The Life and Times

by Jewels5

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

32. Life in the Shelley Boat

A/N: Chapter 32 at your service!

Disclaimer: Copyright Jo Ro.

Before: Shelley Mumps has a crush on James, who's dating her ex-best friend Carlotta, and Shelley is determined to "ruin" Carlotta as a result. Puppies suffered. Lily has also realized that she likes James, and she tells Sirius, Remus, and Peter about it, but swears them to secrecy. Remus patrols with a Ravenclaw girl named Clancy Goshawk, and he starts to like her maybe a little bit sort of... but she's got a boyfriend named Charlie Plex, who used to hook up with Donna even though he was dating another girl, Cassidy Gamp, at the time. Sam Dearborn is James's cousin and a member of an organization called "M.F.P." ("Magic For Peace") along with Adam McKinnon's sister, Sarah. Sam met Lily at the Ministry protest of Egbert Dearborn back in August, and they got a long well. Adam McKinnon is dating a girl named Prudence (Bloody) Daly, which made Marlene realize that she likes Adam, but she sorta missed the boat on that one. Sirius's uncle Alphard was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher the year before, but then he died and Sirius took that one pretty hard. The new DADA teacher is Professor Ramsay, and there's this strange little girl that sits at the Staff table next to him.

Chapter 32- Life in the Shelley Boat

Or

"Expecting to Fly"

It was the third week of school: a deceptively average Friday afternoon, and Donna Shacklebolt was on her way to Charms class. She'd departed luncheon early, before any of the desserts showed up, because Quidditch practices would be starting soon, and she really ought to cut back.

Cheerful enough, Donna walked along the second floor corridor in the direction of the Charms department. The hallways were always the best kind of empty at hours like this—mealtimes—and Donna could stroll without fear of bumping into anyone, her mind occupied by pleasant things like Ancient Runes translations and the biography of Cornelius Agrippa that Lily had lent to her.

She was just debating which—the translations or the biography—she would pursue first after supper, when the unfortunate witch rounded a corner.

What she saw, about twenty feet away, made Donna think she might lose her lunch.

---

"You know, Snaps, I understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why it's so difficult for you."

"Why what is so difficult for me?"

"Um... bowing down and admitting that this is the best fucking idea you've ever heard?"

"Ha. Please. Of course, it's not your worst idea ever..."

"Oh, very funny."

"Stop trying to distract me."

"How dare you? I would never..."

"Shut up; I'm on to you."

"Nervous, Evans?"

"Nope."

"You are, I can tell."

"Why would I be nervous about a rookie like you?"

"I'm doing really well this round..."

"You've got nothing."

"You're not even looking."

"You're not getting the title, Potter."

"Don't be so sure of yourself."

"I mean you're coming along pretty well for a beginner..."

"Condescending, but thanks."

"...But you'll need a lot more than a week's training to beat me."

"If you say so, but I'm pretty sure I..."

"NERTS!"

"Damn it."

Lily punched the air, giggling madly at her victory, while James dropped his last unused playing card onto the stone floor between them. He leaned back against the couch behind him, folding his arms and trying to appear cross, though this effort was somewhat thwarted by the fact that the seated victory dance Lily currently acted out amused him to no end.

They sat, cross-legged, on the floor of the Head Student Office, with two decks of cards spread out in front of them, the remains of a now finished round of the game that Lily called "Nerts."

It was the third week of September, a Friday night, and nearing the end of Lily and James's patrol shift.

"Okay, rematch," said James, leaning forward again, as Lily finally finished her gloating.

"Wait—check the map..." She nodded towards the Marauders' Map, which lay flat on the floor below James's elbow. He complied, picking it up and lazily scanning the illustrated incarnation of the castle.

"No movement," the Head Boy reported, but Lily held out her hand anyway. He rolled his eyes and handed over the map. "You think I'm lying?"

"No," she replied, "I just want to be thorough, since we're already slacking off..."

"We're not slacking off," said James, rolling his eyes. "We're efficiently using our resources. Actually, this is better, because we can look at the entire castle all at once. Regular patrols are too easy to evade. And I would know."

Lily snorted. "I suppose you are uniquely qualified in that sense." She handed the map back to her partner. "You're right. All clear."

James, however, was frowning as he took the map back and set it on the floor beside him. "What do you mean by that?" he asked curiously. Lily had already begun to tidy up the cards again, and she raised an eyebrow at his question.

"I meant... the corridors were clear...?"

"No, the other part. Uniquely qualified. What did you mean by that?"

He was watching her intently.

"Er... I don't know. You have the map, don't you? And I doubt anyone knows as much about the castle as you and your friends."

"Oh." James's gaze dropped. "Right."

He was quiet.

"What?" asked Lily. "I don't get it. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied briskly. "Nothing. Just curious." He began to gather up the cards again. "Rematch?"

The "patrol," such as it was, ended about ten minutes later, with Lily still proclaimed champion of Nerts and James ardently disputing the title in light of the last game, which had been extremely close.

"Give it a rest, Potter," she said, as they made their way back towards the Common Room. She tucked her two decks of muggle playing cards into her messenger bag and sent the Head Boy a teasing smile. "I suppose, some day in the distant future, there's a chance that you might have some chance of beating me, but at this point, the best you can hope for is second place."

"There are only two players."

"Mhm, but 'second place' sounds so much nicer than 'last.'"

"You're hilarious, Evans."

"And you're just jealous. Pumpkin Pasties."

The last was the Tower password, which triggered the opening of the Fat Lady's portrait as usual and admitted the Head Students into their busy Common Room. Sirius Black at once waved to them from the spot in front of the fire, where he had made himself the center of attention somehow, though Lily couldn't guess the specifics at once. Remus and Peter weren't far away, of course, and a dozen or so avid onlookers—including Shelley Mumps—had gathered around him.

"Alright, Evans?" called Sirius, as Lily, shaking her head, rolled her eyes.

"Better sober up or I'll dock points, Black!" the Head Girl retorted, and Sirius pretended to look appalled.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what you mean! Anyway, there's no way you could've guessed that quickly!"

Meanwhile, Carlotta—who had been at the other end of the Common Room—hastily made her way to her boyfriend, kissing him on the lips and looping her arms around his middle.

"Hello, Lily," she greeted cordially enough.

"Hullo."

"Have a good patrol?" the brunette added to her boyfriend.

"As far as patrols go, sure."

Lily took that as her cue. She waved to Marlene and Mary and started towards the dormitory staircase, almost reaching it before James's voice called her surname.

"Hmm?"

"Don't forget to check your pockets, yeah?"

Lily frowned. "What?"

But he only grinned enigmatically and led Carlotta towards the other Marauders by the fire. Lily turned and ascended the stair, digging into the pockets of her school robes.

A familiar vinyl feeling substance brushed against her fingertips just as she reached the landing between the two dorm flights. She knew at once what it must be, and did not withdraw it until she had disappeared from Common Room visibility.

A playing card.

Jack of Diamonds.

Lily reached the door to her room and sighed heavily.

Fancying Potter was extraordinarily annoying.

Her stomach didn't do somersaults when she saw him, and she didn't always blush, either. It was much, much worse than that.

She felt just always felt strange—jittery and with this weird, tingly feeling in the back of her neck. And seeing him with Carlotta was just cruel, what it did to her nerves. She grew hot all over and loathed everything: her freckles, Carlotta's perfect hair, people who smiled...

At random moments, she found herself thinking about the next time she would see him, or else replaying in her head bits of meaningless conversation they'd shared earlier.

Extraordinarily annoying.

And dangerous.

Especially these patrols. This was her third time patrolling with him, and Lily was always left feeling guilty.

He had a girlfriend.

Couldn't she just… just... forget that she fancied him? Then, spending time with him wouldn't make her feel like—well, honestly, like the Carlotta to James's Frank Longbottom.

Or—and maybe this was worse—like Shelley.

Damn it all.

Perhaps she'd better steer clear of James Potter for a few days.

(Laces)

"I don't see why it should bother you," said Sirius, exhaling a pillar of smoke and folding his arms, careful to keep his lit cigarette away from the sleeve of his robes. "You're a painting. You can't even smell."

The Fat Lady—for that is whom he addressed—huffed. "It's a matter of aesthetics, boy. Decorum. The dignity of these hallowed halls, through which your own forefathers, distant and recent, walked themselves, I'm certain..."

"My distant forefathers," Sirius interrupted, "were, in all likelihood, muggle-hating chauvinists, if my more recent ones and the general habits of their contemporaries are anything to judge by. So I'll smoke where I damn well please."

"Well really, I never..."

Sirius rolled his eyes and took another drag, ignoring the continued lectures from the portrait of the Fat Lady and staring aimlessly down the corridor. It was Saturday evening; he ought to have been up to something interesting—or at the very least dangerous—but James was off "walking with Carlotta," and Remus was studying, and this evening, the world seemed tragically dull.

At least, it did until footsteps broke the Fat Lady's stream of reprimands, and Sirius turned to see a witch approaching the portrait. She was impeccably dressed, her uniform un-mussed, tie straight and stockings unwrinkled, despite the late hour. Her shiny brown hair fell on her shoulders in neat little spools, like silk, and she was carrying a large book. If pressed, Sirius might have remembered that her name was Clancy.

The steps of her polished mary-janes faltered as she approached the Fat Lady, and she didn't look at Sirius (who stood quite nearby) at all, causing the Marauder no small amount of amusement. He took another drag from his cigarette and regarded this girl—Ravenclaw, according to her necktie—for a few moments. When she continued to say nothing, to do little at all except look as though she wanted to do something, Sirius decided to break the silence.

"Can I help you, Laces?" he said.

The witch looked at him. "What?"

"What-what?"

"Why did you just call me 'Laces?'"

"Because yours are uncommonly straight."

The Ravenclaw seemed to fight a smile. "Fair enough," she said.

"What? No denial?" asked Sirius, faux shocked. "No desperate confession of a dangerous past? No insistence that I don't know anything about you and ought not to make snap judgments just because, by the looks of it, you iron your socks?"

She shrugged. "My laces are uncommonly straight."

Sirius grinned. "Alright, you pass. What's your name again?"

"Clancy Goshawk."

"And I'm..."

"Sirius Black," she finished for him.

"I love when people do that," said Sirius. "I feel famous. Alright—so why are you stalking Gryffindor Common Room? No Ravenclaws allowed, I'm afraid, Love."

"Well..." She clutched the leather bound book she carried tighter to her chest. "I was actually looking for a friend of yours."

"Who?"

"Er... Remus Lupin?"

Sirius stared. "You're looking for Remus Lupin?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes."

"Remus John Lupin?"

"Er... yes..."

"Is he... tutoring you or something?"

"Oh, no." Clancy laughed a little nervously and loosened her grip on the book, holding it out demonstratively; "He lent this to me on Thursday... you know—Prefect Patrols. Anyway, I thought I had better return it to him, so I came up here hoping I would run into someone who could give it to him in your Common Room."

Sirius continued to stare. "Did you now?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yes."

"Well that's... thoughtful." Sirius dropped his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. The Fat Lady made a sorrowful noise, which he utterly ignored. "And how did you know where Gryffindor Tower is?"

"Oh... Remus told me last time we patrolled together."

"He did, huh?"

"Yes... oh, don't worry," Clancy added hastily. "He didn't tell me the password or anything. Anyway, I just—the book..."

"No worries," said Sirius slowly, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "Very kind, indeed, Laces. I'll give it to him..."

Clancy hesitated. "Of course," she went on, not quite meeting Sirius's eye, "I didn't think of it before, but—perhaps it would be better to give the book to him myself. Some people can be quite particular about their books; I know I am, and I really would like to say thank-you, too, and there's—there's actually a question I wanted to ask him about something in chapter thirty two, and..."

"Three," Sirius cut her off.

"What?"

"Three," he repeated. "Three reasons. I think that's quite enough, Laces. I'll fetch Remus..."

"Oh. Thank-you."

"Of course. Cover your ears though, will you?"

"Why?" Clancy asked.

"Password."

"Oh, right."

She stepped away, holding the book under her arm and using her hands to cover her ears, as Sirius muttered the password to the disapproving Fat Lady.

In the Common Room, Sirius found Remus almost at once. He was sharing his Defense Against the Dark Arts notes with Marlene Price at a table near one of the windows, and Sirius strolled over to them.

"Moony, there's someone waiting outside to see you," he said solemnly, dropping his hands into his pockets and holding his chin high.

Remus looked up from a stack of parchment he had been sorting through, confusion etched on his brow. "Who?"

"A Ravenclaw," said Sirius enigmatically.

"Well that narrows it down," said Marlene. "Do you have anything else about dementors, Remus? I was thinking of writing my essay on those..."

"Yeah, I've got..."

"Moony," Sirius interrupted impatiently. "Will you please not ignore me when I'm trying to be mysterious? There's a girl outside to see you."

Remus once again looked up. "A girl?"

"Anatomically, at least."

Remus frowned. "Why is it that you know words like 'anatomically' but spent twenty minutes yesterday trying to convince me that 'intrical' was a word?"

"Intrical is a word."

"It's not. You're just combining 'integral' and 'intricate...'"

"Wait, 'intrical' isn't a word?" asked Marlene.

"No, it's not," said Remus, at the exact same moment as Sirius insisted, "Yes, it is!"

The two Marauders scowled at each other for a moment, and then Sirius announced: "Clancy Goshawk is waiting for you in the corridor."

Remus stared for a few seconds. "What?"

"Clancy Goshawk is..."

"Well why didn't you tell me in the first place?" he interrupted, standing up and knocking three or four pages of parchment off the table in the process. He bent over to pick them up, and when he had straightened up again, added in a tone of forced collectedness: "I just mean—it's very rude to keep someone waiting."

"Right, that's what you meant."

"Shut up."

But Remus made short work of the Common Room, disappearing through the portrait hole a few seconds later. Marlene set about searching through the rest of the notes, and Sirius sat down in his now vacant chair, staring thoughtfully after his departed friend.

"Who is this Clancy Goshawk bird anyway?"

"No," said Marlene, not looking up.

"No what?"

"No, you may not try to shag her, because she's got a boyfriend."

Sirius glared at her. "Why do you assume I'm trying to shag her, Price?"

Marlene looked up from her papers for a moment. "Seriously?"

"I'm not trying to shag her," said Sirius coolly. "I think Remus fancies her."

"Remus?" This piqued her interest. "Really? Oh my Merlin—that's adorable. They would be really cute..."

"Wait, why is it adorable that Remus fancies her, but a second ago it was 'Hands off, Black! She's committed in a loving union!'"

"Committed in a union with Charlie Plex," said Marlene, chin in the palm of her hand now, as she twirled a quill between the fingers of her other hand. "I don't actually consider him a moral actor at this point. And it's different with Remus, that's all. He never fancies girls! Or boys, that I can tell. I thought he was asexual, to be honest."

"So did we all," Sirius agreed sagely. "Anyway, all I know is that Moony has apparently told this Clancy bird where our Common Room is, and he almost wet himself thirty seconds ago when I said she was outside."

"We'll have to see how long he takes to get back in here," Marlene agreed. "It's a shame, though," she added with a sigh.

"What's a shame?" asked Sirius. "This is the best news I've had all day. Getting laid might lighten Remus up a bit."

"But she has a boyfriend," Marlene pointed out.

"Who could very easily take a long walk off a short Astronomy Tower." Sirius paused. "Too soon?"

Marlene glared. "Yes, definitely. Anyway, by all accounts, aside from a bout of disgustingness on the train, Charlie Plex is actually following through in his whole reformed routine."

"Well that throws a bit of a bludger in Operation Get Remus Shagging," Sirius admitted glumly.

Marlene arched an eyebrow. "Please come up with a new name for that."

"Operation... Shag," Sirius suggested. "Operation... Remus and Clancy. Operation Moony and Clancy! Operation Mancy!"

Giggling and shaking her head, Marlene began to separate her notes from Remus's, gathering her own up and sliding them into her book bag.

"Where are you going?" Sirius wanted to know.

"Upstairs. Clearly I'm not going to get any more work done down here."

"Well who wants to work?"

"The girl with homework."

"That's dull. Who's going to entertain me?"

"Peter's over there," said Marlene, nodding across the Common Room to where the other Marauder sat, chatting with Adam McKinnon. "And don't do anything to try and ruin Clancy Goshawk's relationship," she added, slinging her bag over one shoulder. "It's none of our business."

"Thank-you, Lily."

Marlene stuck out her tongue and departed for the girls' dormitories. Sirius sighed, leaning back; he was seated sideways in the chair, so that he could comfortably recline against the wall and maintain a fairly expansive view of the Common Room. He sat there for a few seconds, waiting, and when Remus did not return, called out: "Oi, Wormtail!"

(Mail)

Sunday breakfasts were leisurely experiences, by and large, and ones that Lily enjoyed. She sat with her friends at Gryffindor table, concentration divided between the others' conversation, her own breakfast (toast, fruit, sausages, and tea), and a mental run-through of what she wanted to accomplish today, until the owl post began to arrive and disrupted everything.

"But at the same time..." Marlene was saying, as Lily instinctively looked up in search of her own owl, "...I've got so little experience, and I don't want to make a complete idiot of myself. What do you think, Lily?"

Niko, Lily's bird, dropped a letter onto her plate, and she quickly rescued it from the juices of her fruit. Another letter fell seconds later, dropped by an unfamiliar brown owl.

"Lily?"

"What? Oh—what do I think? About what again?"

"About her going up for Quidditch," Mary replied. "The notice was posted this morning—tryouts are this week."

"Oh." Lily inspected the two letters inattentively. "I think you should do it. I mean, of course you should do it." She looked up. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I don't want to look like... okay, you haven't been listening at all," Marlene accused.

"No, I have, I just..."

"Read your mail. I'll ask Donna. Oi—Donna!"

But Donna wasn't paying any more attention than Lily had been. She was staring down the table, a look of extreme concentration on her face, as if she were trying to read some oblivious Gryffindor's mind.

"Donna." Marlene poked her shoulder, and Donna started.

"What?" she asked loudly. "What? What do you want?"

"Is there a particular reason why you're staring at Shelley Mumps like that?" asked Marlene, amused. Mary raised her eyebrows.

"Are you trying to make her explode with wandless magic?" she asked brightly. "Because I would fully support that decision."

"I wasn't staring at anyone," insisted Donna. "I was just trying to ignore you. What was the question?"

Meanwhile, Lily finished reading the letter brought by her own owl—it was from her mother—and turned her attention to the second letter. She did not recognize the handwriting that had scrawled her name and address across the front, and there was no other name on the front of the envelope. So, while Marlene and Donna discussed the potentiality of Marlene trying out for Quidditch, Lily opened her second letter. What it said was this:

To the estimable Lily Evans,

I rather prefer not putting my name on the front of envelopes, as it often means that the recipient will disregard the letter altogether, and all of my extensive time spent writing and re-writing and fretting over the exact wording of my carefully plotted letter shall be in vain (joking. I don't do any of that).

But now you've read this far, you've already spent this much time reading, and are therefore invested in the outcome of this note, so I shall reveal my identity.

It's Sam. Sam Dearborn. Egbert the Incompetent's brother. You remember me, right? Handsome bloke, tall, fantastic hair, kills in a fedora...

Right, that's me.

And you're Lily Evans.

What-ho.

And you're probably wondering why in the name of all that is magical I've decided to write to you, approximately one month after our brief and tumultuous affair. The truth of the matter is that I'm bored stiff at the moment, for my best mate and partner-in-crime, the incomparable Sarah McKinnon, has landed herself in one of those new fangled thing-a-ma-bobs, a relationship.

Complete nonsense, if you ask me. (Not really: the bloke's a dream, and he dotes on her, but that's neither here nor there).

They've been seeing each other for months, but now Sarah up and decides that she's in love with this Devil's Spawn, and she spends five evenings a week with him, and she's just oh so rapturous that poor Sam gets shoved to the side, along with all our plans to someday be old spinsters together, sitting around on a porch somewhere with our eighty-seven cats, playing sedate card games and making rude remarks at passersby, because old people may say whatever judgmental things they like without fear of punishment.

Obviously, this is a problem, because what if Sarah marries this bloke? What if she has a dozen children with him? I wouldn't mind, except he'll be something of a time suck, and it might actually mean I have to meet people! Talk to people I don't know! Make new friends! SOCIALIZE! It's utter rubbish.

Actually, I'm just dead bored right now. I've written to James twice in the last week, and he's only responded once, and I choose to blame this on the fact that he is also relationshippy at the moment. I suppose you've heard all about that—well, I know you have—since, apparently your little school has done everything short of lynching this poor bird. Are you a member of this torch-carrying, "Burn the witch!" screaming majority? Personally, I think you'd make a lousy leader of a lynch mob.

I thought you'd be interested to know that I have had my first encounter with my brother since the end of his tenure as head of DMLE. It was unpleasant, to be sure, especially since the family rather sided with Eggie, and things at home have been rather tense. But life goes on, doesn't it?

I'm reaching the end of my slight firewhiskey buzz and therefore the end of this letter, and I feel the overwhelming compulsion to be honest with you, Ginger, so here it is.

The truth of the matter is not that I am neither lonely nor bored, but that I am writing to you because I am avoiding writing a letter that I should be writing. You are a vehicle for my procrastination, if you will. Because, you see, while it is true that Sarah is in the raptures of a new relationshit, I find myself precariously close to the same. And there it is... I've met someone, and feel that if I do not wait out this firewhiskey buzz, I may actually do something extremely unwise and arrange a date.

You see, Ginger, in my brief tenure as a Hogwarts student, I was a Hufflepuff—as you know—and Hufflepuffs, for all of their virtues, are not particularly brave.

At any rate, feel free to respond poste-haste, and do not feel free to ignore this letter, or I will be thoroughly upset with you. Unless you, too, have fallen into the relationship trap, in which case, I shall have to lose faith with all of this highly sentimental humanity and jump off a tall bridge without a broomstick.

You understand my meaning, yeah?

With high regards from,

Sam Dearborn

Smiling bemusedly, Lily folded up the letter and slipped it into her pocket. Her friends continued their discussion, but most of it was lost on the Head Girl, as she was mentally composing her reply.

---

"Remus."

It was Saturday afternoon, and Lily at last located the desired Marauder in the library. He looked up from his Transfiguration essay, and the evidence that he had only returned from "visiting his Mum" last Tuesday was in the bags under and the exhaustion in his eyes. Nonetheless, he smiled at the entrance of Lily and moved aside some books to make room for her.

"Lily—hullo."

The Head Girl sat down at the Marauder's library table, leaning close to avoid the watchful eyes and vengeful spirit of the librarian, Ms. Sevoy.

"I just wanted to talk to you about the patrol schedule this week," Lily whispered.

"I just had last week off... it's not my turn again, is it?"

"What? No." She shook her head. "It's Maggie Snow's week... but never mind that. You're patrolling with James this week; is that okay?"

"With James? But I was scheduled for Thursday with Clancy Goshawk again..."

"Right, I'll cover that."

Remus did not look pleased. "You're avoiding him again," he accused.

"No," said Lily firmly. "I have... another engagement."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep."

"What?"

"None of your business."

"Lily."

Lily sighed. "I don't have another engagement."

"That was very obvious."

"I just..." She ran one hand through her hair. "I feel guilty. And I know it's stupid," she added, speaking over him. "But I can't help it! It's like I'm trying to cheat with him, which I'm not, obviously, but I feel as though I am anyway!"

"But you're not," Remus insisted. "It's not wrong to fancy him just because she's... he's seeing someone else."

"Yeah, but what if it is?" Lily whined.

"It's not."

"But what if..."

"It's not!" And he spoke above even a normal tone, much less the whisper required in the library, so that Ms. Sevoy looked with wide, appalled eyes in their direction, and Remus, blushing, apologized, before turning back to Lily. The Head Girl stared at him with raised eyebrows.

"You clearly have strong feelings about this."

"No," whispered Remus. "I just... think that you shouldn't... blame yourself for things that are beyond your control."

Lily nodded slowly. "You're probably right," she agreed. "But it's still alright that we trade patrols, right?"

"Lily..."

"Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please..."

He sighed, and Lily interpreted that as resignation.

"Thank-you," she said, jumping up from her seat again. "You're the best. Friday at eight."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"Thank-you."

---

Sam Dearborn,

You're in trouble, you know. I am not pleased with you at all, and I believe that I owe you a significant scolding for withholding two vital piece of information from me during the course of our "tumultuous affair:" first, that James had a girlfriend, and second, that this fact bothers me quite a bit.

Don't act coy, either; I know that you knew. I didn't know myself, but I'm quite certain that all of your obnoxious hinting was designed to finagle a confession I didn't even know was warranted out of me. As a result, I'm sure you're getting exactly what you deserve with this Sarah McKinnon business.

Alright, there's your scolding. Now for your consoling:

I am ever so sorry that you are thus forced to find new companionship, but there are worse things in the world. Actually, mate, this is a good thing. And seeing as you forced your friendship upon me almost the moment we met, I don't know how you can act as though you're rubbish at socializing. Clearly, it is your forte. I would know, because I'm not so bad at it myself, which makes me that much more sympathetic to the idea that you may be good at socializing but not SOCIALIZING, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.

I hope you've written your letter by now and arranged your date, and I want to hear all about that, because you shouldn't be lonely simply because your platonic soulmate has assumed the chains of monogamy. Look at me: I am gloriously single and perfectly happy.

That's bullshit, I'm bloody melancholic at the moment, but not because I'm single—just because the bloke that I fancy is busy being un-single with someone else. But, hey, once again, thanks for the heads up on that one.

The thing is, houses don't really mean as much as people might think. Bloody hell, I sound like I'm quoting Fiona Keepdown (long story, never mind), but you can't use the excuse that you weren't a Gryffindor to say that you haven't got any nerve. I am a Gryffindor, but I like to think I'm reasonably intelligent and loyal and ambitious, which would technically land me in all four houses.

So buck up and get yourself a lay.

At least you're (hopefully) in a situation where that's within the realm of possibility.

Onto other things—how is everyone in M.F.P.? Tilly and the lot? What are you all working on these days—more protests? I'm insanely jealous that you can actually do something in all of this mess, you know. I love Hogwarts dearly, but sometimes I feel incredibly trapped and useless here. There are more death eater attacks every day, and I'm sure you heard that git at the Ministry the other day who said that 'You-Know-Who had the right idea but the wrong methods.' Bloody hell, that sort of thing makes me livid.

Anyway, I've got Potions homework, so I ought to go. I'm going to send this right away, because if I don't, I'll almost certainly regret saying about two thirds of it, but keep in mind that everything I've written and you've read is STRICTLY between the two of us, and if I get even the slightest indication that a bit of it has been related to a certain Head Boy (or anyone else), I shall personally insure that everything you love is taken from you and given to your enemies.

You've been warned.

Yours ever so sincerely,

Lily Evans

P.S. "Tall?" You are not tall. But I'll grant the fantastic hair, yes.

---

Donna caught the quaffle firmly in front of her chest, looking up at the thrower with eyebrows raised.

"You're not half bad, you know," she said. "Surprisingly strong."

"Thank-you?" replied Marlene. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. Why?"

Marlene rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Throw it back."

They stood out on the Quidditch pitch at half past six on Monday evening; much to Marlene's shock, Donna had agreed to help her prepare for the Quidditch tryouts, and this was their second evening in a row practicing after supper. The evening before had focused primarily on flying technique, but even Donna found little to criticize there, and now she turned towards dealing with the Quaffle itself.

Careful to keep her form perfect, Donna threw the Quaffle back to Marlene, who caught it fairly easily, but in what Donna considered—and, more importantly, James Potter would consider—improper form.

"Okay," said Donna, "Freeze for a moment, yeah?"

Marlene obeyed. Donna walked over to where the blonde stood. "When you catch the quaffle with two hands, you need to hold it so that your hands form—like a 'W.' See?" Donna took the Quaffle and demonstrated, and Marlene nodded, taking back the ball and imitating her coach.

"Right, only you have to catch it that way... at least if you're going to catch it with two hands, which you are for the time being, because you're new to the game." Donna stepped back and jogged a few feet away, so that Marlene could throw the ball back.

They finished up about an hour later, and as Donna packed up her own gear, Marlene pulled off the leather gloves that Sirius had lent to her.

"Thank-you for the help," said the blonde. "I was honestly a little surprised that you agreed to do it at all."

"Why?" asked Donna, and Marlene arched an eyebrow in response. "Oh, because I hate helping people?"

"Basically, yes."

"Right. Well..." Donna shrugged. "Quidditch tryouts are a bore. If there's someone halfway decent flying, it might speed up the process."

"And I'm halfway decent?"

"No, but I've done my best."

Marlene rolled her eyes and got to her feet. "Well thanks anyway." She picked up the stray Quaffle that James had so acquiescently allowed them to borrow and waited for Donna to finish packing up. "I suppose I owe you one."

"Yeah, no problem."

Marlene stared at her roommate, puzzled, and Donna noticed.

"What?"

"Are you ill, Donna? You're almost acting nice. It's giving me the creeps."

"No, shut up, I'm not ill," said Donna quickly. She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her broom before starting across the pitch towards the castle. Marlene followed. "Although..." This, begrudgingly: "I have been feeling a little off lately. I'm sort of... I have a—a—a kind of moral dilemma."

Marlene smirked. "Whether you prefer Ancient Runes or Arithmancy isn't a moral dilemma, Donna. They're just classes; they don't get jealous..."

"Fuck off, Price, this is an actual dilemma."

"What is it?" asked Marlene, half amused. "Oi! Questioning whether it's moral to sleep with an older man, are you?"

Donna looked at her sharply. "What?"

"What-what?" asked Marlene innocently.

Donna's eyes narrowed, and then she folded her arms and looked away again. "No. It has nothing—I mean... no. What happened is that... well, I saw something..." She spoke delicately; "and what I saw was... scarring. But more importantly, it is rather potentially damaging information..."

"Oh my Merlin, you have dirt on Shelley, don't you?" said Marlene, pausing and grabbing Donna's arm, an ecstatic smile growing on her lips. "You do, don't you? That's why you've been scowling at her for the last few days!"

"I have not been scowling..."

"You have been scowling. You have an E in scowling, Donna. Well, let's hear it. What did you catch Shelley at?" She beamed expectantly.

"I can't tell you. That's my moral dilemma." Donna rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you're thick sometimes..."

"Since when do you even care?" asked Marlene, jogging after the other, who had now resumed a quick pace. "I thought your philosophy was to mind your own business and ignore gossip... and I don't see why you should be troubling yourself over spilling something about Shelley Mumps of all people. Have you told Lily?"

"No, I haven't told anyone of course."

"Well why not?"

Donna puzzled over that one for a few seconds. "Well," she began stiffly, "I suppose—rubbish as it is—I'm sympathetic."

"To Shelley?"

"No, not to Shelley. She's a stupid bint. But... to other involved parties."

"Other involved parties?" Marlene echoed. "Donna Shacklebolt, what is going on?"

"I can't tell you!"

"But why not?" groaned Marlene.

Donna rolled her eyes again. "Haven't you ever been tempted to do the right thing for the wrong reasons?"

"Er... yes... that's the best, isn't it? Because then you can do what you want, even if it's petty and immature, but still claim the moral high ground."

"Well, it's not as simple as that," Donna maintained.

"Tell me what it is!" Marlene insisted, but Donna quickened her steps across the lawn.

"No."

"Donna!"

"NO!"

Marlene scowled and crossed her arms, continuing at her own pace towards the castle. "Fine!" she called after Donna. "But I will get it out of you!"

"Fuck off, Price!"

---

After a great deal of deliberation, Donna entered her dormitory; Carlotta was downstairs in the Common Room with Potter, and Marlene—having cleaned up after the mini-practice—was now studying downstairs with Mary, which meant that Shelley was alone in the girls' dorm. The blonde sat at the vanity, doing her hair or something, when Donna stepped inside.

"Mumps," she began firmly, not so much as a greeting, but as the beginning of an extremely unappealing task.

Shelley paused in the combing of her platinum fringe and looked at Donna in the reflection of the mirror.

"Yes?"

Never in recent memory had Donna dreaded an action quite as much as she dreaded this one. The witch sat down on the bed closest to Shelley, fidgeting with her curly hair and maintaining a complete lack of eye contact with the blonde.

"I have to talk to you."

Shelley raised her eyebrows. "You what?"

"I have to talk to you," Donna repeated forcibly.

Frowning, the blonde turned in her chair to face Donna. "Why?"

"Yes, I know, it's bizarre," said Donna, rolling her eyes. "But I just do. I'm trying to evolve or some such rubbish, which is why I'm coming to you first, all right?"

"O... kay."

Closing her eyes, Donna gathered her strength and then forged on: "I saw you in the second floor corridor last week." She opened her eyes, but Shelley continued to look bewildered. "The second floor corridor. Last Friday. Lunchtime."

At last, Shelley reacted. Her eyes grew wide, and, for a moment, a faint blush grew in her cheeks. And then, very quickly, the shock faded to be replaced by amusement.

"Alright, good for you. What's your point?"

"What do you mean what's my point?" demanded Donna. "Isn't my point pretty obvious?"

"Er... no. Sorry for the show, I guess, but you're a big girl, Shacklebolt. It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"First of all," said Donna grimly. "Gross. Second of all, I can only hope that you two had the courtesy of moving it into a classroom before things developed any further."

"We did..."

"...And third of all, you'd better cut it out."

"Excuse me?"

"I said cut it out."

"Why?"

"Because you're being an idiot."

"It's none of your business!" said Shelley, rising from the chair. "And you can't tell me what to do, just because you..."

"Have been in a shockingly parallel situation?" finished Donna, also rising. "Listen, Mumps, I know what you're doing. It's a nice little boost to your self-esteem, I reckon, that he wants you despite his... tiny excessively feminine girlfriend, but here's a hint about how this ends: not well."

"Why do you even care?" demanded Shelley. "Are you... jealous or something?"

"Don't be an idiot."

"Well then did one of your mates put you up to this? Lily or... oh, I bet it was Marlene; she would..."

"I haven't told anyone," interrupted Donna. "But I very easily could. And if everyone found out, do you think they'd still side with you in the Great Meloni versus Mumps debate?"

"They didn't care about Stebbins..."

"Eventually they start caring," said Donna coolly. "And it's not fun when they do."

"So you're just looking after me, are you?" Shelley half mocked.

"I'm warning you," Donna corrected. She started towards the dormitory door. "And keep in mind, I'm not exactly disinterested."

"Do what you like, I don't care," retorted Shelley, and with a final rolling of her eyes, Donna left the dormitory.

(Tryouts)

"Okay, James," began Carlotta, as they walked, hand in hand, across the Hogwarts lawns in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. James had his broom slung over his outside shoulder and his bag on the shoulder between himself and Carlotta, which made the hand holding a little difficult, but not impossible. "Remind me why you're having Quidditch practice on a Wednesday night. Why don't you just have it on the weekend. More people will show up, won't they?"

"More people I don't want," replied James. "Everyone's tired Wednesday night, so I won't have random Hufflepuffs and first years showing up, because they won't be as willing to waste their time. Only the people who know they have a chance at actually making the team will come out if the tryouts are on a school night."

"Oh," said Carlotta. "That's actually quite clever."

James smirked. "And here you thought I was just a pretty face."

The pitch was deserted when they arrived, but tryouts weren't scheduled to begin for another forty-five minutes, so it was of no great concern to James. He set down his broom and his bag and drew his wand; Carlotta sat down in the grass and watched as the Quidditch Captain set about conjuring a series of glowing orbs, which he levitated around the perimeter of the pitch. The sun was sinking in the blue and rapidly oranging sky.

"So why do you dread tryouts so much?" Carlotta asked presently, stretching out on the grass. A chilly breeze whipped across the pitch, and she pulled her jumper a little tighter around her middle. James was now withdrawing the playing equipment from his bag, but, when she turned her head, Carlotta could still see him. "They can't be that bad."

"Oh, no, they can be," James assured her, and Carlotta giggled. "I don't know," he continued more seriously. "It's mixed. Some of it is a lot of fun, and some if it is just rubbish. No one listens to the Captain—there's loads of shouting and even more chaos." He grinned and shrugged, and Carlotta waved him over to join her. With a sigh, he walked over and dropped onto the ground beside her, laying down directly next to her.

"I thought you enjoyed a little chaos," Carlotta reminded him playfully.

"I do," James allowed, "But not when I'm the one trying to control it."

"I see," said his girlfriend. "Well that explains why you're the perfect Head Boy, I suppose." She sat up and smiled down at her boyfriend.

James did not quite meet her eye, though. He appeared thoughtful, as he put one arm behind his head, and, with the other hand, began to pick at the grass.

"What's wrong?" asked Carlotta.

James shook himself. "What? Nothing. Sorry, lost in thought for a second."

Carlotta leaned back again, propping herself up on one elbow, with the side of her head in the palm of her hand. She ran the other hand over James's chest, biting her lip. "There's no fun in that. Thinking..."

James grinned, but distractedly, and asked in a would-be casual tone: "Why do you suppose Dumbledore picked me for Head Boy?"

"What?"

He angled his head towards her. "Why do you think I'm Head Boy?"

Carlotta frowned. "Well... you're clever. Top of the year. Quidditch Captain..."

James looked skeptical.

"And," she went on frankly, "I mean—you're James Potter. You host the Toadies. You're the only one who can control Sirius..."

"I can't con..."

"Of course, you can. I mean—it makes sense, doesn't it? Take the king of the troublemakers and make him Head Boy." Carlotta sat up again. "It's not a bad thing exactly. Dumbledore's a smart bloke. Plus, you get the benefit of adding 'Head Boy' to your résumé. It's not a bad thing at all. Now..." She smiled. "I seriously hope you're not telling me that you lured your insanely beautiful girlfriend out onto the dark empty Quidditch pitch with utterly pure intentions."

James's expression returned to normal, and he grinned, also sitting up. "Lured? I only invited you 'cause Sirius said he wouldn't help me out until after supper..."

"You prat."

She punched his arm, but almost immediately leaned forward and kissed him, pushing him back to the grass once more.

(Almost)

It was only a moment of hesitation, and yet Marlene was unfortunate enough to be caught in it.

She stood in the Entrance Hall, near the open wooden doors that led out to the darkening grounds. Her hands were folded across her chest, and for a few seconds, she waited in indecision.

"Are you going?" asked a voice, and Marlene started. The Hall was busy enough, as students filtered through on their way back to their Common Rooms after supper (or else outside for the tryouts), and yet the familiar tone demanded Marlene's attention at once.

It was Prudence Daly.

"I think so," said Marlene, with a breathy, uncertain smile.

"Adam went out ten minutes ago," Prudence replied, approaching the Gryffindor. "He's hoping you'll tryout, you know." She now stood parallel to Marlene in the wide doorway.

"How do you know that?" Marlene asked.

"Because he told me so," replied Prudence. "He thinks you'll be brilliant." Marlene smiled weakly. For a moment, both girls were quiet, and then Prudence continued: "He doesn't fancy you anymore."

Marlene's eyes grew wide.

"Oh, I didn't mean that to sound mean," Prudence added quickly. "I just meant—I know that he used to. He didn't say so, but—I guess we could all guess as much. And I know that you must have known..."

"I..."

"A girl always knows," Prudence interrupted softly, and Marlene broke off. "But he doesn't fancy you that way anymore. I know that, too. But I'm not telling you this to be mean, really, I—I'm not doing it right at all, I know that." Prudence turned away, looking out across the lawn. "What I mean to say," the Ravenclaw went on, "is that it's very easy for a bloke to believe in a girl that he fancies. There are... there are ulterior motives, you know?" Prudence met her eye again. "But Adam doesn't fancy you anymore, and he still thinks you'll be brilliant."

Marlene wondered if Prudence could tell that she was choking on the air in her throat, when she nodded slowly.

"Thank-you, Prudence," she murmured.

Prudence smiled a wide, bright smile.

Because hearing that was almost enough.

(Almost).

But Adam was right about one thing, and of that Marlene was certain. She would be brilliant.

---

The sky was flushed with pink and orange tones, as the sun sunk lower and lower on the horizon; very soon, the glowing orbs that Captain Potter had bewitched to hang about the entire Quidditch pitch would be fully necessary. Various Gryffindors mounted brooms and took off into the air, and there was some pattern to their selection, Lily assumed, but—from where she sat high up in the stands with several other onlookers—she paid little attention to the rhyme and reason behind it all. She was just waiting for Marlene.

They had been outside for about half an hour, and Marlene had yet to fly, when Carlotta Meloni came and sat down on the bench beside Lily.

"Lily," she greeted, eyes fixed on the flying figures in the sky.

"Hullo," Lily replied.

"You here to tryout?" asked the brunette dryly, and Lily snorted.

"Merlin, no. I'm just here for Marlene. You?"

"Merlin, no," Carlotta echoed. "I'm just here for James."

"Right."

"As is Shelley, it appears," she added, glancing down to where Shelley sat in the front row.

"Oh, that's fantastic."

"Just brilliant," Carlotta agreed.

Lily sort of smiled—perhaps comfortingly—at Carlotta, and then once again turned to look at the fliers. She watched them dart about the darkening sky, and Carlotta wondered vaguely if her attention was meant to be focused on any player in particular.

She wondered if Lily too picked him out amongst the almost indistinguishable blurs when they flew faster... if her green eyes sought him out amongst the little dots when they soared high.

Lily's eyes were prettier than Carlotta's, the brunette thought. On most accounts, she would typically win, but Lily had nicer eyes. Lily had unusually nice eyes.

"Good evening, housemates," Shelley's voice cut through the brisk air. She had turned in her seat and, as though just noticing Lily and Carlotta, smiled broadly at them

"Hello," sighed Lily, probably anticipating an altercation.

"Hello, Shelley," said Carlotta. "What a pleasant surprise: I didn't realize you could leave your coffin before sunset."

Shelley rolled her eyes, rising from her bench and climbing up to the higher level where her two housemates sat. Lily was immediately next to the wooden wall at the edge of the stand, meaning that the only available seat was beside Carlotta, who scooted closer to the redhead when Shelley sat down.

"Here to watch Jamie, are we?" asked the blonde, ignoring Carlotta's quip. She too kept her eyes on the sky. "He's so handsome in his Quidditch uniform, isn't he?"

"Jamie?" Carlotta repeated. "You call him Jamie now? You should know he hates that."

"He never minds when I call him it."

"Are you supposed to be trying to imply something?"

"Subtlety always was a bit beyond you."

"Says the girl with orange skin."

"Oh don't act like you're perfectly natural, Meloni. I know for a fact that you wax."

"I suppose I ought to lend you some for your mustache."

"Oh, funny."

"Shelley, what exactly are you hoping to accomplish?" asked Carlotta, annoyance growing. "You must realize that people may like you now, but soon enough, they're going to get bored with you. Valerie Turpin and her cackling mates are going to lose interest, and where exactly will you be then?"

"Please, stop it," Lily, exasperated, interjected, turning to both of them. "What possible good does it do to bicker like this?"

"It's really none of your concern, Lily," said Shelley solemnly.

"I'm sitting here listening to you two. It's my concern."

"No one's forcing you to sit there," Shelley pointed out.

Lily looked incredulous. "I was sitting here first. You people came and sat next to me. My God..."

She got up and stepped over the next two pews, walking to the opposite end of the stands . Carlotta and Shelley watched her go, and then the latter added: "You should just be grateful she's never fancied James Potter. Then, he'd be losing interest with you awfully quick."

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "You're not pretty, Shelley; I'd think you would at least try to be clever." Then, she too rose to find somewhere else to sit.

---

"Thank-you, everyone for coming out tonight," said James, as he pulled off his arm guards, addressing the small crowd of students forming a semi-circle around him. It was well after dark now, and the tryouts had ended. "Really, you were all—well... mostly brilliant tonight." He shrugged. "Anyway, I'll make the announcement tomorrow about who I've chosen, so... thanks, I suppose. Have a good night."

And the crowd dissipated, except for those members of the team whom James had enlisted to help him clean up. Marlene Price also hung back.

"So," she began, approaching the Quidditch Captain nervously; "I don't suppose you have any early feedback for me?" She smiled hopefully, hands in the pockets of her trousers, and James sighed.

"You were good," James admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "You fly well with Shack and me, and you've got a strong arm. You'd be my first choice if..." He trailed off.

"If... what?" asked Marlene. "If you were drunk? If you were picking based on who has the best rack...? What?"

"If you weren't a seventh year," said James. "I'm Gryffindor Captain," he went on; "I've got to do what's best for the house... and I'm going to be training a young player no matter what, which means I can either train a young player who's going to be around next year to help the team out after I've left or one who's… not."

Marlene nodded slowly. "I understand."

"I haven't decided," James added quickly. "I still have to think about it, y'know?"

"Right."

"Honestly. You're on the short list."

"Okay. Thank-you." Marlene started to go.

"Price..." She paused. "I wish you'd tried out last year."

Marlene snorted. "I wish I'd done a lot of things differently last year."

James glanced across the pitch, to where Adam McKinnon sat, taking off his Quidditch gear.

"How are you doing?" he added to Marlene; she followed his stare, and then blushed.

"I told you about that, didn't I? I'd forgotten." She sighed and shrugged. "I'm okay. Everything happens for a reason, right?"

James nodded encouragingly, despite his own misgivings on the cliché, and with a final farewell, Marlene went on back towards the castle. Slowly, the rest of the team finished cleaning up; Donna and Adam were the last to go, carrying the equipment back to the sheds, but James did not follow. He sat down in the grass and waited.

About a quarter of an hour after the tryouts had ended, Sirius arrived.

"Wonderful, you're only two hours late."

He was situated so that Sirius only appeared in his peripheral vision, and yet he caught the glimmer of shame on his friend's face.

"Sorry," Sirius apologized. "I thought it might be a little awkward to watch you picking my replacement."

James looked over his shoulder at him. "Why?" he asked, bewildered. "You were supposed to help me. I had to use Shack. Do you know how much not fun that was?"

"Right." Sirius kicked the grass with the toe of his trainer. "Sorry. But, um—I can make it up to you."

"How?" asked James skeptically.

"I was hoping you'd ask." From his pocket, Sirius withdrew a small silver flask. "Ogden's Finest?"

"Where'd you get?"

"Hogsmeade last weekend."

"Right." James mulled it over for a few seconds, before getting to his feet. "Alright, then." He took the offered flask. "Let's go."

"Go where?" asked Sirius.

"Up." He pointed to the Gryffindor stands and picked up his broomstick.

"I didn't bring my broom," said Sirius.

"Then I guess you'll have to take the stairs."

"Oi, hang on..."

"Too late; I have the flask."

"You git."

James mounted his broom and took off for the stands.

"I hate you!" Sirius called after him.

---

Sirius lay on the top level of the stand, one leg dangling over the edge, the other stretched out on the bench. He had a cigarette between his fingers, and he stared up at the black sky. James mimicked his posture—sans cigarette—on the next row.

They were both a little buzzed.

"So why didn't you want to come to tryouts?" asked James, taking another swig from the flask.

"'Didn't feel like it, that's all," said Sirius.

"Then why did you agree to help me in the first place?"

Sirius held out his hand, and James filled it with the flask.

"I... I meant to. It was just..." He broke off and took a swig.

"Just what?"

Sirius took a long, steady breath; the taste of firewhiskey lingered on his tongue. "I was going to come," he said. "I was. And then I went to get my broom."

He stopped, but James understood. "Your uncle gave the Nimbus to you for your birthday," he concluded, and though Sirius did not move, his silence was affirmation enough.

"And then it was all just there," he said, his voice somewhat choked. "Everything that happened last year. Uncle Alphard, Snape... I mean, that's the whole reason you're holding tryouts—the whole reason I'm off the team... banned from Quidditch. A year ago, he was—telling me I should make up with Reg, and talking about letters from Andromeda, and he knew the whole time..."

"And you didn't."

"Exactly."

James was quiet for a bit. Finally, "A year ago, we trapped Roland Urquhart in the trick step for the posters."

Sirius smiled bitterly. "He didn't come back this year, you know, Urquhart. His cousin says he's finishing his education at home, but..."

"But he's probably joining the death eaters," James finished for him. He held out his hand, and Sirius game him the alcohol.

Several minutes passed with absolute quiet between the two. The wind whistled, making the wood of the stands creak just a bit. Far away across the grounds, the Whomping Willow seemed to shake with a chill, orange tinted leaves rustling. It occurred to James that there were only nine more full moons before the end of the term: nine more trips to the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack. Nine more transformations in the dusty house. Nine more all nighters pulled for the sake of their friend. And then it would be over.

"Are you happy?" asked Sirius suddenly.

James had only to turn his head a few inches to see Sirius's profile, caught in the dim white light of the moon and stars upon which his eyes were fixed. He exhaled a pillar of chalky cigarette smoke, which danced and swirled against the night sky, familiar but long absent from James's routine.

"I suppose so," he replied at length. "I'm not ecstatic at the moment, but..."

"I don't mean right now," Sirius interrupted, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. His throat moved with the inhalation and then again as he breathed out. "I mean always. Just—are you happy?"

James was silent for a second. "Yeah, I think so."

"Really?" Sirius turned his head to look down at James.

"Yeah. I mean—I guess. I know I'm not unhappy."

"Really?" asked Sirius again. James nodded, and his friend looked heavenward again. "I am."

James swallowed. Almost without meaning to say it, he muttered: "I know."

"Always," Sirius went on. "All the time. It's just—there." He took a quick, impatient drag. "Do you think some people are just built wrong?"

"No—but I'm not sure we're built at all. Sometimes, I think it's all just... random combinations."

Sirius was quiet for a few seconds. "And you don't feel like it's all going somewhere?" He turned his head to look at James. "You don't think there's a point to you being you?"

James also took a moment to reply; "I dunno," he said—confessed—at last. He looked over at Sirius and held out his hand. "Gimme a drag, yeah."

"I thought you quit," mocked Sirius, handing over the cigarette anyway.

"I did. It's just a drag, and you're depressing me." Sirius smirked, and James inhaled deeply, then exhaled and returned the cig. "God, I miss that."

"You could always pick it up again," said Sirius dryly.

"Yeah, Carlotta would love that."

"What? Your hippie vegetarian girlfriend might object? I'm shocked."

"Unbelievable, right?"

Sirius grinned and ashed the cigarette on the wooden bleacher below his own. "So what are you going to do, Prongs? About the chaser, I mean..."

James sighed. He was watching the stars again. "Price is the best flier; Hopkirk has better aim—less strength, but better aim. And he's younger."

"I thought you said Marlene had the best chemistry," Sirius observed.

"She does," James agreed. "She has the best natural chemistry with Shack and me as the other chasers, but... well, Hopkirk's younger."

"Young fliers are rubbish."

"Yeah, but I can't do that to the team. They'd be skeletal next year."

"No they wouldn't," reasoned Sirius. "They'll have three experienced players. We won the cup with less."

"Yeah, well we had me."

"Nice."

"It's true," said James, without a trace of defensiveness. He was merely stating a fact: "I'm unusually good."

Sirius smiled. Then, with a sigh, he sat up, elbows on his knees. "This conversation is pointless, I think," he remarked knowingly. "You've already decided what you're going to do, haven't you?"

James sat up as well, turning on the bench to face Sirius. "What do you mean?"

"Indecisiveness isn't one of your natural flaws," replied his friend with a shrug. James grinned.

"No, it's not. And you're right. I've already decided what I'm going to do."

"And?"

James arched his eyebrows. "You're the Occlumens, apparently. What do you think I'm going to do, if you're so smart?"

"Well." Sirius turned so that his feet hit the plank below. "You never liked your ultimatums. I think you're going to choose both."

And then James grinned too. "Ten points to Padfoot."

(Beautiful)

Donna Shacklebolt had beautifully angry eyes. Clear and brown—well, not exactly brown... orange-ish, really, almost like amber—they could traverse the distance between burning rage and cold spite in the time between blinks, and there was something fascinating about that.

Currently, these eyes were focused on her Ancient Runes notes, as she sat in the library, two tables away from where Charlie Plex observed her, his own homework all but forgotten in front of him. A crease of concentration had formed on her brow, and white teeth were just barely visible as she bit on her lower lip. One ringlet of black hair fell free from the bonds that pulled the rest back at the top of her head; it bounced near her right ear. She wore earrings today, but often she didn't; she didn't wear make up either (not usually), which only made the fact of the strange appeal of her dark skin and hard, angular face, that much more surprising.

She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee, so that her skirt—worn several inches longer than most of the other girls' (remarkable in and of itself due to her height)—moved just a little bit further up her muscular thigh...

"What do you want?" Donna's voice suddenly cut through the quiet of the library. Had Ms. Sevoy not been otherwise occupied in the stacks, she might have sent the Gryffindor an angry warning. Charlie smirked; Donna hadn't even looked up from her notes.

"Just enjoying the view," he countered.

"Leave."

But Charlie did rather the opposite, getting up from his chair and joining Donna at her own table. She finally looked up from her Ancient Runes notes, radiating annoyance.

"What do you want?" she asked pointedly again.

"We used to have fun, didn't we?" asked Charlie, ignoring her question.

"No. We used to have angry sex."

"That's what I meant. What happened to that anyway?"

"You started to fancy me and tentacles are a turn off. You have a girlfriend Plex. Go away." Donna returned to her schoolwork. Charlie did not go away.

"My having a girlfriend didn't bother you before."

"Well it bothers me now."

"So it bothers you that I have a girlfriend?"

"Everything about you bothers me."

Charlie smirked. Beautifully angry eyes.

"I don't see what you're so flustered about," he said. Donna looked up from her parchment again.

"And I don't see why you're bothering with me at all," she retorted. "I'm not going to sleep with you; I find you completely vile, and you're threatening to make life difficult for my sister didn't exactly help change that. Now get away from me before I catch something airborne."

It took a lot to annoy Charlie, but being called vile by Donna Shacklebolt was one of the things that really did it. Bloody whore always thought she was too good for him...

His eyes darkened.

"You really ought to be more polite to me," he said.

Donna's lips wrinkled as she pursed them in momentary deliberation. "And you really ought not to try and make me angry. Especially right now. It won't be nice for you."

Fuming, Charlie rose from her table and returned to his own, only long enough to gather up his books and notes.

But he could knock her off her high horse.

(The Last Nice Thing)

"What do you mean we both made the team?" asked Marlene, confused. "Is one of us meant to be back up, or...?"

James shook his head. Marlene and Hopkirk, a fourth year, stood in front of him in the Common Room, present by his request and currently looking a bit puzzled. Donna, Adam, and Damacus Weasley—the only other available team members—stood at his side for the announcement.

"No. You're both technically on the first string right now," the Captain explained. "And you'll both practice as such. I'll decide who plays in each game based on performance in practices. You're both talented players, and it'd be a shame not to have either one of you."

"And that," said Adam, "is the last nice thing he'll say to either of you as your Captain."

"That's true," James agreed. "Thank you, McKinnon. Write it down, you two. Last nice thing. Got it?"

Marlene and Hopkirk were both too pleased to eradicate the grins that plastered their respective faces however, and they only nodded enthusiastically.

"Brilliant," said James. "Now, Shack—come on. You're going to work on new plays with me."

"But I've got things to do..." Donna began to complain. "Can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"No, I'm patrolling tomorrow."

"But..."

"Wow, interesting story. In other news: Quidditch."

Donna scowled. "See?" she said to Marlene and Hopkirk, following James as he moved to one of the sofas; "Last nice thing."

---

My dearest Ginger,

Ten thousand and one apologies for not enlightening you on your true infatuation with my delectable cousin! I would have told you less subtly if I hadn't thought you would cut off all my limbs for suggesting it!

Well, this certainly represents an interesting turn of events. I hadn't imagined you to be so forthcoming—I rather expected firm denial and a dozen, "It doesn't bother me's," rather than a flat out admittance of the fact that you want to do unspeakable things to Jamie.

Which reminds me—I think I'm in love with you for authoring the sentence, "Buck up and get yourself a lay." You don't even realize, but you've shaken some of my firmly held beliefs about my identity with those words. However, you're much too young for me. Also, you're apparently in love with my cousin.

But, Ginge, what are you going to do about it? The bloke's been obsessed with you since you lot were prepubescent, and now that you no longer regard him as something akin to a flobberworm, it really seems as though he ought to know, right? Oh, don't worry your ginger little head: I'm not going to go off gabbing to him about it—I do have other things going on in my life, you know (no I don't)—but really, mate:

Buck up and get yourself a lay.

M.F.P. is grand as always. We're heading up the petition to have Dashell Higgs (the Ministry bloke who said the things about You-Know-Who) sacked, and we've recruited a few aurors into membership, so our spirits are slowly rising. We've got the big meet-up coming up, and it'll be my second one to attend, and Sarah will be there without her lover-boy, so that should be a laugh.

Regarding my so-called cowardice in SOCIALIZING: the thing that you have to understand about me, Ginge, is that I'm absolutely rubbish around people I would potentially like to shag. Seriously—I'm absolutely awful. I act like I've smoked something highly illicit and words come tumbling from my mouth like salad dressing when it comes out too fast and drowns the lettuce.

I'm worse at relationships. It's embarrassing. It's so embarrassing that I'm writing to a seventeen-year-old girl about it, and that should give you an idea about how awful I am.

Anyway, let's focus on you, so we don't have to talk about my train wreck, shall we?

So, everyone in Hogwarts hates his girlfriend. That should bode well for you, right? I rather think so. At any rate, you can't just ignore this.

Well, now I have to give an excuse to go. I don't know why letters always carry that excuse—you and your potions essay, for instance—when it seems we could just as easily say, 'Well, I've said all I have to say and am going to tie this to a bird and throw it out the window now. Cheerio.' That would be equally effective, I think, and much less artificial.

In any case, arrivederci!

Ever thine humble servant,

Sam Dearborn

P.S. His name is David. Thoughts?

---

"Lily," greeted Clancy Goshawk, surprised, as the Head Girl entered the little office on the fourth floor. "Hello. I was expecting..."

"Remus, yeah," Lily acknowledged, smiling politely. "We traded nights."

"Oh." Clancy looked a little concerned. "Is he alright? He didn't have to go home to visit his mum again, did he?"

"Oh, no that's not... no. He's just... patrolling with James this week. Is it warm in here? Should we get started?"

"What? Oh... er... alright."

Lily was already hastening back into the corridor, and a very confused Clancy followed.

"So..." The Ravenclaw jogged to catch up with the somewhat flustered Head Girl. "How do you and Potter generally fair?"

A little too hastily: "What?"

"Patrolling... is it usually pretty smooth? You haven't seen anything scary in a broom cupboard yet, have you?"

"Oh. Er... no. Pretty smooth, yeah." Lily raised an eyebrow. "Do you and Remus check every broom cupboard?"

"Most of them, yes."

"That seems... time consuming."

"Well what have you and Potter been doing?" asked Clancy curiously.

Playing cards in the Head office.

"Just... walking around mostly."

"Oh." Clancy frowned thoughtfully. "And that's allowed? I'll have to tell Remus..."

Something in her tone, and the way her lips twitched almost into a smile when she uttered the boy's name, caught Lily's attention.

"And... what about you?" asked the Head Girl, as they walked. "Have patrols been going very smoothly for the two of you?"

"Oh yes, very," Clancy replied quickly. "Remus is an excellent partner. But you've been his partner prefect for two years, so I suppose you knew that. Are you two close?"

"Yeah, Remus is wonderful," said Lily. "And I'm sorry you haven't had the chance to patrol with your actual partner yet... if you'd like, I can try to fix the schedule, so..."

"Oh, it's fine," interjected the other. "That is, I'm sure you have plenty to do as it is without rearranging the schedule for my benefit. And I like patrolling with Remus. He's very... knowledgeable."

"Knowledgeable. Yes. Very."

And suddenly Lily thought she might have made something of a mistake.

---

Clancy chattered good-naturedly, mostly about classes and being a prefect, and then a bit about the patrols, and she had a kind of smile on her face that made Lilly curious. Her brown eyes were alight, her tone so engaged and vivacious that Lily wondered how she had ever considered this girl shy. She was so lively in this conversation, almost passionate. Remus Lupin's name had been heard a dozen times in the discourse before Lily realized why this might be—Clancy was interested in the subject matter.

Very interested.

"So," began the Head Girl, after about an hour of walking the darkened empty corridors of the castle. She and Clancy were making their way across the seventh floor, a conversation about homework having died down a few minutes before and an empty silence providing a perfect opportunity for Lily to venture into a topic that had been bothering her since—some fifty-five minutes prior—she had decided that Clancy Goshawk was a very nice kind of girl: "You're dating Charlie Plex, is that right?"

Clancy nodded, and the smile on her face changed a little. "We started going out over the summer."

"Yeah?" Lily bit her lip. "If you don't mind my asking... how?"

"You mean 'why?'" Clancy modified, and Lily couldn't deny it. "Oh I know what people think about him... what happened last year, with Cassidy Gamp and Donna Shacklebolt and what-not. But Charlie's not that way with me. I went to a party at his house over the holiday, and he was... sweet. He's not perfect, I know it, but he's... he's different with me. When it's just the two of us alone, he says—he says such sweet things. I've never..." She blushed a little, "I've never had anyone tell me I'm beautiful before, you know?"

Lily did know. She nodded, and Clancy was too nice a girl (too near a stranger) to say the cynical things that Lily at once wanted to say. Boys—and people in general—could say a lot of things if it meant getting what they wanted. And it was often the case that the nicer the things said, the less admirable the things wanted. Furthermore, some people were willing to believe it—Lily had been, with Luke. It was nice to buy into an image: Luke's had been innocent and romantic. Perhaps Charlie's was a bad boy transformed by love. But Lily couldn't and wouldn't say this to Clancy, so she only nodded and smiled politely before—sort of—changing the subject.

"Once again, I'm sorry I sprung the patrol change on you."

"Oh, it's no problem. I don't suppose the patrols are too dangerous anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that it's not too frightening to patrol the halls without—y'know—a bloke. Just us girls."

Under other circumstances, Lily might have been offended by the implications of the statement, but the idea of Remus Lupin playing the role of strong protector was too amusing, and instead, Lily giggled at the mental image.

"What?" asked Clancy.

"Oh—er—nothing. Of course, I'm not saying it's dangerous, but... maybe there's something to be said for the boy-girl paring in patrols. There might be different things to be offered."

"Yes, exactly."

Very different things, in this case, Lily thought.

---

"So I had patrols yesterday."

Lily dropped into the vacant seat at Remus's library table, and he looked up at her, confused. He nodded slowly.

"With Clancy," Lily added.

"I know. We traded shifts, remember?"

"Right..." Remus returned to his homework, and Lily waited for him to say something, but he did not, and so the Head Girl pressed on: "She's alright, isn't she?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"She's really smart."

Remus's eyes flickered briefly away from his book, and then returned to it again so quickly that anyone staring at him less intently than Lily was might not have noticed.

"Well, she is a Ravenclaw."

"Right, but she's much more intelligent then... say... Valerie Turpin."

"Well obviously."

"She's really nice, too."

"Mmm."

"And pretty..."

Remus set down his book. "Okay, you're not being subtle, Lily."

Lily tried to look innocent. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

"What am I doing?"

"You're... implying."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "What am I implying?"

"Something ridiculous and impossible and not even worth mentioning."

He returned to his book. Lily sighed and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "I don't know, actually, what you imagine I am implying. If, however, you think that I am implying that you and Clancy would be the absolute most adorable thing in history..."

Remus set down his book and leaned forward. "Would you keep your voice down?" he asked in a loud whisper.

"We're in the library on a Friday. Who exactly do you think is doing to overhear?"

Remus opened his mouth to argue but closed it when he realized that Lily was, in fact, correct. Almost all of the other tables were empty.

"All the same, if I did this to you..."

"Did what to me?"

"Talked about James that way."

"That's completely different," huffed Lily. "James has a girlfriend... Alright. Fine. It's exactly the same, but still..."

"No, you're right, it is completely different," Remus whispered. "Because I don't fancy Clancy."

Lily giggled.

"What?"

"Fancy Clancy."

Remus rolled his eyes. "It's eerie sometimes how much you remind me of Prongs. And Padfoot for that matter..."

Lily sobered up. "Fine. You don't fancy her."

"Thank-you."

He returned to his book. Lily pouted for a moment, and then went on, "And it's just as well."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well..." She shrugged. "Clancy's cute. But she's kind of... short, isn't she?"

"Er..." Remus looked uncomfortable. "I hadn't noticed."

"Mmm, very short now that I think of it. Miniature, even." (Remus said nothing.) "And," Lily deliberately went on, "as clever as she is, she's not very..."

"Not very what?"

"Smart, I think."

"She's smart!" Remus defended.

"She's dating Charlie Plex."

"Just because someone sees the best in people and believes that they're able to change doesn't mean they're not smart!" said Remus loudly. Ms. Sevoy scowled at the pair. Lily grinned. Remus glared. "You tricked me," he accused.

"You so fancy her."

"Oh, Merlin." The Marauder sighed, massaging his forehead wearily.

"It's not so bad!" Lily told him comfortingly. "I think she fancies you."

"She doesn't."

"But..."

"She doesn't."

"But..."

"And even if she did, she's got a boyfriend."

"But..."

"And even if she didn't, I'm not in a position to date anyone."

"But..."

"You know what I am, Lily, you know I couldn't possibly."

"But..."

"It wouldn't be fair to her!"

"But..."

"I could never do that to someone I like."

"But..."

"But what? Did she actually say she fancies me?"

"Well, no," Lily admitted. "Not in so many words..."

"Three, you mean? Three words? I fancy Remus. That's all it would really take."

"Yes, but..."

"She's dating Charlie Plex. There must be a reason for that."

"But..."

"And Plex might be a completely unworthy git, but I think he genuinely likes her."

"But..."

"And I'm the last person in the world who should try to complicate her life like that."

"But..."

"But what?"

Lily sighed. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well... just... she smiled at you after counseling today."

"She did, didn't she?" Remus moped. Lily patted his arm.

"I'm sorry, Remus. It's rubbish luck... although..." Hopefully: "if it's any comfort, you're now in the same boat I am."

"Which is what, exactly?"

Lily shook her head glumly. "The Shelley boat."

"The Shelley boat?"

"The Shelley boat."

"I don't like this boat."

"It's a fucking awful boat."

---

Dear Sam,

Slow down, my man.

I am not in love with anyone.

I fancy James.

I probably would enjoy seeing him without a shirt.

I am not in love.

Anyway, you're not the first I've told. Remus, Sirius, and Peter know, which is probably a massive mistake, but they caught me off guard, and I accidentally spilled. But you know what? It doesn't matter. All shall be well, because—well, I don't know, but it will.

It's nicer just not to think about it.

I never did answer your question about the Lynch Mob, but I can't even have the satisfaction of being a member of that group, either. The Carlotta matter is... complicated. And James really does seem to genuinely like her, so how atrocious a human being would I have to be to jump in now that he has someone he likes and say, "Well, mate, seems I've changed my mind. Woman's prerogative, yeah?"

I've always hated that particular stereotype anyway.

So, long and short of it, if you're taking applications for someone to fill in on the porch-sitting-becoming-spinsters-with-eighty-seven-cats-and-passing-judgment-over-passersby position in lieu of the happily coupled Sarah McKinnon, I formally submit mine.

(Unless you've grown a pair and written to the mysterious David).

You really ought to, too.

Timing is everything.

Incidentally, my timing is rubbish, which is why by simple if, then logic, everything is rubbish... with regards to your way-too-hasty suppositions concerning James and myself, anyway.

So that's that for the time being.

It's not really something I want to dwell on for now. I have other things to think about too, you know (that's my feminism talking).

Marlene Price made the Quidditch team. Remus Lupin has prospects for a girl (well, not good prospects: I'm convinced she fancies him, but she's got an obnoxious and bloody inconvenient boyfriend). For whatever reason, it doesn't feel wrong for Remus to fancy this girl, but the very fact that I enjoy spending time with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-James makes me feel like Shelley Mumps. Not that you have any clue who Shelley Mumps is, but that's a long story.

No it's not. Shelley Mumps is the girl who was James's girlfriend's best mate, who's fancied James since first year and is now attempting to sabotage their (James and Carlotta's) relationship.

I hate teenagers.

The point is, I feel like Shelley, even if I'm not actually attempting to ruin their relationship (just occasionally wishing it ill goddammit). Also—wait, how did this turn into me talking about James again? Fuck it all, never mind.

New topic.

Sarah. How's she doing? And her boyfriend? And M.F.P.?

You know, Sarah's a really good person; she's not going to desert you just because she's got a bloke. She may be—occupied differently, but I think that's just part of the relationship game. And I'm sure you know that and are happy for her, because I think working at a relationship is a sign of maturity. And same goes for you and this David character. And James and Carlotta. Whom I won't mention again.

Damn it.

Anyway, all my love,

Lily

---

James arrived quite early for his patrols with Remus on Friday evening, so that even the ever punctual Moony had not yet turned up while the Head Boy waited outside the Head offices on the second floor, leaning against the stone wall and staring across the corridor at the view provided by one of the windows.

He didn't particularly want to patrol this evening... and not simply because it was taking up a significant block of his Friday evening. He didn't want to patrol with Remus.

I suppose you are uniquely qualified in that sense.

It was all a harsh reminder that Remus would have made a far superior, more sensible Head Boy.

Remus always joked that he had only made prefect to keep the other Marauders in line, and as Carlotta had observed, there was a certain logic in taking, "the king of the troublemakers" and making him the Head Boy. It was an old tactic, giving someone a responsibility to keep them out of trouble.

But it should have been Remus.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and James looked up, only to see someone approaching that he wanted to see far less than Remus: Shelley Mumps.

She had already seen him, though, and there was no chance of hiding. The blonde smiled and quickened her pace, reaching him a moment later.

"James," she greeted, smiling coyly at him. "I was just on my way back up to the dormitory. What brings you here?"

James sighed. "Hi, Shelley. I have patrols soon."

Her smile faded slightly. "You don't sound very happy to see me. I thought we were on good terms again."

"We were never on bad terms, were we? I don't actually think we were on any terms at all."

"But you're clearly not thrilled to see me."

"I'm..." James broke off and shrugged. "I'm just waiting for Remus, that's all."

"I see." Shelley nodded skeptically. "And I suppose Carlotta's instructed you to keep your distance from me. She likes to be in control of things like that, doesn't she?"

"She hasn't said anything of the kind," James replied. "But that right there is one of the reasons I think it's probably a good idea that we remain... term-less."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean my girlfriend is your current nemesis."

Shelley blushed faintly. "I didn't realize you let your girlfriend determine who you're allowed to be mates with."

James leaned back against the wall behind him, folding his arms. "It would be loads trickier to decide if I didn't still hear a new nasty rumor about her every single morning."

Shelley looked away. "I told you I didn't intend for it to turn out that way."

"But all the same, it did... and to be honest, if you were a bloke, you would probably have some fairly serious Marauder-based wrath directed your way."

The witch looked genuinely hurt by this, and James felt guilty.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, somewhat defensively. "Really. It's an... uncomfortable situation. And I'm probably not handling it with Head-Boy-ish dignity, but I don't know what else to do."

Shelley did not respond at first. She was staring at the ground as if attempting to memorize the stone pattern, a look of deep concentration etched on her face. And then she smiled up at James again, taking a step closer to him and patting him on the shoulder. He instinctively moved to step back, but the wall behind him prevented that, and he had only to scoot awkwardly against it.

"I'm glad you felt you could confide that in me," she said.

James stared. "Wait... what?"

"Progress, I think."

With a final smile, Shelley turned on her heel to go.

"Wait—I—no. No, I think you misinterpreted... okay, you leaving, that's fantastic, wonderful, just keep... all right."

She was gone.

James scowled. "Well that's just lovely," he said to no one in particular.

"What is?" asked a new voice, and before James's brain had properly registered the nuances of the tone, he thought it might be Remus. It was not, however, and as he turned to see the new arrival in the corridor, he realized that it was, in fact, a girl's voice.

A short, pale faced girl with dark hair stood there, her black eyes fixed on James with curiosity.

At first, James thought this girl must be a first year, but a moment later he recollected where he had seen her before: at the staff table most mornings and evenings, always seated directly beside Professor Ramsay.

"Er... nothing," he said awkwardly; there was a great deal of distance between himself and this child—whose dress in a paisley frock rather than the school uniform suggested that she was not, in fact, a student—and yet James was tempted to step further back, as if she, in all her four-foot intimidation, might attack him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Who am I? Who are you?"

"I'm Valentina."

"I'm James."

"Oh."

She continued to stare at him with her large eyes, and James continued to regard her with the utmost suspicion.

Which was ridiculous, he realized, because she was about ten.

"Are you a student?" he asked after a brief silence, though he had already guessed the answer.

"No. My papa teaches here," said the girl called Valentina, and her voice was quiet and strange: not squeaky, as little children's voices sometimes are, but calm and thoughtful and almost ghostly.

"Professor Ramsay?" James guessed again, and Valentina nodded.

"Yes."

More silence.

"Well..." James swallowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was exploring," said Valentina. "But I'm not sure which floor I'm on."

"The second."

"The second," Valentina echoed. "West Wing?"

"That's right. Do you—er... live here?"

"No, I'm in the East Wing."

"No, I mean..." Children were so dense sometimes. "Do you live in the castle?"

Valentina nodded, not reacting to her mistake. "With papa."

"Oh." James, too, nodded, looking anywhere but into Valentina's curious stare. "Er... why?"

"Why?" she repeated.

"Why do you live here?" Other teachers didn't have their families hanging about, did they? Or didn't they have families? James realized that he'd never really thought about it before. "Where's your mum?"

It was probably a rude question, but tact had never been James's forte.

Valentina, however, seemed neither hurt nor offended, and yet her reply did not precisely answer his question: "I lived with my aunt. But then Papa came to fetch me, and we came here."

"O-oh. Well that's... I don't know. Er—how old are you anyway?"

"Ten. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

For the first time, this response seemed to provoke a reaction out of little Valentina Ramsay. "Seventeen," she once again repeated his word, now with interest. "You're a seventh year, then."

"Yes." And then to fill the silence (why wouldn't she go away?): "Head Boy."

"Oh. Are you the tallest, then?"

James honestly had no idea what that even meant. "What?"

"You're the Head Boy, so you're the tallest, aren't you?"

"Er... I don't know. What...?"

"Prongs?"

Thank Merlin.

Remus had arrived; it was exactly eight o'clock now, and he jogged to meet James. It was another moment before he realized that his friend was not alone, but in deep conversation with a ten-year-old girl.

"Er... hello."

"Hello," said Valentina.

Remus looked between the two, waiting for someone to clue him in.

"This is Valentina Ramsay," said James. "She's Professor Ramsay's kid, I guess."

"Oh." Remus turned to Valentina. "It's very nice to meet you," he said politely. "I'm Remus Lupin."

"It's very nice to meet you, too," Valentina mimicked.

"For you, she gives full sentences," James grumbled.

Remus ignored him. "Are you lost?" he asked kindly, and Valentina nodded. "Oh... well, we should probably help you find your way back, then..." He looked confusedly to James, who didn't know how to begin to explain that he hadn't had any idea that this kid was lost. "Where do you live in the castle?"

"In the East Wing, near the statue of the man who looks like a troll."

"Oh... hmmm, I'm not sure..."

"Diggory the Druid," said James. "The statue of Diggory the Druid." Remus arched an eyebrow. "Third floor, East Wing, bloke who looks like a troll... Diggory the Druid looks like a troll. I'm not entirely sure he wasn't at least half."

"You can't be half troll, half human," Remus pointed out. "Genetically incompatible."

"I don't know what that means," said James, rolling his eyes. "Can we just get rid... er... that is..."

Remus too rolled his eyes. "Let's take you back where you belong, then, Valentina," he said, turning to the young witch again. "This way, I think."

"Thank-you," said Valentina softly. "You know, I think you're taller than he is..."

"No one asked you," snapped James.

"Prongs," Lupin censured.

When Valentina was deposited at her chambers, Remus and James turned back to begin their patrols properly.

"Thank-you," the Head Boy said to his friend. "Little children scare me."

"Evidently," Remus replied, smirking.

"Shut up," said James, half laughing himself. "Anyway, she caught me off guard. I just had a near-Shelley experience."

"That's not pretty. I thought I noticed the unmistakable scent of cheap perfume back there..."

"It doesn't take a werewolf to smell it when a bird's wearing that much I suppose."

"Oi, keep it down!"

"No one's around."

"Still..."

James shrugged. "I just don't understand what she can possibly hope to accomplish," he said. "Shelley, that is. Obviously, I fancy Carlotta, and it's not as though I'm going to give her the sack just because she wants me to."

"Right," said Remus, somewhat stiffly. He looked at the floor. "You're with the person you want to be with, and you wouldn't be with them if you didn't want to be, and just because someone else might fancy you doesn't mean you're going to drop everything to be with them, even though they've never been in a proper relationship before, and they've never wanted one until now, and even though the idea of the two of you together is so completely ridiculous and foolhardy, they can't help but think that it might be weirdly perfect, too, and in some impossible, alternate existence they might not be a complete freak, and the two of you could actually be completely happy together." They reached the staircase. James stared.

"You all right, there, Moony?"

"What?" Remus started. "Oh. Yes. Fantastic. Up or down?"

"What?"

"Up to the fourth floor or down to the second?" Remus clarified, waving vaguely at the staircase before them.

James momentarily shook off his confusion and said: "Do we have to actually walk around the entire castle? I'm up for a game of Gobstones myself."

"Of course we have to walk around the castle," said Remus. "How else would you patrol? I'm sure Lily doesn't let you slack off like that."

"Oh, no, we've been using the map," James replied. "It's easier and more comprehensive." He grinned hopefully.

"Oh. That's actually not a half bad idea. 'Course I couldn't if I was patrolling with... anyone else, but if it's just us..."

"Yeah, why are we patrolling together anyway?" asked James.

Remus looked uncomfortable. "Lily had another engagement tonight."

"Oh, I see." They were both quiet for a moment "And that engagement is... what exactly? Painting her fingernails in the common room? Because that's what she was doing when I left..."

"Well..."

"Moony," began James, folding his arms. "Just tell me about her."

"About whom?"

"This bird. The bird you've been patrolling with—this Clancy Goshawk."

"How do you...?"

"Padfoot says you're lending her books, and you don't lend your books to just anyone. Plus..." James's mouth twitched with amusement, "when I told Sirius that Molly Weasley had another kid and Charlie wasn't the youngest anymore, you interrupted with a five minute rant on what an awful name 'Charlie' is, and how anyone cursed enough to be so named—and I quote—'deserves what he gets.'" Remus flushed a little, and James added: "So as someone who probably had similar feelings about the name 'Luke' not too long ago... I understand."

"It doesn't matter," said Remus after a few moments hesitation. "She's..."

"Perfect, out of your league, got a boyfriend?"

Remus shrugged. "I don't want to be Shelley," he said.

"Shelley?" laughed James. "How are you Shelley? You're not Shelley." Remus looked at him skeptically, and James considered it. "Well, fine, technically, you're in the Shelley role, but that doesn't mean that you're the Shelley."

"That's exactly what it means."

"No, because you're not doing Shelley things. And if you were to try to... surreptitiously flirt with Goshawk, you still wouldn't be the Shelley, because... because... because you're cool. And a werewolf..."

"Prongs..."

"I'm serious! It must be comforting, knowing that despite your folded socks and mild-mannered-ly combed hair, you could still rip Charlie Plex to shreds."

"And you don't think Shelley could break Carlotta in half?" asked Remus dryly.

"Well that's not fair. Carlotta's very small. A twelve-year-old of average strength could probably break her in half."

"I'm the Shelley."

"No you're not."

"I am. It's pathetic, but it's the truth."

"Moony, listen to me..." They started down the staircase, "You're not the Shelley."

"I am the Shelley."

"You're not the Shelley."

"I'm the Shelley."

"You don't even wear perfume."

"I'm the Shelley."

"You didn't start a huge fight in Counseling."

"I'm the Shelley."

"You're much cuter than she is."

"I'm the Shelley."

"If you were trying to date me, I would absolutely dump Carlotta for you."

"I'm the... oh shut up, Prongs."

---

Sunday evening brought the first Quidditch practice of the season for Gryffindor, which, in turn, brought quite a bit of running.

"It builds endurance," James had explained. "It also keeps you all in good enough shape to keep your brooms off the ground. Okay... three more laps."

And that would have been fine, if it were not for the stream of exercises that followed, individually assigned depending on the players' position on the team. Only in the last hour of practice did they get on their brooms at all, and in the last half hour there was a brief scrimmage, which, after everything else, felt like reprieve.

Then, at last, it was all over, and the team packed up their gear.

"So how about it, Price?" asked Adam with a grin, as he helped return the Quaffles to their cart. "First practice—what d'you think?"

Marlene sat on the grass, and she smiled, pushing her short hair from her eyes. "Excellent," she said. "It's intense but... a lot of fun."

"It is." Adam locked up the crate. "I'll bring this to the shed, if ya like," he added to James, who nodded and thanked him. "You coming, Price?"

"I'm just going to wait for Donna."

"Right-o. See you in the Common Room."

"See you."

Then Adam trudged off. Marlene watched him leave the pitch.

"You're waiting for me?" asked Donna skeptically, approaching her roommate. "Why?"

Marlene looked up. "Because I don't think I can move."

"What?"

"I don't think I can move," Marlene repeated, somewhat frantically. "I am physically stuck in this position. I only sat down for a second, and now I'm frozen. My muscles have literally stopped working."

"Ah," said Donna knowingly. "Yes, that can happen. Common side effect of Potter Practices. But there's a reason we're the best team in the school." She leaned over and grabbed Marlene's upper arm, pulling the blonde to her feet.

"Ow, ow, ow..."

All the same, Marlene managed to stand again, and Donna handed her a water bottle. "I threw up after my first Potter Practice," she said. "And I was in much better shape than you are."

"Thank-you."

"It gets better."

Marlene nodded. Wincing, she picked up her school-owned broom and started back towards the castle with Donna.

"So what about your moral dilemma?" asked the blonde, as they crossed the lawn under the grey sky. "Resolved?"

"Maybe," said Donna. "I don't know."

"I still think you should tell me."

Annoyed: "I'm not going to tell you."

"I know, but I still think you should."

Donna rolled her eyes.

When they reached the Entrance Hall, Marlene proceeded straight toward the marble staircase, and Donna would certainly have followed, but something caught her eye through the open doors into the Great Hall.

"You coming?" asked Marlene, several paces ahead.

"I'll... I'll be along in a minute."

"Okay..."

Marlene continued up the staircase, and Donna moved into the Great Hall. The person who had caught her eye stood over one of the tables, a cloth rag in hand as she wiped down the surface of Hufflepuff table: it was her sister, Bridget.

They were not, however, alone. Professor Flitwick—and Donna hadn't noticed him at first—stood not far off, an air of supervision about him as he crossed his tiny arms over his chest.

"Excuse me, Miss Shacklebolt," said Flitwick, and both Bridget and Donna looked at him: Bridget started in surprise, noticing her elder sister for the first time, and then she quickly resumed her cleaning with increased vigor. Donna looked bewilderedly from her sister to her professor. "I'm afraid you'll have to go," Flitwick squeaked on. "Miss Shackle... that is, the younger Miss Shacklebolt is in detention, and..."

"Detention?" Donna interrupted loudly. Bridget flinched, but did not make eye contact with anyone. "What is she in detention for? She's a first year for Agrippa's sake!"

"I am afraid that is not your concern, Miss Shacklebolt!"

"Of course it's my concern! She's my sister!"

"Indeed, but as a fellow student, you..."

Donna did not care to hear the excuses, though. She hurried over to where all three feet of Professor Flitwick stood near the wall, and her expression was pleading. "Professor Flitwick," the seventh year began in an undertone, so that Bridget could not hear, "Bridget's my little sister. My mum and dad aren't around, and I'm almost entirely responsible for her... please, just let me have a few minutes to speak with her..."

Flitwick sighed, although even that somehow managed to come across as squeaky, and then he nodded. "Five minutes would not hurt, I suppose."

"Thank-you."

It required all of Donna's self-restraint not to hop over the intervening table between herself and Bridget; Flitwick, quite politely, moved towards the front of the Hall, a safe distance away. Donna came up to her sister, who still scrubbed defiantly at the table, until Donna took her by the shoulder—gently—and turned the young witch to face her.

"You're in detention?" Donna asked. She wasn't sure whether to be furious or concerned, and she was almost convinced that whatever Bridget had allegedly done to merit this punishment was not, in fact, Bridget's fault at all.

"Apparently," said Bridget. She twisted the rag between her fingers nervously. "Please don't make a fuss, Donna, it's not..."

"What happened?" Donna interrupted. "You're the best behaved child I've ever encountered. It's frightening how well behaved you are!"

"Donna, please don't..."

"Just tell me what happened!"

"Don't make a fuss over this, Donna, it's not..."

"Bridget."

Bridget took a deep calming breath. Then: "I got in a fight."

"You got in a fight?" Donna repeated loudly and incredulously. "With whom? What happened?"

Bridget did not make eye contact. "Abby Marquette."

"Abby Marquette? I thought the two of you were friends..."

"We were..." Bridget stopped abruptly though and fidgeted with the rag in her hand. "She was just... she was being a prig."

"What was she doing?" demanded Donna. "Why did you feel the need to fight her?"

"She... well..."

"Bridget."

And then, with great difficulty: "She was calling you a slut."

Donna could only stare. "Wait... what? Me? I don't understand."

And then the rest came spilling out. "It started out the other day," Bridget explained, twisting the rag anxiously between her fingers, "This seventh year... I mean, Charlie Plex was in the Common Room, and he was... saying things about you, and I didn't say anything, and then yesterday Abby—well, she was mostly repeating what Charlie Plex said, and she called you a slut, and so I... I... well..." Bridget swallowed; "Leg Lock is the only hex I know, so... anyway, I got a detention. Obviously. And Abby Marquette's not speaking to me."

When the story concluded, Donna closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. "So..." she began, opening her eyes, "this is my fault."

"No, it's..."

"Bridge, you don't have to stand up for me."

"And you wouldn't have done the same for me?" asked the other defiantly.

"I'm your older sister," Donna countered. "That's my job. But you... Oh Merlin..." Donna closed her eyes and ran a frustrated hand through her hair.

Bridget, meanwhile, stared intently down at the ground, but she chewed on her lip as though mulling over something she wanted to say, until at last she looked up at Donna and asked: "Is it true?" Donna opened her eyes. "I mean, is—is what Charlie Plex said true? About... about you and him? When he was seeing that other girl?"

Her dark eyes were almost anxious as they bore into Donna; the elder witch sighed. She put her arm around Bridget's shoulder and guided her towards the nearest table (Hufflepuff), sitting the both of them down on the bench.

"Bridget," she began slowly, "I..." But there was nothing else for it: "Yes."

Bridget nodded.

"I wish I could say that it wasn't true, but—well, it is. I'm not... I'm not the best example for you, and I know that—I wasn't trying to hide it from you; I just wanted to protect you for a little while longer..."

Then, for some reason unbeknownst to Donna, Bridget smiled.

"Abby Marquette's older sister got four P's on her O.W.L.s., and you only have to look at her to know she couldn't play Quidditch to save her life. On top of that, she's an awful gossip. I think you're a brilliant example."

"Well... that's because you've got your priorities sorted." Donna frowned. "It's really complicated, Bridge. Everything that happened last year... I'm not proud of it. And I'm sorry that you have to see..."

"I know you're not perfect," Bridget interrupted. "I've always known that. And I don't care what Abby Marquette or anyone has to say about you..."

"Then why did you hex her?"

Bridget had no adequate response for that.

"Bridge," Donna went on slowly; "There are plenty of people that don't like me. I'm not like you, you know? I didn't even have friends until third year..."

"Third year?"

"Yes, I know," said Donna shortly. "But that's just how I am. Loads of it is my fault, too, and loads of it is..."

"Charlie Plex's fault?"

Donna snorted. "Not quite. But I'll be gone next year, and hopefully most of this will go with me..."

"Donna, it's not..."

"Nothing I've done is going to make any difference for you, from now on," Donna said firmly. "And you can't let it. You can't hex anyone who doesn't like me... it's very sweet, but it just won't do."

"But..."

"Bridget, promise you're not going to get any more detentions on my account."

"I promise, but..."

"Bridget."

"I promise I won't get any more detentions on your account," Bridget said glumly. "But I'm not guaranteeing I won't curse Abby Marquette again."

"But not on my account."

"But not on your account."

"And don't get caught."

Bridget giggled. She leaned against her older sister's shoulder, looping her arm through Donna's.

"I think Charlie Plex is a wormy git," said Bridget softly.

"Me too," Donna had to agree. "I'm sorry, Bridge."

"You don't have to..."

"No, I do. I'm sorry."

They sat there quietly for a long time.

"Bridget had really better get back to work," Flitwick's squeaky voice effectively ended the moment, and Bridget started.

"Oh. Right. I'm in detention."

"Right."

(A Shirt)

Monday mornings were almost always utterly dismal affairs, but this one seemed particularly glum. Marlene and Donna had just finished Quidditch practice, and Marlene seemed to be mourning the loss of her fine motor skills, while Donna was in a worse mood than usual. Mary chatted away as usual, supported only by Lily, whose attention was drawn away when the mail arrived.

Niko the owl arrived with a letter from Sam Dearborn, but she also bore a brown paper parcel attached to it and tied with thin rope.

"What's that?" Mary asked. "From a secret admirer?"

"Hardly. Sam Dearborn, I think."

Lily opened the letter first.

"Dear Lily,

I have enclosed a present from myself and Sara, who—having heard the gist of your advice regarding herself and lover boy—claims that you are a better friend to her than I am, and is therefore quite enamored of you at the mo. I should also add that I am most displeased with you, jealous bloke that I am, but never mind: my ire is short-lived. Anyway, perhaps this gift will give you a little incentive regarding post-Hogwarts plans. Don't open it until I'm done talking, though, Ginge. That's rude.

This will be a short letter, though, so fear not. I've got M.F.P. in twenty minutes, and Tilly'll have a fit if I'm late. Again. But here's the main point of what I want to write: whatever happens with my dear cousin, you'll be just fine. Truthfully, being happy isn't about having what you want when you want it, is it? Because then we'd have no control over our own happiness, and I don't happen to believe in that.

Take me for example. I'm exceedingly happy some if the time. But it's not because of David (gorgeous, oh Merlin, Lily, remind me to give you actual details next letter, yeah?) or Sarah or anyo9ne. People make me happy, sure, but only in a way—the purely reactionary way. Which is fine. For me, being happy is about doing what you're meant to be doing at any given time. Being in sync with your purpose.

Did I make that up or have I been reading Fiona Keepdown books again?

No, I think I made it up.

Wouldja listen to me: twenty something and wise beyond my years.

But that's an awful lot of feel-good rubbish. I'm not any more sorted out than you are, Ginge. But there it is. Advice from Sam. I ought to write a book.

I really do have to run now, so pip-pip, kid. Don't forget to open your figt, and wear it with pride (hint, hint).

Your un-indentured servant,

Sam"

Curious, Lily set down the letter and picked up the parcel, unwrapping it carefully. There was some white cloth inside, that she unrolled, revealing a t-shirt—a familiar one, with green lettering of "M F P."

It was the shirt that Sam and Sarah and the other Magic-For-Peace members had been wearing in the Ministry the month before.

"Lucky," said Marlene from across the table. "It's cute. I want one."

Lily hadn't a moment to reply, however, as James Potter happened to be passing by that particular stretch of Gryffindor table at the moment with Remus, Sirius, and Peter, and he too noticed the article of clothing.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked curiously, and Lily almost jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice.

"Sam Dearborn sent it," she replied, glancing up at the Head Boy and then back at her new shirt.

"Sam?" There was surprise in his tone, but not exactly displeasure. "That's... nice of him. I didn't know you two kept up."

Lily smiled and nodded. "Just recently."

She supposed that Sirius, Remus, and Peter might have exchanged knowing looks, but she did not partake.

(On Shore)

Professor McGonagall was not yet in the Transfiguration classroom when Lily arrived with Marlene, Donna, and Mary. She sat down in the back and pulled out her notes, quills, and ink, and as she did, Remus sat down in the desk beside her own. The Marauder squared himself toward her, rather than the front of the room, as though he did not intend to stay long, for the other Marauders sat at the opposite end of the room.

"Hello, Lily."

"Remus." She turned to face him as well.

"You posted the latest patrol schedule, I noticed," he remarked. The Head Girl nodded.

"Yeah, I've finally got my own schedule sorted out. The goal is to have it up by every Monday morning."

Remus didn't seem interested in this fact, as though it were something else entirely that he was driving at. "I'm on Thursday again. You're back with James."

Lily nodded. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that her friends weren't paying attention (and they weren't) before replying with a noncommittal: "So it would seem."

"And that wouldn't have anything to do with your matchmaking scheme, would it?" Remus asked suspiciously. Lily only smiled softly and shook her head.

"No. If you don't want to patrol with..." her voice dropped lower, "Clancy, you dot have to. I can trade you with whoever you want."

"Then why did you switch back?"

Lily took a moment to answer. "I don't need to avoid him," she said at length. "I'm not..." ("Shelley," she almost said). "I'll be okay working with him can't always get what you want when you want it, and... that's alright."

"So what about the Shelley boat?" asked Remus, frowning, but Lily smiled again and shrugged.

"Shelleyism is a choice."

"And you're sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

(Matters of the Head Boy)

It should have been Remus.

This thought overcame all others Monday evening, before the weekly prefects' meeting, as James sat alone on the sofa in the Head Student office. He was early, but Quidditch had been in the morning, and he didn't particularly feel like spending time in the Common Room. Anyway, Carlotta was finishing her Charms homework, and the other Marauders were similarly occupied, so that James, not in the mood for school work either, came to get some time on his own before the meeting. Lily had posted the patrol schedule as they had agreed, and his name was, once again, next to her own on Friday evening. Remus was on Thursday with Clancy again... perhaps Lily had noted the benefits of the latter pairing, too... perhaps Remus had contributed to the assembly of the schedule. It was the sort of thing he would do.

It should have been Remus.

Remus was a prefect. Remus had known how to interact with young Valentina Ramsay. Remus had put an end to the fight in Counseling at the beginning of the month. Remus would know what to do as Head Boy, and maybe, if he had appeared more successful in reining in his friends, he would have the badge. But it was during Remus's prefect-ship that Sirius played his prank on Snivellus, and it was Remus who had been the "threat" of that prank to begin with—and James was Head Boy. Because, as Carlotta had pointed out, James was ostensibly the only person who could claim authority over those rebellious elements of the student body (being one of those elements himself). Deserving or not, he, James, was Head Boy.

But it should have been Remus.

Almost before he realized what he was doing, James rose from the couch. he reached the door and then entered the corridor with no acknowledged destination until he was already halfway there—halfway to Dumbledore's office.

The Head Students were endowed with the privilege of knowing the password through the statue gateway to the headmaster's office: James gave it without a second thought. He climbed the emerging staircase in haste, and did not pause until he reached the second door to Dumbledore's rooms. there, he hesitated for a few seconds, and then knocked.

It was another moment before Dumbledore's voice bid: "Come in." And James did.

"James," greeted the old man, no surprise in his voice. He smiled warmly across his desk at the Head Boy. "Good evening. Won't you have a seat?"

"No, thank-you," said James briskly. "No, I can only stay a minute. The prefect meeting starts soon. I just have something to say."

Dumbledore regarded him with interest in his bright blue eyes. His spectacles rested in their usual place upon his crooked nose, and the way he was situated in the large chair—sprawling purple robes half concealing it—he seemed almost another fixture in this strange office. The portraits of former headmasters slept in odd synchronization, quietly snoring away in harmony with the vague humming of the Headmaster's many instruments and ornaments.

"I've been wracking my brain," James continued, too annoyed to be nervous in the face of even Dumbledore's prestige, "trying to figure out why you would choose me to be Head Boy. It doesn't make any sense, and it's not as though you didn't have other options. And the only reason—the only possible reason I can come up with—is that you're hoping it keeps me in line... and that if you can convince me to be a good little boy, I'll do the same to my mates. And I'm not saying sometimes Sirius doesn't go a little crazy, because... well obviously he does. And I wouldn't let that happen if I could help it even if I weren't Head Boy. So I'm not going to... to play along. I don't appreciate being manipulated, and if that means letting you down, I'm sorry, but... but not really, because that's who you picked, for better or for worse, and that's what you're going to have to tolerate. And... well that's all."

James looked defiantly at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore looked right back, the meaning in the twinkle of his eyes utterly inscrutable as usual. For a few seconds, they stood like that, before James added: "And now I have to go to a meeting."

And, turning, he left. The door clicked shut behind him, and James's rapid footfalls could be heard on the stair outside, and Dumbledore chuckled.

---

James was late to the prefect meeting, but only by two or three minutes, and Lily had only just begun her talk about Filch's request that all prefects familiarize themselves with the list of banned items when James slipped into the office, standing behind a group of Hufflepuffs. Lily noted his flustered appearance—distracted, she stuttered a bit when he entered, but then she resumed at an easy pace. After the distribution of copies of Filch's list, she asked James if he had anything to add, and he contributed with McGonagall's request that each of the prefects write a brief report of their patrol experiences over the following week. A few more orders of business were attended to, and then, after all of twenty-five minutes, the prefects were dismissed.

"You all right, Prongs?" asked Remus on his way out.

"Fantastic," said James. "And... er... good work today."

Remus raised both eyebrows. "What?"

"Good work," James repeated.

"Good work on what?"

James ran one hand through his hair. "Just... just good work."

Remus continued to look at his friend with an expression one might use in staring at a friend he suspects to be replaced by a Polyjuice Potion equipped imposter. "Prongs, are you stoned?"

"No, I'm not fucking stoned. Can't a bloke tell his mate 'good work' every now and again without starting a goddamn revolution?"

"Er... I suppose so..."

"Well then good fucking work!" said James impatiently.

"Thank... you?"

"You're welcome."

"Okay." Remus made for the door. "See you in the Common Room?"

"Yeah, I'll be along in a minute," said James, much more genially, and a very confused Remus left, the last of the prefects. Only Lily and James remained.

Lily was cleaning up the desk, but she paused long enough to send James a curious look. "You okay, Potter?"

"Fine," said James, curt again. "Listen, I'll make the patrol schedule for next week."

"What?"

"I'll make the patrol schedule for next week."

"Oh." Lily frowned. "Are you unhappy with this one?

"No, it's fine. But you've been making all of them, and it's not fair that you should have to do it every week. So I'll do it next week." He looked as though he thought Lily was going to challenge him; instead, she folded her arms and cocked her head to one side curiously.

"You're sure you're not stoned?"

"Agrippa's sake, no I am not stoned. Why do you people keep asking me that?"

"You're behaving very strangely."

"I'm not behaving v..."

Lily leaned back against the table, ankles crossed, with an expectant look on her face. "Care to talk about it?" she interrupted him.

"No," said James sullenly.

But of course, he ended up doing so anyway.

He began the story with Valentina Ramsay, which, he realized, was an atrocious place to start the story, and he had to backtrack a bit to tie it all together. But the gist of it was clear enough to Lily—the doubts that she had raised, that Carlotta had confirmed, that his own conscience continued to provoke... and then his interaction with Dumbledore just before the meeting, and, at this point, Lily visibly reacted for the first time, her eyes growing just slightly wider.

And then it was over, and Lily remained quiet for almost a minute. "So," she began eventually, her voice low and contemplative, "What you're saying is that... you think he made you Head Boy because he wanted to keep you in line... not because you deserved it or have any discernible talent for it."

James, standing near the doorway, shrugged. "I guess." He didn't think he conveyed nonchalance very convincingly; Lily didn't seem to buy it, at any rate. "I just... he shouldn't have done it. It should have been Remus."

"It couldn't be Remus, James. You know that."

He did. It was bloody unfair, but it couldn't have been Remus. Not for any real or decent reason, but simply because there would be times when he might be asked to do something when he could not. A prefect could dodge this, but Head Boy could not... not without a great deal of difficulty. It was bloody unfair, but it couldn't have been Remus.

"Still, it's not like there's no one else. Everyone knows that: you even said it... Snape makes more sense than I do." He snorted. "And when Snape makes more sense, you know you're in the wrong place… no offense..."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Heartfelt, that."

The Head Boy shrugged again. "Whatever. It doesn't really matter."

He had almost turned to leave.

"You're kind of self-centered, you know," Lily remarked, and he hesitated, turning on his heal and leaning one shoulder against the door-case.

"It's my defining characteristic, actually," he corrected. "But why do you say so?"

For reasons unbeknownst to James, Lily fought a smile. She took a moment to assemble the words in her brain before she uttered them (he could tell), and in the process, she breathed deeply and bit her lip, her middle, ring, and little fingers brushing back the dark red hair that was already restrained with a tie. Then, she folded her arms, and her chin rose infinitesimally.

"Do you really think Dumbledore would waste the Head Boy position for an entire year just to keep you in line?" She blinked challenging green eyes. "I know you don't think it's anything important, but that badge means something to some people, and Dumbledore wouldn't just throw it at one student to stop one student from getting into mischief. You're not nearly enough trouble to make Dumbledore so desperate that he would have to do that. You can fancy yourself the Master of Evil as much as you like, but Dumbledore doesn't really care that much."

To be honest, James hadn't thought of it that way at all.

"You can't prove that," was what he said, however.

Lily shook her head, straightening up and pulling away from the desk. She picked up her book bag, slipped it over one shoulder, and walked to the door, so that she was parallel with James when she paused to add: "Maybe he didn't fixate and obsess over how to tame The Great James Potter at all. Maybe he just thought, hell... you'd make a good Head Boy. And maybe he's right or maybe he's wrong, but sitting around and whining about how it should have been Remus is a bit like salting a wound that may or may not exist. So if you want to give up the badge, do so, but that's not going to make Remus Head Boy, and it's not going to make you King of the Rebels. It's just going to make you really, really daft." Lily shrugged. She faced the corridor, he the office, and a few seconds passed in that silence. "Dumbledore thinks very highly of you. If you'd get over yourself, mate, you might notice it."

She slipped past him, through the doorway. The bag hanging from her shoulder bounced gently against her hip as she walked away, her head slightly bowed, the loose knot of red hair tied high up on her head swaying with each step, looking as though it might slip but never quite doing so.

James wondered if she was still smiling when she lifted her head again, when she adjusted the strap of her book bag, when she reached the turn in the corridor and disappeared... but he didn't know; he didn't move at all actually, until she was completely gone.

He ran his hand through his hair.

Get over yourself, mate.

Stop looking at me like that, James Potter... like... like you know something about me.

We've been drinking!

Her voice had a strange way of making his ears ring with it. Quite annoying, actually.

But she didn't smell like tequila tonight.

It was green apple.

She smelled like green apple.

Abruptly, James shut down that train of thought. He cleared his throat for the benefit of no one but himself and, once again, ruffled his hair.

Perhaps he'd better steer clear of Lily Evans for a few days.

(Mancy, Again)

"Marlene, wake up!"

Donna shook her roommate's shoulder, until at last, groaning, Marlene rolled over onto her back and opened her eyes just a crack. It was well after eleven o'clock, and the others in the dormitory were asleep, but Donna had spent the last hour debating with herself, and now she needed to speak.

"How are you awake?" moaned Marlene scratchily, pushing away Donna's hand and scowling considerably as she sat up a little in bed. "How are you even moving?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That Quidditch practice! I am in very real pain, Shacklebolt."

"That was this morning."

"Do not trivialize my agony, Shacklebolt. I will murder you."

"You get used to it," said Donna instead, and then grabbed a handful of her very curly hair as she took a deep, collecting sigh. "I'm going to do the right thing for the wrong reason, and you're going to help me."

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Marlene sat up in her bed. "What's going on?"

Another sigh, then: "Shelley Mumps is shagging Charlie Plex."

Marlene's eyes were all the way open now. "What?"

Donna nodded briskly. "I saw them the other day in the second floor corridor going to the Charms department."

"Merlin..."

"It was scarring. My brain will never be the same..."

"But Plex is..."

"Dating Clancy Goshawk."

Marlene frowned. "This story sounds vaguely familiar."

"Yes, I know," agreed Donna impatiently. "But I have evolved."

"You've evolved."

"Yes."

"Into what?"

"Someone who recognizes that Charlie Plex is not a good person to shag."

Marlene looked skeptical.

"No, honestly. I even confronted Shelley."

"No way..."

"I know, it's awful."

"You're practically Lily now."

"I know, and I don't like it, but Plex is an arse, and he deserves to be given more tentacles for what he's doing to Gamp—I mean Goshawk."

"You're scaring me, Donna."

"I'm scaring me, too!" agreed Donna. "But now I'm doing the un-Lily-like thing: I'm getting revenge. I'm telling."

"Revenge on..."

"Plex."

"Right. And you're going to tell... who? Clancy?"

"I don't know!" whispered Donna, somewhat frantically. "That's why I need you. What does one do in situations like this? Who do you tell? Should I tell Mary?" She glanced briefly to the witch in question's bed. "Half the school would know in ten minutes then..."

"That's true..." Marlene's expression turned thoughtful. "But you don't need Mary."

"I don't?"

"If it's revenge you're after, you could get the master himself."

"The master?" echoed Donna. "Who?"

"Who else?" Marlene shrugged. "Sirius Black."

Donna looked confused. "Black? Why would Black help?"

And then Marlene began to grin. "Operation Mancy."

Donna only stared. "What the fuck is that?"

---

A/N: And there it is! At long last! Thank you everyone for your patience. Chapter 33 is called "Of Marlene," and will hopefully (and almost certainly) be a quicker update! I'll probably re-edit this soon, so keep in mind this was the speediest editing I've ever done when you judge me =P

Reviews are green apple shampoo.

Love,

Jules