

Wednesday, April 21st, 1976

Dear Notebook,

I'm not sure what this writing slump is about, but it's rotten.

'Can't think of anything to write.

Damn it.

Goodnight, I guess.

-Lily

"Lily?"

Tearing her eyes away from the dark, star-studded sky and the window through which she saw it, the redhead saw Carlotta Meloni rising from her bed, confusion on her—even now, at three in the morning—impeccable face.

"Oh, hi," Lily whispered in return, so as not to wake her other, sleeping roommates.

"You're still up," noted the brunette hoarsely, crossing the dormitory. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh... yeah." Lily shrugged. "Sound as a pound."

"Have you just—just been sitting there since everyone went to bed?"

"No..." Well, technically, yes. "I mean, I—I read a little." She indicated to the long forgotten Pickwick Papers at her feet on the window bench. To Carlotta's arched eyebrows, she added: "I've had a bit of trouble sleeping, that's all."

"Oh." Carlotta, smoothing her little satin nightdress, hesitated before sitting down on the vacant portion of the window-seat. Lily—in an oversized Miles Davis t-shirt and plaid pajama trousers—tried not to feel self-conscious. "I heard—I heard that you and Luke Harper split up."

"Yeah."

"You're not much of a crier then, are you?"

Lily shrugged again.

"What I mean," Carlotta went on, "is that I haven't seen you binging on sweets or listening to sad records—isn't that what girls usually do?"

"I wouldn't know." They were silent, then Lily continued: "You can go back to sleep, y'know. I'm fine. Really."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Carlotta sighed and got to her feet again. She paused, however, before returning to bed: "Listen, Lily," she said quietly, "I know we're not the best of mates, and that we have... had our differences this year. But if you need to talk to anyone..."

"I'm fine," Lily repeated. "But thank-you."

Nodding, the brunette made a detour to the loo for a glass of water. Lily had left the window seat when she returned to her bed.

(A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall)

Friday, April 23rd, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Went to Slughorn's. No comment.

-Lily

"No Snape tonight?" inquired Mary of her friend, as Lily joined her for a butterbeer near the edge of the decorated hall formerly known as Slughorn's chambers. Mary was a regular at Slughorn's parties, not because she was in any way a member of the Slug Club or ever garnered an invitation from the Potions Master himself, but because the "And Guest" stipulation on various wizards' invitations always found a way of applying to her. This particular event—a reception for singer Celestina Warbeck—was no exception.

"He has the flu," explained Lily dully; Severus was, traditionally, her Slug Club companion. Donna had only begun to receive invitations in third year, and she was always far more interested in the special guests than Lily was. This evening, Donna had yet to make an appearance—uncharacteristic and shocking, for she typically employed every possible opportunity for "face time" with teachers. Even were it otherwise, Lily was not on fantastic terms with Miss Shacklebolt, leaving her exceptionally glad that Mary, Frank, and Alice had all accepted their invitations.

"Or maybe Snape's attending the Toadies," suggested Mary wryly.

Lily snorted. "Right. That's likely. I'm sure he's palling around with Potter and Black as we speak."

The Marauders—sometimes including, sometimes excluding Remus—fount it amusing to throw an anti-party at the exact same time as Slughorn's get-togethers. They had called it the "Toad Club" when it began in fourth year, but it was since abbreviated simply to "The Toadies." Those invited were primarily the Mundungus Fletchers and Devang Patils of the school: the un-ambitious, mildly disreputable crowd, whose names Slughorn probably didn't know and yet were quite likely to be a bit more fun in a party than the Anitole Gudgeons of Hogwarts, whose Slug Club attendance rate was flawless. As for Lily, she attended the occasional suppers and more formal parties—like tonight—because, quite frankly, she liked Slughorn. Sure, he was a bit full of himself and something of an elitist, but he had shown interest in Lily before anyone else at Hogwarts had. He had fostered her talent in Potions and done everything he could to help her academically; she could not help but be grateful.

"Speaking of the Toadies," Mary continued, adjusting the seam of her magenta dress robes, which she wore to great effect. "I'm thinking of skipping out of here soon myself."

"Please, don't," begged Lily. "I've got to stay until at least nine, and I don't think I can do it by myself. Anyway, won't your date care if you leave early?"

"Who, Gus? Nah, I don't expect so." She shook her long, shiny brown hair carelessly. "You should have brought a date yourself, you know."

"Five days after breaking up with Luke?" Lily replied. "Yeah, that'd be brill."

"Hmm, you might be right. How are you with that, by the way?"

"Fine, I suppose."

Mary didn't looked convinced.

"I'm fine, Mary. Really," Lily promised. "Of course, I could say otherwise if it means you'll stay to keep me company..."

"But—But Frank and Alice are here!"

The two seventh years were, indeed, present, standing across the hall and conversing with an ancient wizard carrying a cane. "They're here to chat up aurors, the kiss-ups," Lily told her. "And I know for a fact they're going to the Toadies before the singing starts."

"Well, I'll stay for a song or two," relented Mary. "But I'd kill for a good old fashioned ale right now, and they're not serving sixteen-year-olds here, so I'm going to the Toadies tonight, and you can't stop me."

"'Wouldn't dream of it, dear. You're a life-saver."

"You know it. Oi—look, Donna's shown up."

Lily looked to where her friend indicated and saw that Mary was right. In dark violet dress, Donna looked really lovely—and older, too—as she spoke with a Ravenclaw boy Lily recognized from Ancient Runes. Well, "spoke" in a loose sense: the Ravenclaw seemed to be doing most of the talking.

"Joy," grumbled the redhead, folding her arms. "Well, at least she hasn't brought anyone with her." Mary caught the Charlie Plex reference and rolled her eyes.

"Ginger, why don't you just talk to her? Yes, I know it's entirely her fault, but she's Donna, and, let's face it, you're practically the only mate she's got."

"If it's entirely her fault, why can't she come talk to me?" Lily wanted to know. "And why are you siding with her?"

"I'm not," Mary insisted. "But if you're not mates with her, who, exactly, is going to reign in that pillar of psycho?"

"You might be right," allowed the prefect.

"I am. She kicked your cat off her bed yesterday."

"She always kicks Ira off her bed," Lily pointed out.

"Yes," allowed Mary, "but yesterday she literally kicked him."

"Poor Ira. Why must Donna take her issues out on innocent creatures?"

"Exactly. Also, if you could ask her if she's the one using my hairbrush, I would appreciate it, because the bristles have gone wonky."

"That's completely unrelated, Mare."

"Talk to her," Mary sang.

"Fine."

But before Lily could fulfill her promise, Professor Slughorn appeared, looking quite pleased with himself. "Lily!" he gushed. "There's someone I would very much like for you to meet."

"Oh," spoke up Mary quickly, "Can it wait ten minutes? There was something Lily was going to d..."

"Mary," bit Lily, rolling her eyes. "That can wait."

"My hairbrush!" Mary replied through gritted teeth. Lily kicked her surreptitiously, then smiled sweetly to the Potions Master. "So sorry, Professor. Of course I'd be happy to meet anyone that you would want to introduce..." But it would be a lie for her to say that some of her agreeableness to the situation was not related to her reluctance to speak with Donna. That changed when Slughorn spoke again.

"Very good, very good. Do you see that witch over there?"

He indicated to a tall, thin woman with spiky black hair and a bizarre hat that Lily supposed was what people called "chic." Nonetheless, there was something about the woman—her thin, darkly painted lips and slim nose, her large violet eyes and formidable expression—that was very familiar. Before Lily could place the name, however, Slughorn continued: "Dorthea Grey..."

Lily stopped dead in her tracks. "That's Dorthea Grey?" she gasped. "The Prophet columnist? She's—she's brilliant!"

"I was aware you thought so," gloated Slughorn. "Yes, she was a student of mine some years ago. A Ravenclaw—top of her year in Arithmancy... received seven O's on her O.W.L.s. She's an old friend of dear Celestina's..."

Lily only half-listened to Slughorn's monologue; she was suddenly very self-conscious of her own appearance. She'd only come to the party as a courtesy to her Potions professor and, as a result, had done nothing special with her hair or makeup. Her dress was short—not an evening formal at all—and she'd worn flats for convenience. And bloody hell, she was going to meet Dorthea Sodding Grey.

"The Portable Room" as the Marauders called it, was the largest of the unused classrooms at Hogwarts. Because the place moved around the castle so often, it was not practical for holding lessons, and it had been exceptionally difficult to charm onto the Marauders' Map. However, since the four wizards had managed to plot the room (wherever it happened to be), it had become a favorite for Marauder parties, such as the infamous Toadie Events. Tonight, the Portable Room happened to be in a tower off the sixth floor, and, complete with magically magnified music, sound concealing charms, firewhiskey and ale in abundance, and about seventy people, the event ought to have been everything James Potter could look for on a Friday evening.

Except, what he was looking for happened to be missing.

"Hey, Prongs!" shouted Sirius, appearing at his best friend's side, with two darkly tinted bottles in hand. He presented one to James and continued: "Meghan McCormack is looking for you."

"Meghan McCormack?" questioned James. "Did we invite her?"

"Who cares? The bird's fit," slurred Sirius, who had evidently had a few. "Sandy blond hair, freckles... preeettty little green eyes. Hufflepuff. Quidditch Player. Need I go on?"

"Yeah, she sounds perfect for you," James replied, smirking.

"Nah, I prefer brunettes."

"Oh, like you care."

Sirius thought about it. "You're right. Really don't. But Sheila Vane is looking mighty, and I mean mighty, nice tonight, so I'm-a-gonna-go work that out."

Sirius departed, presumably to "work that out" with Sheila Vane, and James laughed, as he watched his friend go. He glanced across the room to the tomboyish but pretty witch near the drink table, swaying noncommittally to the music. The girl—Meghan McCormack—smiled invitingly when she noticed James looking at her, and the Gryffindor crossed the chamber towards her.

"Not a bad party for something named after an ugly, warty reptile," teased the Hufflepuff, smiling.

Toads were amphibians, but James didn't correct her.

Instead, he said with a faux-modest shrug. "We do our best. Though, I think there must be something seriously wrong, because you're standing next to a stocked table, and you don't have a drink in your hand." He turned and grabbed a goblet of strawberry colored liquid. "I think they might've put some punch in the vodka for color, but don't worry, there's barely any aftertaste."

Meghan smirked, but shook her head. "I don't drink," she informed him cheerfully.

"Dry?" James pretended to look disappointed. "Damn it. You're not going to laugh at any of my jokes now."

Contrarily, Meghan let out a sweet, tinkling little laugh. "You're just going to have to try harder, I guess." But James had the feeling that this was not the case. Far from it. He glanced across the room and noticed Remus and Peter laughing about something or other amongst themselves, and he realized that—as good as his chances clearly were with Meghan McCormack—he would rather be over there with his mates.

"Well, Meghan," he said as winsomely as possible, "I'm sort of the host of the little Toadie bash, so I should make the rounds. But it was good talking to you—y'know—enjoy the music. Don't do anything I wouldn't..."

Meghan's smile faltered, as she gathered that she was being rejected. "Oh. Okay. Thanks for inviting me."

"'Course, any time."

Setting down the punch concoction on the table, James hastened through the crowd to the two available Marauders.

"Moony, Wormtail," he greeted as he took another swig of his own drink.

"Prongs," replied Peter. "We saw you talking to Meghan McCormack." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Nothing's going to happen there tonight," said James evasively.

"Why not?" Remus wanted to know.

James shrugged. "I dunno," he said honestly, "She's just... not what I'm looking for tonight."

"So, if you had to estimate, how many aurors would you say we buttered up to tonight?" Alice asked, swinging her arms as she strolled down the seventh floor corridor with Frank Longbottom.

He took her free hand—the other carried her strappy black shoes—and replied: "The right side of fifteen, if I had to estimate."

"Sounds about right," agreed the witch. "It sort of makes you wonder who exactly is on duty tonight, if all those aurors could be bothered to come to a reception for Celestina Warbeck."

"Well, now they weren't all active aurors... some of them have since retired into the bureaucracy."

"It's good to know we have that to look forward to," Alice laughed. More seriously she added: "You don't think we'll ever be like that, do you?"

"Like what?"

"Like those stuffy old aurors—out of touch, out of shape... incapable of making eye contact with me because their attention was so focused on my neckline..."

"I was wondering if you noticed that... swear to Merlin, I almost hexed Appius Crouch... slimy old slag."

"Well, it's probably better that you didn't," sighed Alice. "It wouldn't have done either of us any good. In fact, it would have done us both a great deal of harm."

"Even still..."

Alice smiled and then sighed. "I just hate to think that in forty years, I might be spiteful and self-important."

"Ally," scoffed Frank. "You won't be like that in two hundred years. You haven't got a spiteful or self-important bone in your body."

"Oh I know," Alice replied, forcefully light. "It's the major organs I'm worried about. Anyway... I know they're not all like that, the aurors. Alastor Moody's no teenager, and he's brilliant."

"Exactly. It's the one's who take Friday evenings in times like these to relive the glory days at Hogwarts that you have to worry about."

"Right. You're right. I know. I just... I guess I just wish there was another way to fight sometimes..."

He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's not that I'm second-guessing the aurors. I want that—I want that more than anything. But it seems like there ought to be something else to do, too. Apart from the system... Y'know?"

Frank nodded. "'Course, it'll be better still if they just catch Voldemort quickly, before it gets worse."

"And it will get worse, won't it?" asked Alice softly. Frank held her hand a little tighter, but he did not reply. They were both quiet for some time. "Frank, can I ask you something?" she continued presently, pausing in her step and turning to face the wizard beside her.

"Yeah, of course."

Alice toyed with the buckle on her removed shoes. "Why—um—why didn't you ask me to this party? As your—y'know, date, I mean." Frank opened his mouth to reply, but she interrupted: "And don't say it's because you knew Slughorn would invite me anyway, because that's never stopped you before."

"Al... you said it yourself: it's not like before. We're not... I mean, we're only sort of together. I thought you—you might want to keep your options open, that's all."

"Are you trying to use my words against me?" asked Alice suspiciously. Frank shook his head. "Promise?" He nodded. "But going to Slughorn's parties... there's nothing wrong with that."

Frank frowned. "I guess I'm just not sure where the line is."

"And that's fair," allowed Alice, brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I haven't been very clear. That's my fault. But I, um... I enjoy spending time with you. Clearly. And I also... enjoy spending time with you..." She cleared her throat, and Frank smiled; "So... I guess, for me, and... and I don't want you to do anything you're not... comfortable with, but for me, I want to be with you, but I don't... I don't want there to be... restrictive definitions."

"Definitions..." echoed Frank. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Mhm. Okay."

"Promise?"

He nodded.

Alice suddenly smiled, taking a meaningful step closer and fiddling with the collar of the wizard's robes. "So—Frank," she continued; "Want to go, uh, spend some time together upstairs?"

Frank chuckled. "I think I could be persuaded..."

Laughing, Alice led the way to the portrait of the Fat Lady, but paused before she could give the password. She turned to her companion and asked earnestly: "You are happy, right, Frank?"

Frank did not answer at once. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. When he drew back, he said: "Almost completely." Then, to the Fat Lady, he added: "Hellebore," and the portrait swung open.

"Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?

It's left me for a spell..."

Celestina Warbeck, a very pretty black woman in sparkly gold robes, crooned her latest single to a mostly attentive crowd in Slughorn's chambers, while Lily, doing her very best to shrug off the disappointments of the evening, moved through said crowd, until, at last, she reached her destination: a distant corner occupied by Donna Shacklebolt.

"Hi," the redhead began in an awkward undertone.

Donna seemed taken aback by this new development—the arrival of Lily—and it showed in her voice. "Hi..."

There was an awkward silence, and to fill it, Lily joked: "Mary wants me to make sure you're not the one using her hairbrush." Donna didn't really smile, so the redhead cleared her throat and resumed seriously: "Listen... We should talk." It occurred to her that she had begun her break-up with Luke with nearly identical words. "About the other day..." No response... "I—I said some things that I didn't mean... um... and I'm sorry."

"Okay."

Lily waited for something else, but nothing came. "Donna..." she sighed.

"What?" Donna demanded more loudly, so that a few wizards nearby glared in their direction. Quieter, she went on: "I know what you're doing, Lily. You're apologizing and hoping everything is just going to blow over, even though you don't think you were in the wrong."

"Well... was I?" asked Lily impatiently. "I don't remember doing anything particularly offensive to warrant that kind of... attack, for lack of a better word. Did I strangle your owl in my sleep or something? Merlin..."

Donna rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "No, Lily, you didn't do anything wrong. I lashed out, and you happened to be there. Are you happy now?"

"No, I'm not. Don, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing!" replied the other in an impassioned whisper. "I don't want anything from you, for Agrippa's sake, okay?"

"Where have you gone?

You've left me for a spell..."

"Well, you're kind of driving everyone mad the way you are right now," muttered Lily, "so whatever this is really about, you'd better just come out and say it now. C'mon, Donna, what's wrong? Is it sodding Charlie Plex, because I don't care about that! I'm not your mum; I don't tell you what to do. And if you feel like I do, then tell me. Talk to me! We're mates, aren't we?" Donna was silent, and Lily realized that though she had thought it a rhetorical question, she was actually expecting an answer. "Aren't we?"

"Well are we?" retorted Donna. "I mean, why did we even ever become friends? Can you remember?"

Lily could not honestly say that she did just then. It had simply happened... "I dunno. We just became friends... sometime in second year. But what's that got to do with anything?"

"Lily, face it, we have nothing in common," said Donna sullenly.

"Don, we don't have to be identical twins to be mates..."

"I'm not talking about identical twins. Lily, we have nothing in common except a dormitory. You're cheerful and optimistic, and everyone likes you, and I—I don't have anything to do with that. And if we hadn't been sorted to the same house, we wouldn't be friends now. Don't deny it, Lily, you can't honestly say we would be."

"I don't know, but I don't see what difference that makes. We have fun together. That's what's important. We enjoy each other's company, don't we? Donna."

"I just don't see the point," evaded Donna, eyes trained on Celestina Warbeck and not Lily. "Next year we'll finish Hogwarts, go out separate ways, and, honestly, probably never see each other again."

"Oh, stop it, Donna," ordered the other. "I know what you're doing, too, y'know. You always do this... something upsets you, and you deal with it by pushing people out of your life. But you can't do that to me—we live in the same dormitory, for God's sake."

"There! You even admit it. The reason we're friends is because we share a dorm!"

"Donna, you're being stupid. That's not what I said at all, and can you please just tell me what's really bothering you?"

An elderly wizard in avocado green robes turned to glare at the pair. "Really, girls," he muttered. "It's quite rude."

Donna opened her mouth to utter a surly apology, but before she could, Lily grabbed the sleeve of her violet robes and dragged her out of the hall, to the empty corridor outside. There, Lily folded her arms and crossly awaited an explanation. Donna rolled her eyes.

"Did it ever occur to you, Lily, that maybe I just don't want to talk about it to you? And no, I don't mean that I secretly do want to talk about it but I'm scared, and I don't mean that I just don't know how to say it: I mean that I just do not want to talk about it with you."

"Well why not?"

"Because I hate confiding things in you, when you give nothing back."

Lily stared.

"Wait—what?"

"You think I'm cold," said Donna, now determined to get this all out, "but you're so bloody emotionless sometimes."

Lily could have flat out laughed at the irony of that. "Me? Are you joking?"

"Well what exactly do you show people, Lily?" Donna continued defiantly. "You're either happy and nice, or you're angry. But you broke up with your boyfriend a week ago, and have you even cried once? And why did you do it? Because not one of your supposed best friends had any idea that you were planning on it or that you were having problems! Were you? Or did you just not fancy him anymore? Either way, two months after his dad died, you just up and decided to call it quits! And when your dad died..."

"Donna."

But she ignored the warning and pressed loudly on: "...All you ever said was 'I'm fine.' Like he was just gone, and you weren't going to get hung up on it!"

Not thinking, Lily raised her arm and smacked the other witch square across the face. But neither the resounding, satisfying smack sound nor Donna's evident discomfort as she grudgingly rubbed the side of her face did anything to quell Lily's anger. She didn't care what was really bothering Donna anymore, what the subtext was, or why this whole stupid thing had started. She didn't care about any of it; there were certain things that no one—friend or otherwise—was allowed to say, and that was one of them.

"You're completely heartless, Donna Shacklebolt. Don't talk to me."

Without turning back once, Lily walked briskly down the corridor, disappearing onto the staircase. When Donna returned to the dormitory later that night, Lily was already safely in her own bed, wrapped in her blankets, pretending to sleep.

(All I Really Want to Do)

Wednesday, April 28th, 1976

Well, I got my copy of Hogwarts, a History back.

-Lily

"And can anyone tell me who it was that first organized a working theory about the connection between corporeal Patronus forms and the caster's character?"

In response to Professor Black's questions, a dozen enthusiastic hands shot up. He hesitated, pacing across the front of the classroom, and then called on Marlene.

"Titus Tigris!" she said very quickly. Black grinned and nodded, pulling a foil-wrapped chocolate from his pocket and tossing it to the blond, who jumped to her feet to catch the sweet.

"And, Miss Price, can you tell me where Titus got his nickname?"

"Um..." Marlene frowned. "From his Patronus?"

"Excellent." Black threw another chocolate in her direction, and Marlene caught that one as well. "Alright, who—let's see—who can tell me what other Patronus discovery our friend Titus is famous for... Miss Mumps?"

"Er..." began Shelley, "didn't he figure out that Patronus forms could change over time?"

"Very good, very good." He tossed her a red-foiled chocolate. "And—does anyone know what year that theory was published...? No one? Alright, give me a century... Mr. Atwater."

"Fourteenth?"

A chocolate sped through the air towards the Ravenclaw sixth year. "Does this have nuts?"

"No."

"Do you have any that do?"

"Oh, sit down, Atwater," said Black, causing the rest of the class to laugh. He pulled out another chocolate from his pocket, a little blue packaged one, and said: "Last question—okay. Um, let's think, got to get a good one. Oi, I know. Who can tell me what the Patronus is used for besides a protective agent?"

Lily's was one of five hands that rose—James's, Remus's, Sirius's, and a Ravenclaw girl's being the others—but as Lily already had three chocolates lined up on her desk, and James, Remus, and the Ravenclaw had a few as well, she was not surprised when Black nodded at Sirius.

"They work as a messenger, too," said Sirius, who was leaning casually back in his desk. "They're a form of communication."

But Black did not throw the sweet to his nephew right away. "And what's the difference between casting a messenger Patronus and a defensive Patronus?"

Sirius smirked, as if to say 'easy.' "A messenger Patronus is cast non-verbally."

"Alright. And who...?"

"Crispin Hobday, 1734."

Professor Black smirked, too. "Alright, smart-aleck." He threw Sirius his chocolate, which the Marauder caught with relish. Then the bell rang, and the teacher had to call over the din of the rush: "Get started on those Patronus essays due Monday! Don't disregard it! It will help you on your final..."

As she exited the classroom with Mary and Marlene, Lily noticed Donna move hastily ahead. Sighing irritably, Lily popped one of her chocolate treats in her mouth and started towards Potions. She was rounding a corner when she nearly collided with someone... someone who turned out to be Luke Harper.

Lily flushed a little, muttering an apology and calculating how many seconds it would take her to reach the staircase, when Luke said: "Hey, Lily. I was actually on my way to see you. Er—could I have a moment?" He looked meaningfully at Marlene and Mary, who, in turn, looked at Lily. She nodded.

"Go on, I'll meet you there."

Further examination of her ex-boyfriend indicated that Luke at least appeared fine. He was a little pale, but otherwise, no complaint could be made about his ever-infallible good-looks.

"So—uh—how are you?" Lily asked, once they were relatively alone.

"I suppose I have been better before," replied Luke. "But don't worry, I'm not about to do anything awkward."

"Oh, I wasn't worried," she lied quickly.

Luke nodded and reached into his school bag, pulling out a brown leather-bound book. "I was actually just returning this. It's yours, I believe."

Lily took the book and recognized it as one that she had leant to the Ravenclaw weeks and weeks ago. "Oh," she said, surprised. "Thank-you. I completely forgot. Thank-you."

"Not at all. I'm just sorry I took so long returning it." He sighed. "Well, I should probably... I have Transfiguration in a few minutes, so..."

"Yeah, of course. Am I in your way? Sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. It's fine, really." One clumsy little dance later, both witch and wizard were in a position to get where they needed to go. "Goodbye, then."

And as quickly as he had appeared, Luke was gone again, leaving Lily in the crowded corridor, clutching her book and potentially late for Potions.

Remembering this, Lily shook off her surprise at having been thus accosted and turned, hastening towards the Potions department. She reached the classroom just before the bell sounded and slipped into the vacant seat beside Marlene (Mary had taken a spot with a Hufflepuff).

"What did Luke want?" asked the blond curiously.

"Nothing—he was just returning a book." Lily indicated to the volume in question, which she now realized she was still clasping rather tightly. She slid it into her book bag and cleared her throat, hoping that Marlene would not continue the interrogation. She had no such luck.

"Sort of an odd time and place for that, don't you think?"

Lily merely shrugged. "I guess so."

"Did he look okay? Happy, healthy, all that?"

"Um... yeah. Sound as a pound."

Marlene watched her friend carefully. "Are you okay, Lily?"

For what felt like the millionth time, Lily sighed and said: "I'm fine."

"But..."

"Really. Completely. Totally. Fine. Breaking up with Luke was the right decision, and I am fine. I don't know why everyone keeps assuming that I'm not, because I am. Fine." Marlene opened her mouth to reply, but, fortunately, Professor Slughorn arrived at that moment, and she was compelled to let it drop.

(Forever Young)

Friday, April 30th, 1976

Dear Notebook,

Newspaper article declared a manhunt for Logan Harper and half a dozen others.

Bloody Donna.

Be over, month.

-Lily

"Would you look at that..." muttered Sirius, eying the front page of The Daily Prophet over breakfast Thursday morning. He slid the paper to James, who removed his concentration from his apple tart and bacon long enough to read the headline his best friend specified.

"Warrant for Arrest of Six Alleged Death Eaters."

"Apparently the Ministry had someone under cover with the death eaters," said Sirius. "They didn't say who, but the person gathered proof on some others. They arrested three, but the other three are on the run. Read the list."

And there, second, was a very familiar name.

James looked down the table in search of Lily Evans, but her eyes were already scanning Ravenclaw table, presumably for her ex-boyfriend. James followed her stare, finally locating Luke Harper sitting amongst his friends and eating his breakfast in silence. He did not seem happy, but he seemed no more distressed than he had the day before, or the day before that, or before that... No, his mildly somber mood must be due to the lack of Lily in his life. He couldn't have read the paper yet...

The Quidditch Captain looked back at Lily, who appeared to have reached the same conclusion. She set down the paper—her lips pulled into a doleful grimace—and continued with her own breakfast of wheat-toast and jam.

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I said shut up."

Grabbing a fistful of Charlie Plex's robes, Donna pulled him after her into the unused classroom on the first floor. She closed the door with his body, then pressed her lips violently against his. After a second, he reciprocated, his hands snaking around her waist and lower. She made to un-tuck his shirt.

"Wait—I've—we've got Charms..."

Donna stopped kissing long enough to meet his eye, her expression dry. "So you're telling me you'd rather go stare at Professor Flitwick then stay here with me?" she asked, confident of the answer. And Charlie did not disappoint.

He smirked and replied: "Whatever you say."

"That's right."

She slipped her arms underneath his robes, pushing them off Charlie's shoulders and in the process pressing herself closer against him. Her mouth moved to his neck. The Ravenclaw let out a low moan, and Donna smirked with satisfaction against the skin of his jaw.

Right there, right then, she was in control.

Right.

In control.

"Er... Professor?"

Professor Black turned to see his nephew entering the otherwise empty Defense classroom. "'Evening, Sirius."

The younger wizard nodded in response. "I've had a letter from Andromeda," he continued. "She wanted me to give you part of it—just some updates on her daughter."

"Ah, Nymphadora," said Black, nodding and taking the parchment from Sirius's hands. "Thank you."

"'Course."

Black glanced at the page given to him. "She's a good witch, your cousin is." Sirius, confused, was about to agree, when his uncle unexpectedly continued: "She made the difficult choice, you know."

"Um... Yeah, I know," said Sirius, taken aback by the sudden, somber turn in the conversation.

Black sat down at his desk, thoughtfully turning the letter over in his hands but not reading it just yet. "She gave up her name and her family... just like you did," he continued in a strange, far away voice. "I don't—I don't think she realizes how brave that was. I never could do that."

"It was different for you," Sirius consoled. "Andromeda... she had Ted, and..."

"It wasn't any different," Black interrupted. "I had someone once, a long time ago... Wally, my parents—everyone objected, of course. I had to make a choice, and I chose the family. I made the other decision—the wrong decision."

Sirius approached his uncle's desk. "But you're not like them," he insisted. "You're not. You never have been."

"No, but that isn't an excuse." He smiled bitterly. "In fact, it might make it worse. All these years, everything I've seen, everything I've lived through, and I was never bold enough to do what you and your cousin could do before you were eighteen. I don't have children—the only way I live on is through a faded name on a tapestry. I'll be dead soon, and..."

"Please don't say that," interrupted Sirius. "It's bad enough without your talking about it."

Black sighed. "Of course, you're right. I should not have bothered you with this. I'm very sorry."

"You're not like them. You couldn't be," said Sirius firmly. Black merely smiled and nodded. "You didn't give up the Black 'legacy,' but you're not a part of that, either. And if you had given it up, I'd probably never have known you. And don't talk about dying like that—things happen. Healers are wrong all the time, and people come up with new potions, and..."

"Sirius..."

"You can't talk about it like it's a sure thing! Nothing's certain... not completely."

"I don't want you to have false hope..."

"It's not false hope. I'm being reasonable, here. You don't know what's going to happen. It's possible that you won't die... it's possible for something to happen, and... I'm not saying it's definite, but you can't just be resigned to it."

"I am resigned," said Black quietly. "But I'm not ready. Even now—even about this, I'm a coward."

"You're not. Just because you don't want to give up, that doesn't make you a coward."

"I think you might have more faith in me than I deserve." Black sighed. "Come along, let's not discuss these things."

"But..."

"No, Sirius." And there was a gravity in his quiet voice that obliged Sirius to comply. "Now," Black went on, more his cheerful self, "have you had your supper yet?"

"No..."

"Well, then, come along." The professor picked up his briefcase and passed his nephew on the way to the door. "You can walk with me—tell me all of Meda's news..."

Sirius hesitated, and then forced his face into a more lively expression. "Of course," he said, still a little stiffly, and then followed his uncle out into the corridor.

Lily's slight figure faced the wall opposite the door through which James had just entered, and even though he could not see her face, it was perfectly clear that she was furious. The redhead tore through a sheaf of parchment as though it were guilty of murdering a loved one, selected the sheet required, and viciously jammed the others into a space on the ceiling-high slotted shelf, knocking over a corked ink bottle in the process.

She paused, looking around the table in search of something.

"Need a quill?" asked James, causing Lily to jump. She shot a look over her shoulder at the newcomer, and then repositioned herself angled slightly towards him.

"No," she insisted stubbornly, before continuing her search of the desk.

James had not spent much time in the Head Student Offices, except when coming to collect Remus from a prefect meeting or else stealing something. As a result, he didn't think he had actually been to this room more than four or five times over the last nearly six years. It was long and rectangular, like the staff room except considerably smaller. The narrow table that ran along the wall opposite him supported the slotted shelf and was half covered in stacks of parchment, jars of ink, cups which ought to have contained quills, and books with titles like The Prefect's Guide to Hogwarts or The Complete Anthology of Hogwarts Rules. James also thought he spotted Filch's less artfully bound volume of "Banned Items" (roughly two thirds of which could be found in James's trunk alone). Besides the desk, there was a table, long enough to seat a few dozen people—probably for prefect meetings. The walls were "decorated" with a calendar, a clock, a portrait or two, and schedules for various things. In the corner farthest from James was a green pin-striped sofa.

The Quidditch Captain took all of this in, while Lily continued her search for a quill, which she at last found buried behind The Benevolent Authoritarian: a Guide to Gaining Respect and Control. Thrusting the quill into the ink bottle with undue force, ink splattered through the air as her hand flew across the page.

"Is something wrong, Evans?" asked James. He leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets.

"What do you want?" Lily replied curtly. James frowned.

"Um… to play Chaser for the National Team."

Lily cast an irritable sidelong glance at him. "I mean," she elaborated, continuing to write on the parchment, "can I help you?"

"Um... not unless you know someone with connections to the National Team..."

"Potter..."

"What are you even doing here, Evans?" James interrupted. "It's eleven o'clock at night. Curfew, you know."

"I'm filling out a point deduction documentation form," said Lily; "Some Ravenclaws were dueling this afternoon."

"And that couldn't wait until morning?"

"I couldn't sleep, and what exactly are you doing here?

"I was on my way back to the Common Room and I saw you on the map. It's always a matter of curiosity for me when a prefect is out of bed after hours."

"I should deduct points," Lily reminded him. "So maybe you should leave." She returned her undivided attention to the task at hand. James ignored her and walked into the room.

"Is there a reason you're so cheerful this evening?"

"Is there a reason you're still here?" James raised his eyebrows, and Lily sighed. "I'm being a bitch, aren't I?"

James nodded. "Pretty much."

Lily set down the quill and pushed the paper to the side. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "I've had a bad day. No, I've had a bad week... scratch that, bad month."

"I take it you read the newspaper article about Logan Harper," said James, knowing the answer, and Lily nodded.

"I spoke with one of Luke's friends a lunch... Luke didn't show up at all. I can't believe I broke up with him—I'm such a bitch." Lily pushed herself up to sit on top of the table. James walked over and leaned against it.

"C'mon, you don't really think that," he coaxed. "If you were with Luke right now, how would you make it better?"

Lily thought about it. "I wouldn't," she said after a while. "Actually, I'd probably make it worse. Luke's probably sitting up with his mates, denying that his brother's guilty of anything... I don't think I could handle that."

"Well, there you go."

"Of course, it's stupid," allowed the witch. "I know I made the right choice. Breaking up with Luke was the right choice. It was the right thing to do."

"So would you say it was the right choice?" Lily glared. James grinned. "Aw, c'mon, Snaps, lighten up."

"It's just... everyone keeps asking me if I'm alright, and I'm just trying to convince them that I'm fine, but no one seems to believe me. But I am. I'm fine. I'm okay. Really."

"Really?" asked the other skeptically.

"Yes! Really. Why does no one believe me?"

"Well... maybe they're right."

"But they're not."

"But maybe they are.

"But they're not."

"But maybe they are."

"But they're not."

"But..."

"Potter."

James shrugged. "Fine. They're wrong. You're completely fine."

"Convincing," deadpanned Lily.

"All I'm saying is it wouldn't be wrong for you to feel... upset."

"I broke up with him. I'm not allowed to be upset."

"You're always allowed to be upset about break-ups. That's why they call them 'break ups' instead of... I dunno—a peaceful divergence of paths."

"A peaceful divergence of paths?"

"Copyright pending."

Lily laughed, and then they were both quiet for some time, as he watched her fingers fidget aimlessly with the feather quill, turning it over and around, twirling it between her index finger and thumb...

James shook himself and resumed with: "So is that what's keeping you up, filling out point deduction documentation forms at eleven p.m.? The Wizard Formerly Known as 'Prince Charming?'"

"It's part of it," Lily sighed. She didn't elaborate for nearly a minute, and then went on: "I met Dorthea Grey."

"Who? Oh—the Prophet columnist?"

Lily nodded. "At Slughorn's last Friday."

"O—kay..."

"Professor Slughorn knew I was a fan, and she used to do foreign correspondent work, which is one of the things I'm interested in, so... he introduced me."

James waited for a point.

"And she was very helpful, and very polite, and she didn't seem at all annoyed with having to talk to a seventeen-year-old..."

"So what's the problem? Clearly, there was a problem..."

Lily frowned at her hands, which were now folded in her lap. "She was so... cynical. I mean, I've agreed with practically everything that woman's written for the last four years, and she—she just admitted, straight out, that it was all about saying things nobody else had said... because by shocking people, you sell subscriptions."

James blinked. "Oh."

"...She said writing for The Prophet was all about making people uncomfortable with the world, but keeping them comfortable with themselves. The way she said it, it was so... so damn poetic, I could've cried. It's like finding out unicorns don't exist..."

"Unicorns do exist..."

"Not for muggles," said Lily glumly. "I always thought she was so brilliant, because she brought perspective to stories that other people ignored. She wasn't afraid to talk about the dark things; she always told the truth, I thought. Now it turns out she wasn't telling the truth, she was... exploiting it." She snorted bitterly. "I've wanted to be her since I was thirteen-years-old."

"Well," said James, "You were never going to be Dorthea Grey."

Lily scowled. "Gee, thanks."

"You don't write like she does," he continued. "I've heard the essays you read in class... you use better words. Nicer words, y'know? Dorthea Grey—she writes like a bloke... curt, direct. It's not bad or good or anything... but very different." He said it so matter-of-factly, that Lily stared at him for a good minute in wonder.

"You're being nice again," she accused at length. "Consistency, Potter."

James grinned. "What can I say? You bring out the worst in me." Lily smiled weakly. A brief silence, then: "Y'know—Bevin Birch cheats on his wife."

"Who's Bevin Birch?"

"Head Chaser for Puddlemore United," James explained. "He's married to the replacement Seeker of the Hollyhead Harpies. When I was fourteen, my dad took me back to meet some players after a match, so I could get my quaffle signed. And there was Bevin Birch, snogging some blond witch that wasn't the replacement Seeker for the Hollyhead Harpies." Lily still looked a little confused. "Puddlemore United is my favorite team. Bevin Birch plays the same position as I do..."

"So he was your hero," Lily concluded. "But then you found out he was an arse."

James shook his head. "He still is my Quidditch hero. He's a brilliant chaser; why shouldn't he be? He's not a personal hero, or a marital hero, but the fact that he's a git behind the scenes doesn't change the thing that I admired about him in the first place, does it?"

Lily shrugged. "It does for me."

James watched her carefully. "Yeah..." She was right, too. "Listen, Snaps, I heard—I heard you and Shack had a row..." Lily didn't confirm it, but she didn't deny it either. "Do you think she'll come around?"

Lily shook her head. "She said I wasn't sad about my dad dying." James's eyes grew wide. "Yeah, there's no real coming back from that, is there?"

"No, I guess not. I'm sorry."

"I don't want to talk about it," Lily said decidedly. She picked up the quill once more and began, again, to twirl it between her fingers.

James remembered something. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, the Marauder withdrew a wrapped up cloth napkin, which he unfolded to reveal three cookies.

"Shortbread?" he offered. "Courtesy of Libby the house elf. She loves me." Lily eyed the shortbread suspiciously and then took a slab; still, she waited until James had taken a bite before she followed suit. "What? Did you think I was going to poison you?" he asked, laughing,

Lily, chewing on the cookie, shrugged. "Every teenage witch knows two universal rules: never except drinks from strange men at parties, unless you've seen the bottle it came from, and never except food from a Marauder unless he's tasted it too." She smirked. "Copyright pending."

"Touché."

She took a second bite of the cookie. "Speaking of parties, how was your Slug Club knock off?"

James scoffed. "The Toadies are not a Slug Club knock off. They're a... parody."

"Well, you ought to have named them better. Slugs and toads aren't related—toads are amphibians. Slugs are mollusks. Didn't you pay attention in Care of Magical Creatures?"

The Marauder couldn't help but grin, because—of course—she was right. "Pay attention to the lecture with all those fanged animals about? Why would I?"

They ate the rest of the cookies in relative silence. When only the smallest corner of her shortbread remained, Lily spoke up again. "You never did say what exactly you were doing the other night. Out in the courtyard..."

James hesitated. "I was going out for a cig."

"Oh. But I thought you..."

"I did," he said, wishing he didn't feel this annoying compulsion to set the record straight: "I didn't smoke it. But I was going to. But I didn't. Honestly."

"Okay." She considered her cookie. "Why not?"

"I—um—I dunno. Just changed my mind... didn't want to break a three month streak, I suppose."

Lily nodded. "Well, good for you. Too bad you couldn't kick the shortbread habit, yeah?"

"One step at a time there, Evans."

The witch smiled and finished her cookie. "Y'know," she said, "you can sit down if you like." For James still stood, leaning against the desk.

"Actually..." (He noted the time on the clock) "I should probably be getting back to the Common Room. I was supposed to... well... it's better if you didn't know. Plausible deniability, y'know..."

"Right." Lily nodded briskly. "Of course."

James did not move away at once, however. "Are you coming?" he asked.

The witch considered it, and then shook her head. "I don't think so. I should finish up here—point deduction documentation, y'know..."

"I'm pretty sure the points will be just as deductable tomorrow," James replied. "C'mon."

But Lily shook her head. "I'll be along soon. You go on." She slid down from the desk and turned once more to the parchment and quill she had neglected.

"Fine." More disappointed then he let on, James's hands found his pockets and he started for the door. He paused there, though, and turned back. "Listen, Evans..."

"Mhm?" She looked over her shoulder at the Marauder.

"I'm sorry that—people let you down... but they do that, y'know."

Lily chewed her lip. She didn't look too upset anymore. "Yeah, they do," she agreed. "But sometimes they surprise you for the better, too."

"Right, but how often does that happen?" asked James dryly. Lily smiled enigmatically, shrugging and returning to her prefect project.

"I dunno," she said, as much to the form in front of her as the Marauder behind her. "But it's happened to me twice in the last two weeks."

And that was the part of the conversation that James's brain replayed over and over again, far longer than he would ever have admitted to anyone, even Sirius.

Lily woke with a start. Stiff from over an hour of sleep on the window seat, she glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost midnight. She must have dozed off while rereading her notebook... It was almost May, and this cursed April was almost over.

She couldn't believe she'd cried in front of James Potter.

She couldn't believe she wasn't with Luke anymore.

She couldn't believe that Donna... no, she didn't want to think about that.

Glaring at Donna's bed, Lily closed the notebook and levitated it, with her quill and ink, to the desk. She glanced once more out the window at the vast, star-studded sky, and then rotated her feet around so that they touched the cold, wooden dormitory floor. April was almost over. As far as her notebook went, she could try again next month.

Moving as quietly as possible, Lily tiptoed to her bed and climbed in, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She had meant what she said to James... people did surprise her for the better sometimes; but she thought he was right, too. People were let-downs. She thought of Dorthea Grey, and Donna, and then she thought of Petunia and of Sev. Then, as her eyes grew heavy, she thought of Luke, and every insistent "I'm fine," she had declared that day, every time she'd thought of him but said nothing, every still raw emotion she had so masterfully concealed bled through, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks—just as they had consistently done for the last eleven nights.

But it was alright.

She could always stop crying tomorrow.

In the earliest hours of the first day of May, before dawn, and when the sky was still very dark, a cold wind whipped through the few green leaves beginning to sprout on Whomping Willow. The jade grasses of the Hogwarts lawn submitted to the breeze with a rushing sound, and Fang—Hagrid the groundskeeper's boarhound puppy—let out a pitiful whine.

Save for the wandering Filch and Mrs. Norris, the Hogwarts corridors were quiet and still, and at this time, before light broke, Alphard Black breathed his last and went peacefully to death.

A/N: I am super nervous about this chapter for some reason. Please leave feedback... I'm honestly just not sure about it.

Love to the beautiful and anonymous reviewers: hpfan, Jay, a fan, thatchesirecat, Gemz, Jennifer, Amarilla Grey, Underbabe (haha, Rachel from Glee! Did not think of that! And it's way cool that you picked up on that line about the dangerous job, because it is of significance, but no, it's not Sirius's uncle), popcorn, LastToFirst, 2Lazy2Login, marauderxforever, SelenaLupin, and LEJP (thank you so much!).

I am so sorry it took me this long to update! I will endeavor to do better for Chapter 20, as of now entitled "Moments" (as opposed to Chapter 6's "Conversations").

So, in the next update, canon!things abound (that is to say, things explicitly mentioned as transpiring in HP canon are referenced/occur). Mulciber takes a page out of Snape's book, Sirius fulfills one of his Chapter 13 prophecies for 1976, Snape fulfills the other half of his, Mary has some emotional stuff, and Lathe's back again, but in a new capacity. Luke's got a busy schedule, too.

Reviews are Spring Break!

Love and cookies,

Jewels