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.

33. Of Marlene

A/N: I have no words. It's taken me forever just to write this damn chapter, and there are a lot of reasons for that, as you may know if you've followed me elsewhere, but finally, I am happy to present to you, Chapter 33. Thank you so much for your patience!

Disclaimer: Copyright Jo-Ro.

Before: Marlene was dating this lovely bloke, Miles; just kidding, Miles was a git. He snogged Carlotta Meloni, and that effectively ended Marlene's relationship with him. Unfortunately, Adam McKinnon—who really liked Marlene—decided that being rejected by her wasn't very fun, so he went off and got himself a girlfriend, the adorable Prudence Bloody Daly. Meanwhile, Charlie Plex—purveyor of all kinds of evil—is dating Clancy Goshawk, whom Remus fancies, but Plex is also sneaking around with Shelley Mumps, who fancies James, and that's all very complicated. Donna is looking for a way to get back at Charlie, and Sirius is looking for a way to get Clancy with Remus, and Marlene decides to help them form an unholy alliance in what is called "Operation Mancy." Also, Marlene has joined the Quidditch team, replacing Sirius, who was kicked off due to his prank on Snape the year before. And that's what you missed on TLAT.

Chapter 33- "Of Marlene"

Or

"Here Comes the Sun"

And there they were, in front of her.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Ravenclaw's three hoops stood like monuments against the grey sky: tall and menacing and magnificent and inviting and intimidating. But they were just wood, and in front of them, hovering on his broom, was a boy. Just one boy.

Miles Stimpson's blue and bronze robes billowed in even the relatively gentle wind. He was looking at Marlene, only at Marlene, his own two eyes joining hundreds of others in their fixation upon this one chaser. Marlene felt dizzy. She'd stopped moving, and she was just floating there, high above the grass, above the stands, above half of the other players in the air at the moment. She gripped the nose of the Nimbus, her knuckles white.

Potter flew up to her, muttering a few instructions that she didn't understand—a deafening ringing sounded out in her ears, echoes of a thousand voices, or maybe just one voice repeating over and over and over and over: it drowned out everything else, except the excessively noisy pounding of her heart, which must have been heard by every single person in that stadium.

Hooch handed her the Quaffle, leathery and rough in her fingers. This time, Marlene knew she was going to be sick.

It wasn't a big deal, really. In the grand scheme of things—even in the grand scheme of this match—it wasn't a big deal. Nothing hinged upon her success.

Except maybe one thing.

And oh God, he was right.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't...

She was going to choke. Right there, in front of everyone, she was going to choke.

She almost did choke on the air that flooded her lungs as she took a deep breath and tucked the Quaffle under her arm. She steered her broom away from the Ravenclaw hoops to re-position herself for the shot. Her teammates and opponents alike now assembled the mandatory distance from her—for a moment, the other Chasers and Beaters and Seekers weren't watching her. But he was.

Miles Stimpson's dark eyes fixed upon her, unblinking.

Marlene found her space. She turned to face the Ravenclaw goal again.

He was bent over his Cleansweep, and he was smiling. He knew. He knew she would choke.

Pathetic.

It wasn't a big deal, really. It wasn't a defining moment by any standards... except maybe one.

Marlene swallowed. She took the Quaffle in her hands, rolling it between her palms, and she in turn stared at Miles—stared right back into his eyes, into his cocky smile, into the knowing tilt of his chin...

Ten galleons you don't score one goal...

Light-years away, the entire school watched her now. They rumbled senselessly, with no coherence to the roar they collectively omitted. The magnified voice of Liam Lyle spoke Greek. Or it might as well have.

Miles stared on.

Marlene closed her eyes.

Start low, said another voice, much clearer.

Smooth and warm was the Quaffle in her hands.

You always are.

Start low.

It'll be fine.

And it was going to rain soon.

She opened her eyes again.

(Two Weeks Earlier)

Marlene landed her broom—a Hogwarts Cleansweep—in the middle of the pitch, her feet hitting the grass at almost the same moment as the other seven players on the field. It was warmer on the ground, but still rather chilly, and the sweat that clung to Marlene's skin cooled her in the brisk evening air.

She breathed deeply twice to slow her adrenaline rushed heartbeat, and as she did, James Potter approached her. He was already in the process of removing his arm and hand guards, but he walked with purpose towards her.

"Not bad today, Price," he said. "Keep it up."

Then he walked on past her to the pile of gear near the edge of the pitch, and Marlene grinned, mostly to herself.

"Not bad today, Price," Adam McKinnon's voice teasingly mimicked James's, as he too approached Marlene.

"Hey, I'll take what I can get," she replied, sitting down on the grass. She began to unbuckle the straps of her shin-guards.

"So what do you think?" asked Adam, and he joined her on the ground. "You want to play in the next game?"

"Of course I want to," Marlene answered. "It's not really up to me, is it?"

Adam shrugged. "Hopkirk's nervous. The first match is in a couple of weeks, and I don't think he feels prepared."

"Well neither do I at the moment, but in a couple of weeks, Potter will probably have found a way to schedule six hundred more practices, so..."

"And the saddest part is that's only slight hyperbole," said Adam seriously, pulling off his shin-guards and then beginning on his Keepers' gloves. "Tragically slight." He got to his feet and held out his hand to Marlene, helping her to her feet as well. As they walked to the pile of brooms formed at the perimeter of the pitch, Adam added, "I don't suppose you've finished your Potions homework, have you?"

"Not yet, no."

"You got any time to work on it tonight? I could use a hand; skin sealant draughts are a bit of a drag..."

Marlene frowned. "I would really like to," she said sincerely. "But I... sort of promised some people I'd help them with something..."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "You don't sound very enthusiastic," he said, amused. "What is it you're supposed to do?"

---

"Okay, I want you to imagine that you're a girl..."

"I am a girl."

"And so am I."

"I believe one of you."

"Black, I'm going to rip out your esophagus."

"And you wonder why I doubt your femininity, Shack."

"Can we please get to the matter at hand?" Marlene interjected, calling the others to order by tapping the library table between them with the palm of her hand. Sirius slouched forward, chin resting against his fist; "So the question is," he went on, "How do we get Chancy..."

"Clancy."

"That's what I said. Clancy. How do we get Clancy Goshawk to understand that her boyfriend, V.D. Plex, is shagging Shelley Mumps in broom closets and corridors, so that Miss Goshawk ditches the git and transfers her affections and pleasuring capabilities to my chronically virginal mate, Remus?"

"Maybe it was a bad idea including Black in this," said Donna.

"Only if you're allergic to success," said Sirius.

"There's more to it than getting your mate a shag," said Donna impatiently. "The question is, how do we accomplish all of that while inflicting maximum damage to Charlie Plex's reputation and physical health?"

"The question is," Marlene spoke up, "how do we accomplish all of that while not completely breaking poor Clancy Goshawk's heart."

Sirius and Donna looked skeptical. "We're never going to accomplish all three of those goals," remarked Donna. "And since Black's and my goals are the whole reason for all of this, I think ours take priority."

Marlene opened her mouth to protest, but Sirius interrupted. "There's no way to make this pain-free, Marlene," he pointed out. "It's not nice, but it's not as though she's going to be permanently damaged by it."

"You don't know that! And we should at least take her feelings into consideration."

"Maybe it was a bad idea including Price in this," remarked Sirius, and Marlene kicked him under the table.

"I'm sorry that I'm the only one here with a soul," she replied. "But you can't just play fast and loose with people's feelings. Besides, if Clancy's too wounded by it, she won't be particularly interested in dating anyone any time soon, will she?"

Sirius sighed. "Blondie might have a point," he said to Donna.

"Well then how do we do it?" Donna asked. "How do we spare Goshawk?"

Marlene didn't have an answer for that. Sirius sighed again. "Well, if you were in her situation, how would you want to find out?"

"I think I'd like to catch him at it," mused Donna. "'Get in a few good hexes, y'know?"

"That we could do," said Sirius. "We've got a consistent pattern of behavior from Shelley and the Plex, so if we tracked Goshawk's daily movements, we could set up a course that would steer her towards that part of the castle at the right moment. Flood a few corridors, set some Cornish Pixies on a stairwell or two..."

"Is that possible?" asked Donna uncertainly. "It seems rather unlikely."

"Tell that to the other eight times I've done it."

"Eight?" echoed Marlene. "How could you possibly have needed to use that eight times?"

"Well, towards the end, we stopped having reasons. It was just fun making people late for class."

"Wait a minute," said Donna, "was that you in fifth year?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "Anyway, about Chancy..."

"Clancy."

"That's what I said! Anyhow, in all seriousness, are you agreed that this is the best way to go about it? Have her catch Plex?"

Donna nodded, but Marlene looked doubtful.

"Well how would you like to find out?" asked Donna.

"Well if it were me," said Marlene, "I'd like to find out by having one of my mates scheme to keep it a secret from me while I'm in the next room, but... oh wait..."

"Well in that case, you're welcome," said Donna.

Marlene made a face, and then went on: "Honestly, I think I'd like to catch him too. And then take a page out of Cassidy Gamp's Book-of-Revenge and land him in the Hospital Wing..."

"I feel like this experiment is going to be dangerous for Shelley Mumps..." remarked Sirius.

"...But," Marlene went on. "I'm not Clancy Goshawk. I'm—tall and angry. And Donna's taller and angrier..." Donna and Sirius both nodded. "Clancy seems—more sensitive. And she's a Ravenclaw... Merlin only knows how those girls' minds work..."

"So," concluded Donna, "what we have to figure out is the pathetic inner workings of the mind of a tiny, sensitive Ravenclaw girl. Do we know any of those?"

"None who are speaking to me," said Sirius. They both turned to Marlene.

"What? Me?"

"You're chummy with one, aren't you?" asked Donna.

"No, I..." She broke off. "Oh, you cannot be serious..."

---

With an obligatory nod to Ms. Sevoy, Marlene entered the library the next afternoon, fully dreading the task at hand. She spotted the person she had come to see, however, seated by the window and staring blissfully out of it, until her eyes drifted back inside, and she noted Marlene. Then, she smiled and waved. Marlene gathered her courage and approached the table.

"Prudence. Hullo. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Of course," replied Prudence Daly, characteristically chipper. She smiled at Marlene as the blonde sat down at her library table and then regarded the Gryffindor with pleasant patience. "Nothing's wrong, I hope?"

"No, nothing's wrong," murmured Marlene, keeping her voice low for the benefit of Ms. Sevoy. "And I won't keep you long. I actually just need your opinion."

"My opinion?"

"Yes. Y'see..." But the words did not come easily.

"What is it?" Prudence prompted.

"I... rather... well, perhaps I'd better just ask."

"Go ahead."

"Okay." Marlene took a deep breath. "So if your boyfriend were cheating on you..."

Prudence's tiny hand slammed against the table. "OH MY GOD, ADAM'S CHEATING ON ME?"

"What?" said Marlene quickly; "No, no, that's not..."

"He's cheating on me? How could he be cheating on me? With whom? Is it a Ravenclaw? Is it Alexa Kyle? Is it that girl?" She pointed at a bewildered fourth year at the next table, and Marlene, hushing the now shouting Ravenclaw, pulled Prudence's hand back to the table and shook her head frantically.

"No, no, no, Adam is definitely not cheating on you, Prudence!"

Prudence calmed down a little. "He's not?" she asked in a very small voice. Her eyes were still wide with shock.

"Absolutely not," insisted Marlene, and she glanced over her shoulder to shoot Ms. Sevoy an apologetic look, before leaning over the table and speaking more quietly still. "This has nothing to do with Adam."

"It doesn't?"

"No."

"But you said my boyfriend, and Adam's my boyfriend..."

"Yes, and yes, but this is a hypothetical situation," Marlene went on, as patiently as possible. "I'm just... I'm just trying to figure something out."

Prudence nodded, breathing in and out a few times to regain her equilibrium. When at last she had calmed enough to speak more rationally, she said: "Well, okay, what's the question?"

"If you're boyfriend were cheating on you..." (Prudence winced), "how would you want to find out?"

The Ravenclaw stared blankly at her. "That's the question?"

Marlene nodded.

"Well..." She puzzled over it for a few moments. "I—I don't... I'm just not sure I understand. Why is he cheating on me in this scenario? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything! It's not your fault! He's just a daft pillock who... I don't know... doesn't know what he's got till it's gone, but, that's not the point. At all. Regardless of all the other rubbish, what would be the least awful way for you to find out?" Prudence continued to look utterly befuddled, and so Marlene attempted to help her. "I mean, would you want to catch him in the act? Or would it be easier for a friend to tell you, or... What?"

For several more seconds, Prudence considered the question. "But—but wouldn't I know?" she asked at length. "Wouldn't I be able to tell? Would I have to be told at all?"

Marlene had already begun to question the wisdom of asking Prudence Bloody Daly's advice about this, and now she was firmly convinced that it was a mistake—more accurately, a waste of time. "I suppose. I don't know. But if he weren't acting differently—if he were just the same, and you didn't notice on your own, how would you like to find out?"

This last pause was the longest. Then: "I don't suppose I would like to find out."

Whatever Marlene had been expecting, it wasn't that. "You wouldn't?" she echoed disbelievingly. "Why not?"

"Why would I want that on my mind?" Prudence went on, more fervently. "Even when I thought you meant Adam, a minute ago, I only thought it for about ten seconds, and I almost slapped that girl at the next table. And—and—and I couldn't possibly imagine carrying that with me! I couldn't—I wouldn't be able to look at him, knowing!"

"Why would you want to?"

As though it were thoroughly obvious: "Because I love him."

Marlene sighed.

"What?" asked Prudence innocently.

---

"She said what?"

"I know," replied Marlene, shaking her head as she walked with Donna to Counseling on Friday afternoon. "I told you it was a bad idea asking Prudence."

"Yes, well I didn't realize she lived in the seventeenth century," said Donna, rolling her eyes. "Although, bright side and all that—this might technically be permission to shag McKinnon."

"Oh, Merlin, that would do her in," Marlene replied. "Using the word 'cheating' and 'boyfriend' in the same sentence nearly stopped her heart."

"All the better. You dispose of her at the same time..."

Marlene smacked her arm, but not very hard. "Prudence is a nice girl."

"Who would rather be oblivious to a cheating boyfriend than to have the opportunity to hex him? Even Cassidy Gamp had the good sense to give Plex tentacles and put me in the Hospital Wing."

"I'm glad you have such perspective on that."

"I still think she's a whiny twat, but at least she had nerve."

They reached the Counseling room and entered; the desks were, as usual, lined up around the edge of the classroom, and Lily and Mary had already taken seats. Donna and Marlene joined them.

"Where did you two disappear to?" Mary asked. "Quick snog in a broom closet?"

"And that's why I tune the dark-haired one out," announced Donna. She pulled out an Ancient Runes book from her bag, opened up to a marked page, and began reading.

Marlene turned to Lily. "Evans, let me ask you this, then. If your boyfriend were cheating on you, what would be the best way to find out?"

"Why?" asked Lily suspiciously.

"It's—it's just something Donna and I have been debating."

"Oh." Lily thought about it. "I think I would want him to confess," she declared at last.

Donna looked up from her book, eyebrows raised. "And in the real world, where clouds aren't spun sugar, and the moon isn't cheese, how would you like to find out?"

"You asked the best way, and I think that's the best way," Lily defended herself.

"Is it insensitive to ask you, Mary?" Marlene added to her friend. Mary shook her head firmly.

"No, I think I would like to find out without him knowing that I'd found out. Then I could mess with his head for a while before psychologically and physically castrating and destroying him."

"A simple 'yes, it is insensitive,' would have sufficed," Marlene replied, patting Mary comfortingly on the shoulder.

Madam Keepdown arrived shortly after that, carrying with her a wooden crate, which she set down upon the floor, since she had no proper desk.

"Good afternoon, my friends," she greeted.

"Good afternoon," everyone else chorused. There was no consensus among them whether to call her "Fiona," as per her bidding, or "Madam Keepdown," as they were all more comfortable doing, and so, typically, the majority did not give her any handle at all, especially when they addressed her in mass.

"And did we all have a magical week?" she said, smiling at her own pun.

"Magical," Donna muttered sarcastically under her breath, and both Lily and Marlene smiled at that.

"We've spoken quite a bit about what is going on here and now at the school," Madam Keepdown continued, beginning her usual pacing, so that her position in the center did not exclude anyone from her wide-eyed gaze. "I was hoping that today, we might discuss the future. You're all seventh years here; soon, you will be passing on—dying, if you will, to Hogwarts. You'll be experiencing new, exciting, frightening things outside of these ancient, crumbling walls..."

"Hogwarts isn't crumbling," Lily whispered, clearly annoyed.

"And we're not dying," Mary added. Madam's back was, fortunately, facing them at the moment, however, and she didn't notice.

"...So I would like for each of you to share a little bit about what you would like from those experiences. What are your dreams? Your hopes? Your aspirations? Your deepest, most secret desires." She trailed off dreamily, and then seemed to snap back to reality: "Groups of five, then?"

The class slowly began to break up, forming something of typical groups, with Marlene not even shifting in her seat, as it was quite assumed that she would be a part of the Mary-Donna-Lily group. They probably would have simply sat there and waited for whoever was left group-less to wander over, had Marlene's eyes not fallen upon Clancy Goshawk at the other end of the room. She was struck with an idea.

"You mind if I invite Clancy?" Marlene inquired of her friends. Mary shrugged her indifference, and Lily seemed pleased with the idea; Donna, on the other hand, scowled.

"You don't like Clancy Goshawk?" Lily asked, noting her friend's expression.

"Er... no," said Donna. "But... she's just... just..." She was, evidently trying to send Marlene some sort of telepathic message that Marlene had no idea how to translate, and so the blonde only shrugged. "...She's... short."

"You hate the petite now, too?" asked Mary, vaguely offended. "Invite her, Marlene."

"Lovely."

"Price."

Donna followed Marlene, who was making her way over to Clancy, until they were a safe distance from their two bewildered housemates.

"Don't invite her," whispered Donna, annoyed. "I don't want to speak with her."

"Why not? It might help us understand her better!"

"I don't want to understand her!"

"You don't want to think of her as a real person, you mean," Marlene interpreted. "You want to think of her as some random Ravenclaw, so you don't have to face your own guilt."

"Exactly!"

"I didn't intend that as a good thing, Donna."

"Don't invite her."

Marlene frowned. "How are we supposed to help her if we don't even know her?"

"My goal is not to help Clancy. My goal is to harm her boyfriend." Donna looked at her as though Marlene were being very dense... although Donna usually looked at everyone as though they were being very dense.

"I'm inviting her," Marlene resolved. "Go sit down."

Donna folded her arms. "You can't tell me what to do; you're not Lily."

"Donna. Sit."

"I don't think I care for short-haired Price," retorted Donna, but she nonetheless turned to join Lily and Mary again, who surely proceeded to interrogate her considerably.

Marlene rolled her eyes and started once again to Clancy. The Ravenclaw had not yet joined a group, for the class on the whole was being very slow-moving about the ordeal. Madam Keepdown, meanwhile, issued further instructions, which now included sitting in circles on the floor.

"Clancy?" began Marlene, when she had reached the witch. The brunette looked at her, smiling with the utmost politeness. "Would you—er—like to join our group?"

Clancy's smile faltered in her surprise. "Your—group?"

"Lily, Mary MacDonald, Donna Shacklebolt..." Marlene pointed indicatively, and Clancy's surprise only increased. "You don't already have a group, do you?" Marlene added, realizing that this must be even more uncomfortable for Clancy than it was for her. The two only knew each other in a very general way, in that they had attended the same school for six years, and though their relations had never been anything but amicable, they were by no means "friends."

"I—I suppose so, yes," Clancy determined at last. And now her smile seemed more genuine. "Thank-you. Yes."

And that was good, because, Marlene appreciated, it would have been very awkward if she'd rejected the offer.

The Ravenclaw followed Marlene back to the group of Gryffindors. Donna refused to sit on the floor, so they angled her desk into something of a circle, and the others sat down on the stone floor. Madam Keepdown, meanwhile, was walking around with the crate that she had carried in, which, it turned out, contained candles. She gave one to each group and told them to place it between them. Reluctantly, Lily placed the orange candle they were given in the center of their circle. Madame Keepdown did not comment on Donna's seating arrangement, only smiling and nodding to her, and Marlene recognized the wisdom of this. Keepdown must have known better than to try Miss Shacklebolt's patience.

The candles were lit by magic, the lights of the classroom dimmed, and Madam Keepdown began to explain.

"I want you to think of the flame as your life," she cooed, and in the firelight, Marlene saw Lily roll her eyes. "Bright and beautiful now, but short-lived. Eventually..." She approached a group of Hufflepuffs and stared at their violet candle, "...the wick runs out."

"Again with the dying," muttered Mary.

"So are we the flame or the wick?" asked Lily.

"...Whenever you're ready," Keepdown went on, "you may begin your discussions."

The students around them began buzzing: with idle interest, Marlene glanced across the room to where Adam sat with the Marauders, and they were laughing—probably not doing the assignment at all. Typical...

"I'll go first, shall I?" asked Mary. Before anyone could reply, she set off: everything—where she wanted to live in London, the exact size and shape of her perspective flat, the age she wanted to have children, starting wages at Madam Malkin's... she spoke for ten minutes, and then Madam Keepdown reminded them they had fifteen minutes left of discussion time, and Donna went next.

"I'm going to get all Os on my N.E.W.T.s," she declared. "And when I'm finished here, I intend on going to Egypt—the museum in Cairo has a position for wizards who look over the artifacts and make sure the muggles don't muck things up, or get themselves cursed with all that old magic... and they always are, so it's a fairly intense job." Donna spoke with such certainty—these were not dreams; they were plans. But it was one of the few topics that revealed in Donna an actual interest in something, and it was funny—almost to the degree of endearing—to see Donna Shacklebolt passionate about anything. "...And I'd also like to go to Mexico, because the Aztecs had some truly interesting magic... and Easter Island. I have to go to Easter Island, to work with the wizards trying to translate Rongorongo..."

After Donna had finished speaking, it was Lily's turn.

"Well, recently," she began, "I've been thinking more about investigative journalism, rather than foreign correspondence, which was what I was thinking about before. But I think there's plenty going on here, you know, and The Prophet..."

Suddenly, Marlene became very anxious. She had been planning on just listing a few places she wanted to visit before she died, but the others seemed to have much clearer ideas about what they wanted from their post-academic life. And, of course, she'd known that to some degree before, what her friends wanted to do, but she was now struck with how immediate it all seemed. Donna spoke of being finished at Hogwarts as if were weeks away, and in point of fact, it was very little more than that.

It was like when she'd been on the train at the beginning of the year—in Prudence Daly's compartment, and all the girls had been so clear about what they wanted to do, career-wise, and Marlene's answer had been a vaguer than vague: "I don't know."

She didn't know. And maybe that was alright, but the fact was, she would be out of there soon, and she would have to figure something out. She would have to make some kind of decision—and she had already made some, actually. She'd picked her classes—she had narrowed her options to those that accepted the N.E.W.T.s she was taking.

Anxiety bubbled up on her stomach, and she hoped beyond hope that she wouldn't have to speak now. Maybe their group would run over the time—not that it really mattered; Clancy Goshawk was the only one there who wasn't already familiar with everyone's future plans, and Marlene had no reason to fear her opinion, but still... it was discomforting sitting there, having nothing clever to say...

As if she had read Marlene's mind and decided to act in exact contrariness, Lily finished speaking a moment later, and it was Clancy's turn.

"I'm going to study magical law," said the Ravenclaw. "Which means I need an 'O' in History of Magic and an 'E' in everything else. And I'll need really brilliant recommendation letters, but I think Professor Slughorn should be good for that, and I have an aunt, too, who will probably write me one. Anyway, I'm particularly interested in studies of enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy, so I reckon that will be my focus..."

But what ought to have been an opportunity to get to know Clancy better was all but lost on Marlene; she was staring at the candle in the middle of the circle, utterly panicked, for it was her turn to speak next, and as Clancy went on with the intricacies of law, and the others—or Lily, anyway—listened with interest, Marlene tried to come up with something she could say... at least a decent, believable lie. Her brain, unfortunately, went stubbornly blank.

Clancy finished speaking, and the others looked expectantly to Marlene.

"Well," began the blonde. "I..."

"Just one moment, please," Madam Keepdown interrupted, and Marlene had never loved her so much. "If your groups are finished, feel free to return your candles and sit back down... thank you very much, carry on..."

"Well that's that," said Marlene brightly, beginning to rise from the floor.

"You haven't said anything yet," Lily pointed out.

"Right. Well. I hope to sample every flavor of butterbeer before I die. Brilliant." She shrugged, then picked up the candle and, as the torches around the room lit up again, blew out the little flame.

---

"We have to write an essay?" grumbled Marlene, staring at the square of parchment bequeathed upon each of the seventh years at the end of counseling. She made her way with Mary, Lily, and Donna, towards the Great Hall for luncheon.

"Not an essay," Mary corrected. "A paragraph."

"But we already talked about this," Marlene complained. "Why do we have to write a whole essay on our futures, too?"

"Paragraph," Donna and Mary corrected in unison.

"All the same..."

"So don't do it," Donna suggested. "It's not as though you're getting a grade. Only house points."

"I doubt she reads them," said Lily. "Or knows how to read. Words are probably too prosaic for the great Fiona Keepdown."

"She did write a book," Mary noted.

"Supposedly," was Lily's skeptical reply.

En route to the Great Hall, the corridors grew crowded with the other students released from their own Friday morning classes, and Marlene and Mary were soon separated from Donna and Lily by several groups of fourth years. Mary made certain to keep close to Marlene, however, and when they were a safe distance from anyone who would care to listen to their conversation, the brunette looped her arm through Marlene's and asked: "So when are you going to tell me what it is that you're up to with Black and Donna?"

Marlene looked at her companion, surprised, but quickly decided that there was no point in lying. "When I can," she replied instead. "I would have told you already but... I sort of promised."

"But I'm your best friend..."

"Yeah, you are, and I'll tell you when I can. I just—it's just sort of sensitive right now."

Mary nodded slowly. "Promise you'll tell me when you can?"

"Promise."

"Alright. And it better be good..."

"Oh, it is."

---

"Prime Minister?"

"James Callaghan."

"And his party is..."

"Labour."

"And his offices are at..."

"Ten Downing Street."

Marlene smiled and nodded, setting down the empty space on her bench. "Full marks," she declared, and Adam grinned.

"From your mouth to Professor Glade's ears."

"I'll see what I can do."

They sat in Gryffindor's locker rooms Saturday evening, because James had thought it essential that they prepare for the upcoming match against Ravenclaw by inspecting the field from all angles, including that from the gates out of which the team would fly at the beginning of the match.

Practice was over now, though, albeit forty-five minutes after the scheduled time, and the team was taking off their gear and packing up in the locker rooms, while Marlene quizzed Adam for his muggle studies exam with the study guide he had, inexplicably, brought along in his bag.

"If only they would test on music," mused Adam, undoing the buckles on his leather boots. "I'd much rather take an exam on ostrich tuning and Jimmy Page."

"Priorities, Professor Glade."

"Exactly."

"Well that's what you've got me for." Marlene straightened up, assuming a very serious expression. "Best Pink Floyd album."

"Dark Side of the Moon."

Marlene arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me, that's a ten point deduction right there. Wish You Were Here."

"Repeating that a thousand times doesn't make it so, Price. It's the whole album we're talking about." He rose from his bench, opposite Marlene's, and picked up the list of study questions.

"Which proves my point," said Marlene.

"Fine. Agree to disagree."

"Fine. Although you're wrong. Iggy Pop or Steven Tyler?"

"Don't make me laugh. Iggy."

"Naturally."

Sitting down again, Adam began shuffling through his bag in search of his alternate shoes. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know I'm a Stooges girl, me."

"No, I meant homework," Adam elaborated. "You've quizzed me on everything from telephones to Wilson Churchill..."

"Winston, Adam."

"Whatever. Don't you have any homework?"

"Sure, but I don't carry my notes around to Quidditch practice," Marlene replied, smirking.

"Well, I have an exam Monday, and I just had a feeling that Potter would keep us forty-five minutes over!" He said this last part loud enough for the Quidditch Captain across the room to hear, and James scowled over his shoulder as he locked up the bludgers.

"Well maybe if you hadn't dropped the Quaffle twice..."

"Oi, Shack dropped it too!" Adam pointed out, pointing an accusing finger to Donna.

"Only for a few seconds," Donna defended herself. "You dropped it for almost a minute."

"There was a bludger."

"Excuses, excuses." Donna sat down next to Marlene, and James wandered over to them as well.

"You were both sloppy," he said, sitting down. "One more practice like that and I'll kick you off the team."

"Yes, Potter," droned Adam and Donna.

"Not you, though, Price," said James. "And I need a word."

Marlene tensed a little. Quidditch Captain James was an entirely different entity than James Potter She'd Been Taking Classes with for the Last Six Years. Quidditch Captain James had ordained authority.

"Yeah?"

"I've decided," he began, "that you're to play in the match Saturday after next."

Marlene's uneasiness melted at once. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And—you've talked to Hopkirk?" She glanced warily at the other potential third chaser, who was packing up his own things—cheerfully enough—not far off. James relieved her fears a moment later.

"He's not ready for the match, and you are."

"Really?"

"Really." James clapped her once on the shoulder. "So don't muck it up." With that, he departed. Marlene looked at Donna and Adam, who were both smiling at her—Adam rather more enthusiastically than Donna, but the fact that Donna deigned to smile at all was meaningful in and of itself.

"You two knew?"

"Potter told us this morning," said Adam. "Congratulations."

"You've known all day?" Marlene said with a pout. "Lousy mate you are."

Adam shrugged. "I obey a higher authority."

"A Raging James Potter," said Donna.

"Precisely."

Marlene made a face, and then added to Adam: "Archbishop of Canterbury."

"Something-Rather Coggan."

"Close enough."

The pair ended up walking back to the castle together, as Donna had accused them of dawdling and hurried along without them. As they walked, they mostly talked over classes and homework—nothing serious.

"Anyway," said Marlene, when they were crossing the lawns. "All I've really got left is Madam Keepdown's essay, and I don't want to do that."

"Why not? That's the easiest one."

"Yes, but we don't get a score."

"You get house points."

"I don't like writing about myself," said Marlene with a shrug. "And I think all of that hopes and dreams business is a load of tosh. I suppose I could make something up."

"That's the ticket. Say you want to be a unicorn."

"Oh, I'd much rather be a hippogriph."

"Dragon."

"Kneazle."

"Thestral."

"Niffler."

"Ramora."

"Hinkypunk."

"Kappa."

"Phoenix."

"Plimpy."

Marlene laughed. "What are we even talking about?"

"I have no idea," admitted Adam. "I'm just trying to remember fourth year Care of Magical Creatures assignments."

"Ha. Oi, remember when you nearly got pulled into the Kappa tank?"

"No, actually. I've blocked out that incident entirely."

"Well, let me remind you..."

"Please don't."

"...Sirius Black said you couldn't get Alexa Kyle's bracelet round its neck..."

"Merlin, are you really doing this?"

"...And you said you could, trying to impress Alexa, no doubt..."

"Not likely."

"...And the thing got hold of your middle fingers—had you up to the shoulder before Lupin and Kettleburn got it off..."

"Broke three bloody bones!"

"Your fingers were so swollen! Professor Kettleburn was irate. He nearly hexed Black, I swear."

"I nearly hexed Black—Quidditch tryouts were the next afternoon, and I thought my hand would be mucked up. It could've been, too!"

"Rubbish. Healer Holloway could've sorted it in about a minute."

Adam held up his right hand, examining the fingers in question thoughtfully. "He didn't, though. You did."

"Well I was still on that Healer kick," said Marlene, grateful for the cloak of night that might have concealed her blush somewhat. "Studying up on Dittany and Murtlap Essence..."

"Why don't you write about that?" asked Adam, still toying with his middle and index fingers thoughtfully. "For Keepdown's essay, I mean."

"I don't want to be a Healer anymore," scoffed Marlene. "That was centuries ago, it seems like. I didn't know all the rubbish you had to go through to do it... you've got to be devilishly clever to pass the tests... have about a million N.E.W.T.s..."

"Yeah but if you wanted to..."

Marlene shook her head. "Being a Healer is an awful lot of responsibility. I'm nervous about this ruddy Quidditch match—let's see if I crack under the pressure of that before we start putting people's lives in my hands."

"Yes," said Adam again, "but if you wanted to..."

Marlene only smirked. "It was the other hand, prat."

"What?"

"It was your left hand you stuck into the Kappa tank."

Adam looked at his hands again. "I suppose it was, wasn't it?"

"You great phony—'can't even remember which bones you broke, I bet."

They reached the castle. Outside the doors, a witch and a wizard in black cloaks—part of the school's hit wizard protection squad—stood, arms crossed over their chests. "A bit late for a romantic stroll, isn't it?" asked the witch, when Adam and Marlene approached.

"We're part of the Quidditch team," said Adam politely, holding up his broom as evidence. Marlene felt sure her own reply would not have been so courteously delivered: she couldn't quite forget seeing them as threatening, since the protest in the Ministry of Magic. "There's still one more coming along."

"Very well," said the wizard, but he continued to eye the pair suspiciously as they passed through the gates.

"Gits," Marlene whispered, once they were a safe distance inside the Entrance Hall. "They get off on intimidating the students, I think."

"They're only doing their job," Adam pointed out. "And they're here for our safety."

"Maybe, but..."

She stopped abruptly. Prudence Daly was sitting on the bottom step of the marble staircase, a broad smile on her face, and the Ravenclaw hopped to her feet as the two Gryffindors drew near.

"Hello, Adam. Marlene."

Adam grinned. "Hey, Prudence." She skipped over and pecked him on the cheek.

"Hullo, Prudence," said Marlene. She didn't let more than two seconds of awkwardness pass before quickly adding, "I suppose I'll see you later, Adam. Good night, Prudence."

"Oh, you don't have to go, do you? I was just going to ask Adam if he fancied a walk..." Prudence looked hopefully at her boyfriend, but Adam looked less enthusiastic.

"I just finished practice, Pru," he said regretfully. "I am a bit tired."

"Oh, of course—how silly of me..."

"No it's... maybe a short walk, then?"

"You're not too tired?"

"No, it'll be fine."

He glanced at his burdens—his bag and broomstick—and Marlene sighed. "I'll just take that up for you, McKinnon."

"Oh you don't have to..."

"Never mind it. Hand it over, then." She shifted her own bag to her right shoulder and took his over her left. She then took his Cleansweep and with a farewell smile to them both, proceeded up the marble staircase. Adam and Prudence thanked her, and she shouted back, "It's nothing," before hurrying away from the couple with as much speed as she could, considering her load.

The Common Room was still quite full when she arrived, and Marlene went first to the boys' dormitories to deposit Adam's things. It was a bit of a trick knocking, but Remus Lupin opened the door almost at once.

"Good evening, Marlene," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Oi, got a girl coming over, do you?" called a voice—Sirius's—from somewhere within the dormitory.

"Shut up," Remus retorted. "It's Marlene."

"Marlene's a girl," Sirius pointed out.

"Quidditch practice over already?" called Peter Pettigrew's voice. "It's not even midnight yet. James is getting soft in his old age."

"Once more around the pitch, then," Sirius mimicked. Remus rolled his eyes.

"Ignore them. What can I do for you, Marlene?"

"Oh—I just wanted to drop off Adam's stuff."

"Messenger girl. Hot."

"Padfoot."

"What? I didn't say anything offensive."

"He's on a walk with Prudence," explained Marlene. There was a collective 'ah.' Marlene cleared her throat. "So if I could just..." She indicated to the bag and the broom.

"Oh, I'll put it away," Remus volunteered. He took both items.

"What are you lot hiding?" Marlene asked suspiciously. Remus glanced over his shoulder and then shrugged.

"But that would be telling."

"Right. Goodnight, Lupin."

"'Night, Marlene."

"'Night, you two," she added to Sirius and Peter as she turned to leave.

"'Night, Marlene."

"'Night, Price."

She descended the boys' dormitories staircase, crossed the landing, and started up to her own dorm. The stairwell was littered with girls, seated on the steps, chatting or sharing notes, and Marlene did her very best not to step on anyone's fingers. She had at last reached her own room, when she ran into Lily on her way down.

"Hullo, Mar—how was practice?" asked the Head Girl, who already wore her pajamas and carried with her a stack of parchment that was probably school-related.

"Nice. Good. I'm—uh..." She tried her best to sound casual, but her smile crept through, "...I'm playing in next match."

"Oh Merlin, Marlene! That's brilliant!" Lily gave her a quick hug. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks. Yeah—it... it should be fun."

"Loads of fun! Oh, it'll be brilliant! And Donna didn't say a word when she came up, the twit. Are you going to bed now?"

"What?"

"Bed—are you going now?"

"Oh. I'll probably shower first. Why?"

Lily sighed. "It's this stupid Charms essay I'm working on. I really should finish—due Monday. But I'll come up before you're asleep, and you can tell me all about it, yeah?"

"Oh, there's not much to tell, honestly," said Marlene, blushing.

"Rubbish. I'm sure you have tales of how you dazzled James with your spectacular chaser moves."

Marlene snorted. "Not really."

"I don't believe you. Alright, have a good shower."

"Oh, definitely."

Lily resumed her examination of the notes in her hands and started down the staircasel again. Marlene hesitated and then called her name.

The Head Girl paused, turning but not quite looking up from her parchment. "Mmm?"

"Lily... do you remember..." Marlene began slowly; Lily looked up at her now. "Do you remember when I was younger, what I wanted to do?"

Lily arched an eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean... What you wanted to do? Like—a career?"

"Yeah. Like that."

"Yeah—you wanted to be a Healer." Lily smiled at the memory. "You would study up on Healing Charms and... practice episkey and torego. You were such a cute thirteen-year-old."

Marlene nodded and mimicked Lily's smile. "Right—well thanks."

"Wait..." She looked confused. "Why do you ask? Are you thinking about Healing again?"

"Oh, no," said Marlene quickly. "No, I'm... I'm not cut out for that. I was just—Adam and I were talking about something, and it reminded me, that's all."

"Marlene..."

"You should finish your Charms essay, Procrastinator," the blonde interrupted, brightening. "And I should take a shower. Good night!"

"Good night..."

Marlene quickly entered her dormitory, and Lily—presumably—went back downstairs.

---

"Marly!"

The first person to address Marlene the next morning was the very last person that she wanted to speak to. And yet the nickname could only have been called by one particular individual, and against her better judgment, Marlene paused in the Entrance Hall and waited for Miles Stimpson to approach her.

"Hello, Miles," she greeted dryly, when he had reached her spot at the mouth of the Great Hall.

"I heard you're set to play in the first match," said the Ravenclaw. "Against my house, no less."

"That's right," said Marlene uncertainly, cursing the incredible rate at which news spread at that school sometimes. "Should be a good game, I reckon."

"It'll be rough on Potter and Shacklebolt," Miles retorted. "What with having to score all the goals on their own."

And there it was. "What's that supposed to mean, Miles?" she demanded curtly.

"You're not nervous at all, then?" said Miles. "Only a month of practices, and you reckon you're ready?"

"Potter seems to think so."

"I suppose he was picking on who he'd rather shag," said Miles. "And it still took him weeks to make up his mind."

"Sod off." Marlene attempted to sidestep him, but Miles moved to block her path.

"You don't really imagine you're up to playing for the house team?" he said, almost disbelievingly. "For Gryffindor? I've seen you fly."

"When?"

"...And I'm sure you haven't forgotten that I'm playing keeper."

"Of course I..."

"Admit it, Marly," snapped Miles, and now he looked downright annoyed. "That's the whole reason you're doing any of this—joining the team... playing against me. It's to get back at me, and it's pathetic..."

"This has nothing to do with you!"

"I don't believe that for a second."

"I don't care what you believe."

"You're just bitter because I wouldn't let you play..."

"Let me?" said Marlene angrily. "I didn't try out because I thought it would please you. I was obviously delusional, because not only were you utterly unworthy of my efforts, you're so bitter that nothing is ever going to make you properly happy."

"You certainly couldn't."

"Fuck off. When it came to pleasing, one of us obviously did a much better job than the other." Marlene paused. "And it was never much of a wait," she added for emphasis. She attempted once again to move past him, but Miles put his arm up against the threshold of the doorway and leaned in close.

"You're going to choke," he muttered. "I know your nerves. When it comes to it, you're going to choke up. Ten galleons you don't score one goal."

If Miles had one gift, it was finding an insecurity to tap. Marlene's mind went blank, except for the very image that Miles suggested—her, on the broom, up in the air, holding the Quaffle... heart pounding in her chest, unable to do it... to remember what she was supposed to do—all the lessons that Potter and Donna had drilled into her mind wiped from her brain... her fingers trembling, everyone watching...

Miles smirked at the obvious doubt on Marlene's face.

"Not one," he repeated. "And your hair looks ridiculous."

Witty retorts failed to present themselves to Marlene. She felt fifteen-years-old again—naïve and powerless against his meanness. Self-consciously, she felt at the hairpins holding her fringe back.

"It gets in my face when I fly..." she said, rather stupidly.

"You ought to shave it off altogether," he said. "It'd look more feminine than your usual style these days."

"Marlene."

Lily had arrived for breakfast and was approaching the pair, her expression a mixture of distaste and mistrust. Marlene had not yet managed to articulate when her friend arrived, immediately looping one arm through Marlene's.

"Evans," greeted Miles. "Just chatting with Marlene about the match. Care to bet on how many times she'll miss the hoops?"

"She could miss every one, and her record for aim would still be better than yours, from what I've heard," snapped Lily. Without another word, she steered Marlene beyond Miles into the Great Hall. Five or six steps later, Marlene had snapped out of whatever had made her temporarily mute.

"I am such an idiot."

"No, you're not," countered Lily. "Miles is a git. And an idiot. And a mediocre Keeper."

"No," sighed Marlene. "He's not. I mean, yes for the git and idiot, but he's a good Keeper. Rubbish human being, but a good keeper."

"Decent at best," sniffed Lily. Marlene smiled and pulled her arm free of Lily, only to drop it over the redhead's shoulders.

"You don't think he's right, do you?"

"About what? Never mind, I don't need to know. I'm certain he's wrong."

They sat down at Gryffindor table, and Lily squeezed Marlene tight, before letting go and picking up the pitcher of pumpkin juice. "He's a greasy little ponce, and he's just trying to get in your head, Mar. He's worried Gryffindor will utterly trounce Ravenclaw, which we will, and he's just scared."

"You don't think this was mistake? Joining the team? I get nervous, and if I choke..."

"James picked you," said Lily confidently. "And even if I didn't trust his judgment, I'd know you'll be brilliant. You always are." She held out the glass pitcher in her hands. "Pumpkin juice?"

---

Marlene sat down on the sofa in Madam Keepdown's office, and the older witch beamed at her, leaning back in her own large chair even as Marlene leaned self-consciously forward.

"And how are you this evening, Marlene?" asked Keepdown in a very conversational tone.

"Decent," said the blonde. "I have Quidditch practice after, though, so I can't stay late."

Keepdown looked most understanding. "And you're enjoying your Quidditch practices?"

"Very much. It's... brilliant."

"Yes?"

Marlene nodded. "Exhausting, but brilliant."

Keepdown smiled, and for a moment she watched Marlene very carefully. "What's troubling you?" she asked at length.

"What?"

"Something is troubling you," the woman reiterated. "You'll feel better if you speak to me about it."

"Nothing's..." But Marlene broke off mid-lie; Madam Keepdown raised a knowing eyebrow. Marlene's eyes dropped to the floor, and, after several seconds, she confessed. "I've been thinking about your assignment. The essay."

"Oh, I don't want you to worry yourself about that," said Keepdown earnestly. "It needn't be more than a paragraph—even a few sentences, if you like..."

Marlene nodded but said nothing.

"There's more?" the other witch asked softly.

"I'm just—I'm not sure what I want to write about."

"You can write about anything, Dear," gushed Keepdown. "Anything at all that you dream about doing!"

"I know, I understand that," Marlene replied. "But..." She paused again, then: "Have you always known what you wanted to do?"

Madam Keepdown frowned. For once, she seemed genuinely uncertain. "For a very long time, I thought I was meant to do one thing... but then something else presented itself, and I chose a different path."

"But something presented itself," said Marlene.

"Something always presents itself."

"Not to me."

"My dear..."

But Marlene spoke over her: "Lily's known what she wanted to do with her life since she was about eight. Donna has, too. Mary's financial plan is 'marry well,' Adam wants to do muggle liaisons... Clancy Goshawk has the rest of her life worked out to the neighborhood she wants to live in... so it... it... it seems like since O.W.L. year, everyone except me has had it all sorted out, and I'm—I have no clue. No idea..."

"It's a difficult age, seventeen..."

"But I've never even felt... certain," said Marlene. "I've never seen anything that I thought would—would be perfect for me, or that I could do. Everything I want seems so far away me... just completely impossible. And I know I'm supposed to follow my heart and all that rubbish, but I know myself... I know what I'm capable of and what's just impossible for me. And I just—I just don't feel like there's anything I'm meant to do. There isn't anything I really, truly, unquestionably want to do... it's never bothered me much, because I always thought I could just—just do something normal. I'm not a boring person—I have an imagination: but I don't have dreams... not for me, at least."

Madam Keepdown leaned forward, closing much of the gap between them; she took Marlene's hand. "You can do anything you want."

"No," said Marlene—seriously and practically; not argumentative, only matter-of-fact; "I can't, actually. It's a nice thought... but it's not really true, is it? I couldn't—I couldn't play professional Quidditch, could I? I'm not nearly good enough. I couldn't be an auror: I haven't taken the right N.E.W.T. classes, and anyway, I'd be rubbish at it. I couldn't be a writer—I can't write for anything, and I couldn't be a Cursebreaker, because I didn't take Arithmancy. Just because... just because you want something doesn't mean you can do it. That's just something you tell little children so they do their homework."

Marlene recoiled a little.

"I'm sorry—I don't mean to be rude, Madam Keepdown."

"Please. Fiona."

"Right. Sorry."

Madam Keepdown nodded her head slowly, waves of shiny hair falling in front of her face and then sliding back with each movement. "Marlene, dear, saying 'you can do anything you want,' doesn't just mean that you can do anything at all: it means that you can do anything you want to do."

That one completely baffled Marlene. "Didn't you just—sort of say the same thing with a few extra words?"

"I mean," Keepdown pressed, "if you really want it, you can have it. And if you can't, you didn't really want it."

Marlene frowned. "Then I must be even more self-sabotaging than I thought." Madam Keepdown sent her a piteous look, as though she were very stupid and had missed the point entirely.

(Butterflies)

"You're not paying attention, Marlene," Sirius chided, as Marlene continued to draw swirls on the scrap of parchment on the library table in front of her. She shook her head.

"Not in the slightest. What's the point? You two are just bickering."

"That's why you're here isn't it?" said Sirius. "To keep us in check?"

"Oh, is that why I'm here? I thought it was bad karma."

"No, that's why I'm here," Donna corrected. "So let's get that out of the way first, shall we? Brilliant."

Sirius crossed his arms on the table top and rested his chin where his wrists met. "I think we should tell Remus," he stated.

Marlene and Donna looked at him. "Because you're sadistic?" asked Marlene dryly.

"No, think about it," the Marauder went on earnestly. "If one of you lets it slip to Remus—it couldn't be me, after all, as he'd cotton on in about a minute, but if one of you did it, he'll either tell Clancy or hex Plex. Plus... he gets to be there as a well-positioned shoulder to cry on!"

Marlene and Donna continued to stare. "You really don't know anything about the opposite sex, do you?" said Marlene.

"Even I'm not that malicious," said Donna. "You can't tell a bloke that some tart is slagging around with the boyfriend of the bird he fancies."

"Especially when that bloke's Remus," Marlene added.

"He'll just feel guilty and probably won't do anything about it. And even if he does do something..."

"Utter humiliation for Clancy. And if he doesn't do anything about it..."

"When Clancy finds out..."

"And she will."

"She'll be livid."

"Livid and humiliated."

"She'll hate him."

"And won't be able to look him in the eye."

"Which may not be an absolute obstacle to dating or shagging…"

"But it does tend to complicate the proceedings."

Sirius made a face "Fine, but I don't see you lot coming up with anything better."

"Well..." Marlene broke off, as Ms. Sevoy took that moment to send a supercilious glance in their direction. She leaned over the table and muttered: "Why did we meet in the library again anyway? Sevoy keeps glowering at us."

"It was Black's idea," said Donna.

"Ah, yes," said Sirius. "Well, there's a reason for it."

"And that reason is?"

"You'll see."

They did see, about two minutes later, when Clancy and Remus arrived. Sirius ducked behind a book—one of Donna's—but it wasn't really necessary, as the pair of prefects didn't notice them in the slightest. They took a table on the other side of the library, and Marlene and Donna both scowled at the Marauder at their own table.

"What's this about then?" asked Donna.

"Well," said Sirius. "You're girls. Sort of. I thought it might be a little inspiration."

"You're not going to trick us into seeing Plex and Shelley snog in a broom close too, are you?" whispered Marlene skeptically.

"No, "said Sirius. "But Thursdays on the fourth floor corridor after supper, if you're curious."

Donna shuddered. "No one is curious about that."

Marlene risked a cautious glance over her shoulder at the pair, who appeared to be going over class notes... after a fashion. Remus's stare lingered on the Ravenclaw a little longer than it did on the parchment between them, and Clancy's smile was not the kind one wore when reviewing Transfiguration.

Marlene felt a strange pang in her chest—guilt, probably.

"Let's get out of here, shall we, Price?" said Donna, nudging the blonde. "They're giving me a toothache."

Marlene nodded quickly. Sirius sighed.

"Has loneliness chilled your heart to all romance, Shack?" he asked, shaking his head sadly. "Tragic, that."

Marlene stuck out her tongue. "Tragic is the word for it, yes," she said, with a jerk of her head towards Remus and Clancy. She got to her feet and picked up her book bag, sliding it over her shoulder, murmuring so that none but the three of them could hear: "You forget I've been the Clancy."

"And I've been the Shelley," said Donna. She shuddered again. "Merlin, I hope I never say those words again."

"But that's the point, isn't it?" said Sirius, and he was speaking to Marlene. "Don't you wish someone had told you?"

Marlene shrugged defiantly. "Someone did tell me."

As she followed Donna out of the library, Marlene took another look at Clancy and realized that it was not guilt nagging at her, though. It was—and how very strange—nostalgia: nostalgia for a time when the simplest gesture (studying in the library, eating supper together, listening to records, sharing an umbrella) had given her butterflies. That was the sort of smile Clancy wore just then—the sort that utterly betrayed the secrecy of butterflies.

(Thursday)

Essay

When I leave Hogwarts, I want to be a Kappa. I think that would be a brill career, living in water and luring people to their deaths. Seems a relatively simple life, too, if you ask me; even if you fail, you have the comfort of knowing that technically, your failure saved someone's life. Win, win situation.

Marlene crumpled up the slip of parchment onto which she had scribbled the half-joking attempt at Madam Keepdown's essay, and just as she did, Mary joined her in the dormitory. Lily was already there, stretched out on Donna's bed, working on her own essay for Madam Keepdown.

"Hullo, Mar. Lily. What are you doing here?"

"Wasting my time," replied the Head Girl. Mary arched an inquisitive eyebrow, and Lily elaborated: "Madam Keepdown's essay."

"Ah."

Marlene, who sat on her bed, turned her head from the new, blank scroll of parchment, and addressed Mary. "How was your date, then?"

"It wasn't a date," said Mary. "It was just a walk."

"I bet Derrix Pomfrey isn't telling it to his roommates that way," said Lily dryly.

"Probably not," Mary agreed, dropping on to her bed. "But all the same, it was just a walk. And a rather unpromising one at that."

"Oh?"

Mary shrugged. "Sure, Derrix Pomfrey is cute, but he's just—boring. 'Reminded me of my first date with the Slut Shagger."

"Snogger," Marlene corrected.

"What's the difference? Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, it proves my theory correct."

Marlene frowned. "Men with eyelashes longer than yours are playing for the other team?"

"No, my other theory."

"Men whose socks match are cheaters?" guessed Lily.

"No, my other other theory."

"'Walking' is a cheap euphemism for 'snogging?'"

"No, my other—I have a lot of theories, don't I?"

"I have a theory about that," said Lily.

Mary stuck out her tongue. "The theory I am referring to," she said, "is that I should not be—taking walks with anyone."

"I think that was my theory," said Marlene.

"...I'm just not ready," Mary went on, ignoring her. "Derrix stopped to tie his shoes at one point, and I thought—I'm not even joking, I thought: 'Slaggins used to tie his shoes.'"

"The git," Lily quipped.

"...And this has led me to a conclusion." Mary took a deep breath and rose from the bed, as though preparing to make a very important announcement. "I'm renouncing men."

Marlene and Lily both looked at her doubtfully.

"No, really, I am," said Mary.

"I always thought you and Donna would make a lovely couple," said Marlene.

Mary glared at her. "No, no, no, I'm not renouncing men in favor of women. I'm renouncing dating. And—here's the best part..."

"Oh, Merlin."

"So are you!"

Mary beamed at the pair of them; neither reciprocated.

"How is that the best part?" asked Lily.

"That seems like the worst part," agreed Marlene.

"Or the part that doesn't exist."

"The part that shall never be."

"Right."

Mary pouted, and the dormitory door opened. Lily at once leaped from Donna's bed onto the one immediately beside it—her own, long vacant one—and Donna herself entered the dorm. She dropped her book bag on the floor, kicked it out of the way, and then proceeded towards the trunk at the foot of her bed.

"What goes on?" she asked idly, rooting through her trunk for—it became evident a moment later—her Quidditch gear. "Not that I really care. Oi, I thought you had your one-on-one with Keepdown tonight, Lily?"

"Nope," said Lily, trying to look comfortable on her bed, as if she'd been there all along. "Potter managed to get it rescheduled for the end of the month, seeing as it's right before a match, and you lot have practice tonight."

"I see. Oh, and if I catch you on my bed again, I'll hex you."

"Damn it."

Mary cleared her throat. "If you don't mind, Donna," she said, "I was rather in the middle of something important."

"She's giving up dating," said Marlene.

"Right."

"And she wants us to give it up with her," said Lily.

"Oh. That seems more plausible."

"Oi!" chorused Lily and Marlene.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing," said Donna. "I only meant that you two will find it much easier to stay single, because not as many blokes ask you out."

Lily returned to Donna's bed.

Marlene rolled her eyes. "Go change for Quidditch, Shacklebolt."

"Honestly, you two are so sensitive sometimes..."

Donna nonetheless picked up her things and moved into the lavatory, while Mary resumed her attempts to sway the other two. "See, even she thinks it's a good idea."

"The first and most obvious clue that it's probably a bad one," said Marlene.

"Yes, but think about it," Mary went on, sitting down on her bed again. "Both of you had rubbish relationships last year. I had a rubbish relationship this year. We would make magnificent emotional crutches for each other!"

Lily chuckled and shook her head. "I will be the most steadfast emotional crush you could possibly want, Love. But I'm not going to promise not to date anyone ever again just to do it."

"Not ever again," said Mary petulantly. "Just for—a year."

"No."

"Six months?"

"Still no."

Mary looked hopefully to Marlene. "What about you, Best Mate?"

"Mary..."

"Oh, c'mon, Marlene." She removed to the blonde's side. "Please…" (Only, she somehow elongated the word to about six syllables). Marlene sighed heavily.

"Mary, I haven't known you to go a month without a date since we were ten years old. You want to go six?"

Mary frowned. "You make a valid point." Then, she brightened. "Shagging."

"What?"

"No shagging. Six months, no shagging. No, wait, if we're only talking about shagging, might as well make it a year again—one year, no shagging. C'mon—that can't be too difficult, can it?"

"Not for me," Marlene admitted. Mary squealed and squeezed her hand, and Marlene sighed again. "Oh, alright. Celibate for a year."

"Brilliant!" Marlene held out her hand, Mary shook it, and they both spit over their respective right shoulders. "Oi, that's my bed!" Marlene protested, when she noted where Mary had chosen to spit.

"It's really disgusting when you two do that," Lily pointed out. Mary drew her wand to clean up the mess.

"You should get in on this too, Lil," she said to the Head Girl. "You've managed seventeen years: it shouldn't be too difficult to make it eighteen."

Lily, who had returned to her essay, shrugged. "I rule nothing out."

"I'll believe it when I see it," hummed Mary. The dormitory door opened again, this time allowing entrance to a practically skipping Shelley. Mary's mood at once grew sour. "You seem cheerful," she said, as Shelley sat down at the vanity. "Madam Pomfrey cleared up that rash, did she?"

"Has she got you sorted yet?" replied Shelley coldly.

Mary rolled her eyes and rose from Marlene's bed, walking towards the door. "I think I'll step outside. It's a little stuffy in here—I didn't know they made dog shite scented perfume."

She left the room before Shelley could retort, and so the blonde merely rolled her eyes before returning her gaze to the vanity mirror, muttering, "Bint."

Lily seemed no more thrilled than Mary by this development, and so she closed up her ink bottle, dried off her quill, and returned her things to her book bag. "I'm off as well," she said, somewhat more diplomatically. "Have a nice practice, Marlene."

"Oh, do you have to go?" said Marlene.

"Yes—I've got to... clean my room."

"Clean your room?"

"Clean my room."

"Pathetic."

"Bye!"

Lily waved, shouted a goodbye to Donna in the lavatory, and then was gone as well. Marlene shot an uncomfortable look at the oblivious Shelley. Ever since "Operation Mancy" had begun, Marlene had dreaded Shelley's company, especially when it was just the two of them. What made matters worse was that, more recently, Shelley had started dropping little hints about her... extracurricular activities: nothing too drastic at first, but just little clues—statements made with the obvious intent of eliciting a question that she would, in turn, answer only enigmatically. This evening, she was in full force.

"I'm positively knackered," she said, yawning and stretching, even as the mascara brush was poised in her hand.

"Oh?" said Marlene stiffly. She went to the dresser and began to collect her own Quidditch clothing. Practice was in twenty minutes, after all.

"Dead," Shelley elaborated. "What a day. Double muggle studies. Got that bloody exam back too—almost did me in." Since the loss of her extra pounds and change in skin tone, Shelley had begun to swear more too, Marlene had noticed.

"Oh?" she said again. "How was it?"

"Fine." Shelley shrugged and focused on her eyelashes. "I don't really care, to be honest. But I'd like nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep for a year."

"Sounds nice," Marlene agreed idly.

"Too bad I've got plans tonight."

"Mmmm..."

"I wish I could break them," Shelley went on. "But I really shouldn't."

Marlene felt the other girl's eyes on her and made a point of not looking. "Mmmm."

"So I suppose I'll just have to heave-ho and make the best of it."

"'Suppose so."

Shelley turned in her chair to face Marlene entirely. "Do you have any white eye liner? Mine's entirely gone."

"I don't have any, no."

"None at all? But, Marlene, that's positively cardinal!"

"Er—okay. Still don't have any."

"It's alright..." In a highly self-sacrificial tone: "I'll make do." She faced the mirror again. "What time is it?"

Not even bothering to mask the annoyance in her voice, Marlene checked her watch and replied: "Quarter to seven."

"Oh, I'll be late, I suppose," said Shelley blithely. "It doesn't matter though. It's good to keep a bloke waiting—especially if he's fit. It keeps his ego in check."

"Mmm."

"He's right though." Shelley didn't care at all that Marlene didn't care all, and that was getting frustrating. "He is quite good-looking."

(Clancy's expression in the library lingered in Marlene's mind)

"Mmmm."

"Brilliant kisser, too..."

"Mmmm..."

"And as for everything else..."

Marlene closed the drawer of the bureau. "Shelley, stop it," she said, rather sharply, and Shelley looked at her through the reflection in the looking-glass.

"Stop what?"

"Everything. Stop it."

"I don't know what..."

"Charlie Plex," Marlene interrupted. The lavatory door opened, and Donna stuck her head out.

"Oi, Price."

"Oh, of course you told," Shelley snapped. "Merlin, couldn't just keep your trap shut, could you?"

"Oh, please," said Marlene, folding her arms and walking up to Shelley. "It's not as though you were trying to keep it secret. All the little hints, trying to get people to ask you about your mysterious bloke..."

Shelley blushed. "Leave me alone. I have to get ready..."

"No, you really don't..."

"Price, leave it..."

"I won't leave it, Donna—Shelley has to hear this."

"I told you, I already tried to reason with her."

"Well, let me try," replied Marlene. Donna glared for a moment, and then shrugged, mumbling "Fine," in a way that suggested she saw little potential in this prospective conversation. She retreated back into the washroom and closed the door behind her. Marlene leaned against the desk; Shelley now resolutely avoided eye contact.

"Shelley, I don't care what you do, but for the love of Merlin, Clancy Goshawk is a really nice girl, and..."

"I don't want to hear it, Marlene."

"I don't care if you want to hear it! You have to hear it!"

"Actually, I don't." Shelley slapped her hand against the desk and got to her feet. "I don't have to hear your sanctimonious lectures about Clancy Goshawk! What about your mate? Shacklebolt did the same thing, and she gets off free just because you're mates? Rubbish! You don't get to tell me anything, and I frankly don't care to hear about your petty jealousies!"

Marlene's jaw dropped. "Jealousies?" she echoed.

"Yes!" Shelley lifted her chin defiantly. "Jealousies. Everyone knows you lost your bloke to another girl, and you probably couldn't get another if you tried! Which, judging by the shocking state of your make up at the moment, you're not doing. So don't stand there and lecture me. I deserve to have a bloke fancy me, don't I?" She did not wait for a reply, but turned and walked hastily from the room.

A few seconds passed, and then Donna emerged from the next room. "It's getting more and more tempting to just hand one of the school gossips a camera and set them after her and Plex."

Marlene sighed. "Don't let Sirius hear that idea."

(Friday)

Rather to Marlene's surprise, she was met by Prudence Daly after Herbology on Friday afternoon. The petite Ravenclaw beamed up at her as she left Greenhouse Two, and Marlene was compelled to step out of the walkway and speak with her.

"Adam's having a word with Puttman," said Marlene. "I'm sure he won't be long."

"Oh. I'm just out of Care of Magical Creatures, and I thought I'd walk back to the castle with him," Prudence explained. "But if you're on your way up, I might as well walk with you. Do you mind?"

"Oh. Er—no. No of course not." All right, it wasn't exactly her preference, but she didn't (strictly speaking) mind either. Lily had gone ahead with Lupin, and Mary was with Reginald Cattermole, so she might as well accept the company up to the castle. "Yeah, c'mon."

"Wonderful."

It was something of a struggle for Prudence to keep up with the significantly longer-legged Marlene, and so the blonde did everything in her power to slow her pace. This made the climb up the sloping lawns to the castle somewhat of a struggle, however, and Marlene kept quiet, retaining her energy. Prudence, on the other hand, seemed to be nothing but energy.

"So are you excited?" she asked, half skipping. "For the match this weekend, I mean."

"Oh, yeah. Should be brilliant."

"Against my house, you know," said Prudence. "It's the first match I'll have to be torn about... with Adam on Gryffindor and such."

"And the last," said Marlene.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's a seventh year. It's his last match against Ravenclaw."

"Oh. Yes." Prudence frowned for only a moment. "All the same," she went on, brightening, "I expect it'll be a brilliant match. The games between our houses always are. I do love Quidditch, don't you?"

"Mhm."

"Are you nervous?"

Of course, Marlene wasn't about to dump all her insecurities on the girl who was dating the boy she fancied, no matter how sweet Prudence Bloody Daly might be. "Oh, a bit. I expect it will be fine.'

"Oh, of course it will be. Only, I hope it doesn't rain." She looked up at the overcast sky. "The Newspaper's saying it will."

"My luck, isn't it?"

"I'll have to remember an umbrella," said Prudence unimportantly, more to herself than to Marlene. "How does one see in Quidditch, when it's raining?"

"I don't know," Marlene admitted. "Potter will have a dozen tips though."

"Oh, I see," said Prudence, a playful smile on her lips. "You can't tell me; I'm on the other side, aren't I? The enemy."

"I'm trying not to look at it that way," replied Marlene; she attempted to match Prudence's merriment and thought the result must have looked rather strained.

"Oi, Daly."

Much to Marlene's infinite displeasure, Miles Stimpson had caught up with them. "Consorting with the enemy, are you?" he asked, falling into step with the pair. He flashed a smile in Marlene's direction. "What would Potter say if he knew you were hanging around with a Ravenclaw, Marly? Two, even."

"You hardly count, Miles," retorted Marlene. "Ravenclaws are meant to be clever."

"And your house is meant to be brave," he replied. "But look at you."

"Oh, Miles," sighed Prudence.

"Bugger off, Stimpson."

"I've got a right to walk back to the castle too, don't I?" he said. "So tell me, Price..." He dropped an arm over her shoulders, which she shrugged off before quickening her pace. "Are you nervous?"

She ignored him.

"After all, it must be a touch troubling—going into a match knowing that you only made the team on account of the Captain wanting to shag your best mate."

"Miles."

"Get out of here, Miles," Marlene ordered sternly. He smirked, and he must have known the damage was done, because with a wink and a shrug, he complied, hurrying along ahead of them.

"You mustn't let him get to you," said Prudence earnestly. "He's just a bloke. And he didn't mean it, either. From what I hear, he's supposed to—you know... intimidate you. For the team." Prudence blushed. "You mustn't mind him," she said again. "I suppose he's still a bit hurt about your breaking things off with him."

"No, he's not," said Marlene coolly. "He's just a git. That's just him."

"But you were together for so long... he can't be all bad."

"Sure he can." Marlene shrugged. "I just have really, really bad taste."

(Friday Night)

Pat, pat, pat, pat. Pat, pat, pat, pat.

"Once more around the pitch, and then we're done," Potter had said, but the Quidditch pitch seemed so much larger when one took it on foot. Tonight's had been a light practice, though—nothing too terribly exhausting, because James wanted everyone energized for the game the next morning. Consequently, Marlene felt little guilt in taking the jog around the pitch at less than full speed, and it was, oddly enough, quite relaxing.

She reached the starting point and her jog tapered off into a walk, the sound of her trainers on the grass softening and then vanishing altogether. She halted, several steps away from the others, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. It was a beautiful night—you couldn't see a single star and the clouds made the sky seem sort of... muddy, but it was beautiful, crisp, and cool all the same.

The others packed up their belongings. They chatted and cleaned up and started back toward the castle, but Marlene dawdled. "You coming, Price?" asked James, the last to leave, as usual.

Marlene sat on the grass now, her things collected and put away, situated in a neat little stack to her right. She looked up at James and nodded. "I'll be along soon."

James appeared unsatisfied. "It's a bit late, isn't it?"

"I won't be more than ten minutes, I promise," Marlene assured him.

The Captain hesitated but then nodded. "Alright. Get a good night's sleep then."

"Absolutely, yes."

Then, he too strolled off, and Marlene was left alone on the dark pitch.

In about twelve hours, she would be returning there—for the game—and "nervous" did not even begin to cover what she felt now. She sat on the lawn, legs crossed beneath her. She ought to have gone back inside to warmth and safety (the hit wizards would be furious with her), but Gryffindor Common Room was always a dramatic display of house spirit the night before a match, and she didn't think she could take it just now.

The noises of the night—crickets and a steady breeze in the grass and trees and creaky wooden stands—resisted silence, and so it was that she didn't notice that someone had joined her until he spoke.

"'Evening, Price."

Marlene started. Sirius Black strutted into open view, hands in his pockets, grim smile on his face.

"Hello, Black," she replied. "What are you doing here?"

"Just walking," he said. "And you?"

She shrugged. "Having a panic attack?"

"Yeah, that's fairly typical, I think."

"You had one before your first game?"

Sirius snorted. "Merlin, no. But I was a cocky little bastard. I assumed I'd be brilliant. If I'd had any sense, I'd have holed up in the kitchens sobbing for the entire vigil."

"Not exactly reassuring, that."

"Right." Sirius joined her on the grass. "You know, I'm fighting off my lesser instincts right now. It's terrifically tricky trying not to hope that you're rubbish tomorrow."

"Wow. Thanks."

"I said they were lesser instincts. 'Can't blame a bloke for being a bit envious, can you? You'll be up there..." his eyes moved heavenward, "—playing with my best mate and my team..."

"I wish you wouldn't," Marlene interrupted tersely. "I already feel as though I don't belong with them."

Sirius looked surprised. "Why?"

"Well, I'm a seventh year joining the team. They've all played loads of games, and this is my first. Plus, besides Donna, I'm the only girl on the team, and Donna's not exactly... relatable."

"Right," said Sirius again. "Don't fret about it, though. It'll be fine."

"What makes you think so?"

"James is the best Captain and Chaser I reckon this school's seen in centuries, for one. And he picked you."

"You don't think..." Marlene broke off and dropped her gaze.

"What?"

"Oh, I don't know. That—maybe he only picked me because..."

"Because what, Price?"

"Because I'm Lily's mate."

Sirius laughed. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes, and as he drew one, the Marauder shook his head. "You've been listening to Ravenclaw gossip."

"Specifically Miles Stimpson gossip," Marlene modified softly. Sirius lit the fag.

"Ah." A long drag, and he offered a cigarette to Marlene, who declined. "The evil ex-boyfriend. And Ravenclaw keeper no less. Dramatic, no?"

"That's not an answer," said Marlene. "After all, there's a real possibility..."

"Nah, there's not." Sirius shook his head again. "Prongs and Evans have... a complicated relationship. But James Potter doesn't fuck around with Quidditch. Everything else, yes, but not Quidditch."

Marlene didn't see much point in debating the matter. She only nodded. "If you say so."

"I do," said Sirius lightly.

"And his judgment is infallible, Potter's?"

"Well, that's trickier." Sirius smirked, and he tapped his cigarette. "With girlfriends? No. With Chasers? Sure."

"Girlfriends, indeed," Marlene muttered. "Carlotta Meloni. Really now."

"In his defense, she's very good-looking."

"She's a slag."

"Well, fine. But there are those who would say the same about you, Price."

"Excuse me?" asked Marlene incredulously.

"Don't act coy," he said. "I've played ten fingers with you."

"Oh you git." Marlene slapped his shoulder, and Sirius laughed again. "Believe me—I'm mates with Mary MacDonald. It takes quite a bit for me to call someone a slag. Of course it wouldn't mean anything, if she weren't so mean-spirited about it, but Carlotta Meloni meets the strict requirements. So do you incidentally."

"Oi!"

"Don't act coy," said Marlene primly. "If I recall, you lost that game of ten fingers."

"Git." He wasn't terribly offended though. "All the same, Meloni aside, James's judgment is to be trusted when it comes to the team. Have you done many sprints?"

Marlene nodded. "And tossing drills." She adjusted her voice in her best impression of James: "Light on your fingers, Price! You're giving the Quaffle away, not punishing it for swearing at your mother."

Sirius chuckled. "Oi, throw it a little slower so that the spectators can go fetch their own brooms and intercept that shot, why don't you?"

"The worst are the wall-sits."

"Oh, Merlin. Forgot about those."

"I reckon Potter imagines we'll all be standing up on our brooms every game! And I've been to every match played at this school, and in seven years, the only person I've seen do that is him, and only once!"

"He's a fanatic."

"He's a lunatic."

"Brilliant though."

"Yeah."

Sirius grew quiet.

"Miss it?" asked Marlene, watching him tend to his cigarette.

"Oh, yeah." Sirius shrugged. "I haven't flown since..." He unsuccessfully masked the break in that sentence with another drag. "...Since I was kicked off the team. Shame, too."

"Because you're so brilliant?" Marlene quipped.

"Ha. No. My uncle—before he died—he gave me a Nimbus 1500. Fantastic broom."

"I see."

"Yep." Sirius smirked again, but this time, the expression lacked humor. "I reckon Regulus complained to Mum—Regulus, my brother. I hear he's got a Nimbus 1500 now. You know, that's when I'll really be jealous of you—when you lot play against Slytherin."

"So why don't you use it?" asked Marlene. "The Nimbus, I mean. You don't have to play Quidditch to fly. And Potter was hoping you'd lend a hand at tryouts—you didn't show."

"Wasn't in the mood."

"Oh." She didn't press the point.

"I spoke with Shack," Sirius resumed presently. "About this Clancy Goshawk business."

"Oh?"

"She's going to tell Mary tomorrow."

"About Charlie and Shelley?"

"Yeah."

"She can't," said Marlene earnestly. "That's all wrong. Half the school will know before Clancy even hears..."

"Quick and effective," said Sirius, shrugging. "Honestly, is it any more painful than having her catch him?"

"I don't know, but it's not right."

"There's no right way to go about it, Price," the Marauder pointed out. "If we're talking right, we might as well just shut up and mind our own business, right?"

"Yes, but... Oh, I can't explain it."

"Try?"

"It's—well it's delicate. It's—oh you're laughing at me."

"I am not."

"Yes you are."

"No, I just..." Sirius grinned; "I had a thought."

"What thought? About Clancy?"

"Clancy? No, not about that. About you."

Mystified: "About me?"

---

Merlin, it was beautiful, though.

"You're sure?" Marlene asked for the fifteenth time.

Sirius sat down on his bed and nodded. "I reckon you could use it, yeah?"

"Yes, but—I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Not at all. I'm always glad to lend a hand to a mate."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"But I couldn't—I couldn't possibly..."

"Relax, Price. You can, and you will."

She already knew that he had won her over to the idea, but it was only polite to protest a bit more. "But it's important to you, and I couldn't just..."

"Marlene, I'm already bored with this conversation. You're going to use it, and you're going to like it. Just trust me on this, will you?"

Marlene picked up the Nimbus 1500, and even her relatively limited knowledge of broomsticks was sufficient to inform her that this one would exceed the school's unremarkable Cleansweep one hundred times over.

"I'll bring it back right after the match tomorrow," she assured him, mostly because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Nah, don't worry about it." Sirius lay back, hands crossed behind his head. "Keep it."

"What?"

"Well not for always," he amended lazily. "But for the season. For the matches and practices and what-not. You might as well keep it; it's only gathering dust up here."

"But what if you want to use it?"

"I won't."

"But what if you change your mind?"

"I won't."

"But what if you do?"

"Well then I'll go fetch it, won't I?" said Sirius impatiently. "Honestly, Price, you need to learn to just accept a favor."

Marlene frowned down at the broomstick, but it didn't seem to want to be frowned at, for she very soon could not help but smile. "Thank you," she said to Sirius. He grinned.

"You're welcome."

"I'll take good care of it."

"I know you will."

She shuffled toward the door, still regarding the broomstick as something foreign. However, she paused before reaching the door to the staircase. "Why are you lending it to me?"

"I don't know," Sirius admitted. "You just looked like you could use it." He shrugged. "Or maybe I'm overcoming my lesser instincts, and no longer hoping that Gryffindor is incapable of winning a match without me."

Marlene snorted. "You're really wretched."

"I know, I know."

(Saturday Morning)

Marlene did not eat breakfast the next morning. She stared at the food on the platters—the food that the others, including and especially Donna so eagerly consumed—and felt ill. And so she kept her mouth closed, except for a few sips of water, lest she become sick all over the breakfast table.

"Listen," Donna was saying, spewing additional instructions (or reiterating old ones) to Marlene in what must have been some kind of nervous tick, "just remember—start low on your shots. If you start too high, they're easier for the Keeper to block. And don't get caught up watching any Snitch chases, because half of those are false alarms, and the Ravenclaw keepers will be ready for that. And..."

"Donna, please shut up," Marlene begged at length. "I know you're trying to help, but it's really just making me nervous."

"I'm not trying to help," Donna protested. "I find it relaxing telling you what to do. Hurry up when you're retreating to play defense, because..."

Breakfast ended earlier for the teams than it did for everyone else, since the Captains usually demanded their teammates arrive at the pitch significantly before the actual game. Potter had said to arrive at the pitch by nine-thirty, and so a few minutes before, Donna and Marlene said 'goodbye' to the other two and set off for their dormitory to collect the rest of their things.

Despite her relaxation tactics, Donna seemed quite calm. She snapped at a first year who impeded her path, but not with any more anger than was entirely usual and expected, and she didn't bark at a group of Hufflepuffs who forced them to pause on the last step of the marble staircase on the way down, so Marlene supposed her mood was actually benefitting from the oncoming challenge. Marlene still felt queasy.

Then, as they crossed the crowded Entrance Hall, her eyes fell upon a scene that only made things worse.

Clancy Goshawk, adorned in her house colors, stood chatting with Charlie Plex: she wore a bright smile on her face, her golden brown hair gleaming in the sunlight that poured through the open doors, a flush in her cheek from the brisk morning air and a light in her eyes, apparently from whatever Charlie was saying to her.

Marlene didn't know what it was anymore, this feeling: guilt or nostalgia or just nerves, but she felt awful knowing that in a few hours—after the match—Donna would be telling Mary about Charlie and Shelley, and then Mary would be spreading that around to everyone else, and then Clancy—poor Clancy would know.

For a brief moment—the time it took for her to progress three or four steps across the Hall—Marlene thought she understood why Prudence wouldn't want to know about a cheating boyfriend. Perhaps it would just be simpler.

And then she thought better of it.

Clancy kissed Charlie on the cheek, and he moved into the Great Hall, while she started for the front gates. Donna, meanwhile, was already several steps ahead of her teammate, and Marlene shouted for her to go along without her. She didn't actually know if Donna heard her, but she went along anyway. And Marlene approached the other witch.

"Clancy," she said.

Clancy responded to her name with a polite smile, turning away from her group of friends heading toward the doors.

"Hello, Marlene," she said.

"Hello," Marlene greeted, distracted. "I need to speak with you for a moment."

"Oh. Alright..." Perplexed as she was, Clancy nonetheless followed the Gryffindor to a more secluded corner of the Entrance Hall, out of the way of students moving both to and from breakfast. Marlene took a steadying breath and then began.

"I know you don't know me very well," she said. "And you're not going to like what I have to say to you, but you seem like a nice girl, and through all of the scheming and planning and plotting, it seems to me like this is the only way that... well, not the only way... but it's the best way."

Clancy stared at her, probably questioning the Gryffindor's mental health. "Marlene, are you...?"

"I used to date Miles Stimpson," Marlene interrupted. "He wasn't nice. He didn't like most of the same things I did, but he—he had a charming smile. And we had a lot of history, and when it was just the two of us, he made me feel really, really special. He was my first boyfriend and my first kiss and my first everything, and even though my mates thought I was mad, I was in love with him, and I knew that in his own immature, uncommunicative way, he loved me, too. But somewhere along the way, I stopped loving him and started loving someone else, even though I didn't know it."

Clancy was just staring at her as though she had lost her mind now.

"And then he snogged Carlotta Meloni. And even though I didn't love him like I used to by that point, and even though I'd known he was a git in a lot of ways... despite that, it broke my heart when I found out. I felt so, so stupid. And I couldn't talk to my mates about it, because it was—was like they knew. Like I was the last one in the world to figure it out. And if he had just told me... or if Carlotta had told me, or if one of my mates had just been honest... they were all just telling me it was going to be okay, that it wasn't my fault—and they were right, but none of them were saying what I—what I instinctively knew..." Marlene took a deep breath. "That Miles snogged Carlotta because he didn't care about me."

There was a moment of silence. Clancy continued to simply gaze, but Marlene thought that maybe she had begun to understand. Then, she blinked a few times, as if snapping out of a trance, and said: "Marlene, are you feeling okay?"

"Clancy," Marlene said, speaking with determination, "I've spent a bit of time trying to figure out the best way to put this... the kindest way—the least complicated way. I even considered telling Mary and just letting you find out when it was spread throughout the school. It's awful, I know, but... I dunno, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But there is no nice way with this, and I've been thinking about it, trying to put myself in your shoes, but the truth is, I've been in your shoes, and the one thing I really, really wanted was for someone to be honest with me."

"Marlene..."

"Clancy, Charlie is seeing someone else."

Clancy froze. She'd been resisting hearing those words, Marlene saw now, but now they had been said and could not be unheard, and Clancy froze, shocked. But eventually, she started to melt again. "How do you know that?" she asked.

"I was told," said Marlene. "But it's... it's been confirmed. I wouldn't come to you if I didn't absolutely know, Clancy. And I have no reason to lie to you."

The emotion—the proper human emotion began to seep through. "W-who?" croaked Clancy after a few seconds.

"That..." Here Marlene hesitated. Shelley was in almost every way despicable, and yet... "it's not my place to say." The crowd in the Entrance Hall grew thinner as people filtered outdoors, and among them was another of Marlene's teammates, Damacus Weasley.

"Oi, Price, you'd better hurry along!" he called as he passed. "Potter'll be furious if you're late!"

"I'll be right there!" Marlene shouted over her shoulder. "Clancy, I'm so sorry."

The Ravenclaw nodded stiffly. "I think I need to sit down," she said.

"Right." Marlene followed her to the marble staircase, and both girls sat down on the second step. "Listen, I've probably mucked this whole thing up..."

"No... no, I just..." Clancy's voice was odd—puzzled, as though trying to work out a difficult math problem. "I'm just... that is..." She looked up at Marlene: "Who else knows?"

"Just me... and two of my mates, but none of us are going to tell anyone. I swear."

Clancy nodded again; her lip began to tremble, as though she were about to cry, but she did not—not just yet. Not here, in front of a near stranger as well as almost all the rest of the school. That, Marlene supposed, was not Clancy's style. "And you h-h-haven't told Mary MacDonald, you said?"

Marlene smiled, until she realize that was probably insensitive. "Well, love her as I do, if Mary had dirt like that, it'd be around the school in five minutes flat."

"True." Clancy swallowed. "I—I'm gonna go upstairs. I need to—I need to think. Yes, that's it. I need to think, and then I need to speak with Charlie."

"Al—alright."

Clancy, very pale now, got to her feet. "Thank you for not saying anything to anyone else."

"Oh—of course."

"Yes. Well..." Clancy climbed the first step, though Marlene hadn't even realized the interview was over until she did. "Just to think," Clancy was muttering to herself, and then she paused on the second step: "You're absolutely sure, Marlene?"

She wished that she wasn't: "Yes. I'm really sorry, Clancy."

"Oh. Okay." Briskly: "Th-thank-you."

Back straight and head high, Clancy ascended the staircase, and Marlene watched her go. She realized, as she did, that it had been completely silly, grouping Clancy Goshawk with Prudence Daly or herself or Donna or even Cassidy Gamp. Prudence's reaction to even the misunderstood information that her boyfriend might be seeing someone else was absolutely nothing to Clancy's: in fact, Clancy's was in a (weird) league of its own.

"Oi, Price!" This time it was Adam calling to her as he jogged out of the Great Hall. "Come on, then—we'll be late!"

---

Marlene stared dead ahead, gripping the nose of the Nimbus so tight her knuckles turned red, then white. The pitch in front of her seemed to be moving itself, with the ant-like students crawling around the bleachers, mostly sporting blue or scarlet clothing in support of one of the two teams.

Oh, she was definitely going to be sick.

"Sober spins," said a voice behind her, and Marlene started, turning to see James Potter. He wore a smile and was adjusting the brown leather strap of his goggles, which rested amongst the splashes of black hair on the top of his head.

"What?" said Marlene.

"I like to call it the Sober Spins," said James. "That feeling you've got right now. Dizzy, queasy—afraid to move your head, or you might be sick all over the locker room floor. Like the Spins, only you're sober."

"'Sounds about right," replied Marlene, swallowing hard. She looked back out the gate, and fixed her stare on the Hufflepuff stands directly opposite them. "Do you get them?"

"Nah, not anymore," said James. "You get over 'em. I don't think it's physically possible to feel that nervous every time."

"Care to bet on that?" asked Marlene shakily, and the Captain laughed.

"You'll be fine, Marlene." It was funny, because this might have been the first time since Quidditch season began that James had actually called her by her first name.

"That's what everyone keeps saying," she said. "So I suppose if you lot have faith in me, I'd be thick not to trust you."

"Faith?" echoed James. "It's not faith."

Marlene looked at him again. "No?"

"Nah. Faith is when you believe in something without knowing. I know."

"How could you possibly?"

James grinned. "Intuition."

"Well how do I know that's any good?" Marlene grumbled.

"Easy." James tossed his broom over his shoulder casually, eying the dark grey sky outside. "Have a little faith, that's all. Merlin, it's going to rain soon."

---

"Shacklebolt has the Quaffle," Liam Lyle's voice announced, bouncing around the pitch like one of the Bludgers the Beaters had been knocking back and forth, back and forth, for the last ten minutes. It was one of the few announcements they'd heard, the players, and only because Ravenclaw's recently adjourned time-out meant a temporary pause in the match. They'd only just begun again. Marlene took off mid air once more, flying in support of Donna, a little lower and a little behind her, as demanded by the play they were running.

She picked up speed, and Lyle's voice faded. Only the wind and the rhythm of the game beat in her ears. The crowd went quiet—no, they disappeared altogether. Everything did, the speed she was going. Everything stilled into a constant blur, except the other players and the balls and the brooms and the goals and the wind.

Half field flew by—she didn't see it, only sensed it (Intuition, James had said), and Marlene leaned forward on her broom, gaining greater speed until she passed Donna—tilt, bend, rise. She felt the Quaffle coming her way in the scheduled pass: it was in her hands before she was conscious of turning to catch it. And then the tricky part—

She hadn't time to secure the Quaffle; it was tucked halfhazardly under her arm, and yet she didn't even consider the possibility of it slipping, for she was dodging one of Ravenclaw's chasers as her broom tore across the field, a diagonal split from one side of the pitch to the other. James was zooming to meet her there, and she was held up only for a moment as she flipped to evade a speeding bludger that seemed to Marlene out of nowhere. That slowed her, but James was an expert. His pace met hers. They passed each other, the Quaffle moved, undisturbed, between them, and then James was goal-bound (Miles bound).

It was beautiful, then. The Quaffle shot from James's hands like a bullet from a gun (a hex from a wand). No keeper stood a chance with a shot like that.

"Gryffindor scores!" Liam Lyle sang or shouted or said, and the audience reappeared briefly as the encouraged Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters retreated slightly, preparing for defense. Marlene spotted their seeker, Ricki Nivens, and only just remembered that he was in the game at all.

"Ravenclaw has possession," Liam Lyle stated. "Fawcett takes the Quaffle..."

---

"Ninety to forty for Gryffindor, at the forty five minute mark," said Lyle's echo. "New Ravenclaw Chaser Brenda Maddock makes a lovely penalty shot after that foul from Shacklebolt—Potter doesn't look pleased—though if he keeps this up, he'll be on track for a personal point record. That's six for him, three for Shacklebolt... not much in terms of scoring from new Gryffindor Chaser Price, but she's had assists on six of the shots, and she's taking the bludgers pretty well. Price with the Quaffle now... another nice maneuver away from the Bludger from Eavesworth; she's at half-field now, passes to Potter... Potter's in for a battle with Connor Plex though... but no—he passes Plex, gives up the Quaffle to Shack... no, he doesn't; no pass to Shacklebolt. He must still be sore at her. Oh, there's the pass. Potter to Shacklebolt. She's got company from both bludgers—she dodges, and... ouch. Oi, that's got to smart a bit. Right in the back; Shacklebolt's hurting, you can tell but she's kept the Quaffle and—passes to Marlene Price. Or maybe she's dropped it, Merlin knows, but lovely catch from Price nonetheless... Price passes to Potter—Agrippa's sake, this team and their tongue-twisters—Potter looks as though he's going for the—no, Beater Chaudry and the bludgers are a bit of a wall; Potter's passing back to Price—the shot is hers if she'll take it... Price takes the shot, and—no, Stimpson intercepts. Neat save from Ravenclaw keeper Miles Stimpson, and he passes to Maddock—Maddock to Fawcett..."

Adam deflected the next shot easily, and James called for a time-out to have Donna's back looked at.

"...If we had a bloody beater who could defend worth a damn..." she all but howled when she landed on the lawn.

"Don't put this on us, Shack!" Damacus Weasley, one of the beaters, defended himself. "Eavesworth is the best beater in..."

"Oi, well it's your job to keep him off of me, Ginge!"

"Shut up, both of you," said James, as he too landed and began feeling the furious Donna's back. "Tell me if this hurts..."

"Of course it bloody hurts—I was attacked by a Bludger!"

"Shack."

"It's fine. Nothing's broken. No thanks to Weasley and Mitchum!"

"You're not watching your right side, Shack," Adam cut in, as he adjusted his keeper's gloves. "Fawcett's started leading. She'll be intercepting soon, and..."

Donna swatted down Potter's hands and scoffed, wheeling around to face Adam. "What about you, Hoops! Maddock and that penalty...!

"She wouldn't have had a shot if you hadn't practically knocked her out of the air!" Adam bellowed back.

"Well I wouldn't have had to foul Maddock if Weasley's Bludger hadn't been about a mile off!"

"That wasn't my fault! Eavesworth was tending!"

"Everyone, shut up!" James hollered again, as Madam Hooch flew by with the fifteen second warning. They all mounted their brooms again. "Shack, watch your right-side. And tell me if you need a minute for your back. I'm serious; we'll have Hooch look at it. McKinnon, you're slow on your left dives—I know you saved that last one, but you were late. Mitchum, find a damn bludger every once in a while, yeah? Eavesworth is killing you. And Price, stay low on your shots. You're coming in too high, and it's easier for Stimpson to defend. Clear? Good. Let's go."

He took off. The six others followed.

Cold wind glided through her hair again as she gained altitude, and Marlene wondered if all time-outs were always this angry.

(They more or less were).

---

"Stimpson didn't even have to dive for that one," said Liam Lyle—Marlene wished she hadn't heard that particular announcement—"Price misses, Ravenclaw gains possession, and the score stays at one-twenty Lions, one-hundred for good ol' blue and bronze... pass to Maddock... but Potter intercepts; they're pressing hard on Ravenclaw—Eavesworth with a Bludger... Potter takes the shot—another save from Stimpson, and he passes the Quaffle over to Plex... Shacklebolt and Price are back on defense."

Liam Lyle probably did not have he proper temperament for Quidditch announcing. He liked quick games, and an hour and thirty-five minutes into this one, he already seemed to grow weary. This had a negative effect on the crowd, whose enthusiasm had dwindled slightly, no doubt in part due to the skies' very real threat of precipitation. Marlene remained no less tense, however. She had been warned: according to James, matches against Ravenclaw were always long.

Connor Plex advanced towards Gryffindor's goal post, Quaffle secure under his arm; Marlene and Donna ran parallel to him for a quarter of the field, until Donna sped up and attempted to block him; he dodged her. Marlene sped forward next, pulling in front of Plex, so that he had to veer wildly to avoid colliding with her. One of the bludgers—hit from Mitchum—sped towards the chaser at that moment, and though again Plex evaded it, he was compelled to grip his Cleansweep with both hands, and in the process, the Quaffle slipped out of his grasp.

Marlene was already below him, and she grabbed the falling Quaffle; she tore across the pitch, with Donna right behind her and Potter just ahead.

"Price has the Quaffle again," Lyle astutely observed. "She's climbing the field—pass to Potter... back to Price... Price dodges the bludger from Eavesworth... she's looking for a pass, I think, but the Ravenclaw chasers are flying pretty tight—dodges a second bludger from Eavesworth, and she's pulling ahead of the other chasers, so if she can use that arm of hers better here, Price might have a chance of... well that's absolutely not what I'm referring to when I say, 'better,' Price. Stimpson catches the Quaffle, but frankly I'm not sure why he dignified that shot with a defensive move—Stimpson passes to Fawcett..."

Marlene gripped the nose of the Nimbus that much tighter and brought herself back to help regain the Quaffle, but as she did, Potter fell into flight parallel to her. "If you don't have the shot, pass the Quaffle!" he called to her, before speeding ahead, but Marlene knew exactly what he meant: she'd had the shot—on all of these, she'd had the shot: she'd simply lacked her wits.

Wits, which were now going mad...

Oh, God, she was failing. She was failing, she was failing, she was failing. In front of the entire school, with Liam Lyle announcing it in a magical megaphone, she was failing and having the entire account of it broadcast for almost everyone she knew to hear. Miles was right—she couldn't do this. And oh, Merlin, it was even worse than she'd feared.

Everyone was looking at her! Everyone knew she couldn't do this! She let James down, and Sirius, and Lily, and Donna, and the team, and Adam, who'd always been so convinced that…

How would she face anyone in classes on Monday?

How would she face anyone ever again?

How would she...?

Madam Hooch's whistle cut through Marlene's self-inquiries. It was a moment before she realized why—Ravenclaw had scored again. The Ravenclaw supporters broke out in furious applause, and Marlene realized that she had to focus. She sped back towards Adam, but he already handed the Quaffle over to James, and Marlene and Donna were obliged to circle round and move back toward Ravenclaw's end of the pitch. James met with trouble at about half-field: Connor Plex had taken to simply following James around the pitch regardless of possession, but there, he was joined by both Bludgers and Fawcett, and James nearly fell off his broom avoiding the intended collision. He swooped below them all, though, and unhanded the Quaffle to Marlene, just as a Bludger came into contact with the nose of his broom. It sent him spiraling out of the way, and there was a collective "Ooh, from the crowd.

He recovered quickly, though, with plenty of time to see Marlene and Donna advancing toward Miles Stimpson again.

"Shacklebolt is falling back on this one," Lyle explained. "Unusual move for her—maybe her back's still hurting her a little. Price approached the Ravenclaw hoops..."

Marlene attempted to imagine the three Ravenclaw hoops—left, center, right—as they had been during practices: with Adam guarding them, instead of Miles. With no pressure, no past failure, nothing, except her very simple task of putting the goddamn Quaffle through them.

An enticing wall of clouds lived on the other side of those hoops, too, and Marlene attempted to see past Miles to that wall. Miles wasn't there. Miles had never been there. It was only the hoops.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Marlene lifted the Quaffle in her arm to shoot again...

And then, very suddenly, the Nimbus jerked. Marlene dropped the Quaffle, and she didn't realize why until, once again, Hooch's whistle sounded, this time much sooner.

"Foul to Plex," Lyle announced; "apparently, he's never been taught that you're not allowed to grab the tail of another player's broomstick, and—yes, Hooch is awarding Marlene the penalty... poor Maddock is giving Plex the earful on the other end of the pitch..."

The adrenaline and the focus had vanished the moment the Quaffle had left Marlene's hands. She steered her broom back around to face the Ravenclaw hoops, and they seemed taller and narrower than before. Plus, Miles was back.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

Left, center, right.

But he was just a boy. Just one boy.

He was looking at Marlene. For the first time since the match began, Marlene made proper eye contact with Ravenclaw's chaser. Hovering there, she finally met Miles's eye. Potter flew up to her, muttering a few instructions that she didn't understand, and then he was gone, and she was on her own again. The Quaffle was in her hands a moment later.

It wasn't a big deal, really. In the grand scheme of things—even in the grand scheme of this match—it wasn't a big deal. Nothing hinged upon the success of this single penalty shot, though the seconds dragged on like minutes, as if this were the most important moment of the match. But it wasn't—not even close. As soon as one of the Seekers saw the Snitch, this whole thing would be over with... nothing really very important depended on this penalty shot...

Except maybe one thing.

And oh God, he was right.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't...

She was going to choke. Right there, in front of everyone, she was going to choke.

She almost did choke on the air that flooded her lungs as she took a deep, breath and tucked the Quaffle under her arm. She steered her broom away from the Ravenclaw hoops to re-position herself for the shot. Her teammates and opponents alike now assembled the mandatory distance from her—for a moment, the other Chasers and Beaters and Seekers weren't watching her. But he was.

Miles Stimpson's dark eyes fixed upon her, unblinking.

Marlene found her space. She turned to face the Ravenclaw goal again.

He was bent over his broom, and he was smiling. He knew. He knew she would choke.

Pathetic.

It wasn't a big deal, really. It wasn't a defining moment by any standards... Except maybe one.

Marlene swallowed. She took the Quaffle in her hands, rolling it between her palms, and she in turn stared at Miles—stared right back into his eyes, into his cocky smile, into the knowing tilt of his chin...

Ten galleons you don't score one goal, he had said. And so far, he was right.

Light-years away, the entire school watched her now. They rumbled senselessly, with no coherence to the roar they collectively omitted. The magnified voice of Liam Lyle spoke Greek. Or it might as well have.

Miles stared on.

Marlene closed her eyes.

Start low, said another voice, much clearer.

Smooth and warm was the Quaffle in her hands.

You always are.

Start low.

It'll be fine.

Intuition.

Then, it occurred to her that what didn't matter was, in fact, the rest of the match. One of the Seekers would catch the Snitch; it would all be over. In two weeks, everyone would have forgotten, yet. But that was something else. Right now, in that instant, lost as she was among the clouds, wind, and noise, the only—the absolute only thing that mattered—was this shot.

And—this, a final fleeting thought running stray in her brain for reasons unknown: it was going to rain soon.

Marlene opened her eyes again, raised her arm and prepared to throw, not removing her gaze from Miles's. Then, quite suddenly, her arm flinched, as though she were going to throw the Quaffle. Miles dived, and even as he did so, he realized his mistake.

Marlene grinned. She wound her arm back and pitched the Quaffle.

---

She'd brought her umbrella down from the castle, but it remained at her side even when she stepped out from the overhang of the stands, and large cool raindrops fell, pitter-pattering against the canvas of her bag and soaking her hair. The pitch—now empty—seemed entirely different than it had during the match, but Marlene did not think she would ever be able to see it as she had before that afternoon. The recollection of all that noise and panic and excitement stuck, caught in the mists of the rain (had it been this foggy during the game?) and in the empty stands. And that was okay.

"You were brilliant today," said Adam. He arrived from the locker rooms and stood beside her, clutching his jumper around his elbows and wincing in the rain.

Marlene nodded. "Rocky start, but I was redeemed." She glanced at him. "You weren't so bad either, McKinnon."

"'Could've stopped a few of the buggers that got by," said Adam. "But we won, so Potter probably won't beat me up too badly at the next practice."

"Optimism."

"Oh, yes."

Marlene laughed.

"So what did you think?" asked Adam, looking at her. "How did you like the game?"

"Well, we won, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but not quickly. And you can always tell if you like Quidditch or if you love it, based on how you feel about those long, slow paced games, with really high scores and loads of fouls."

"And you?" said Marlene.

"Oh, I love it."

"I see-you love it, and Potter breathes it."

"Exactly, yes."

"I see."

Marlene turned her eyes to the pitch again. So did Adam, and they were both getting rather soaked from the rain, but neither uttered a word for over a minute. "I've been thinking about Healing again," Marlene said eventually. Adam turned to her, confused. He didn't ask any questions though; he only nodded.

"Could be fun."

"Yeah," she said. "Could be." She raised her umbrella and opened it, so as to cover both herself and Adam. "Come along, then. There's bound to be a party in the Common Room, and we can't have you risking the elements, can we?"

"No, I guess not," said Adam, and they walked together back to the castle.

---

A/N: the end! Yay! And a short one, too, comparatively speaking. SO, this time, I really mean it when I say the update won't take as long. And Chapter 34 is called "Meloni v. Mumps." For those of you NOT following me elsewhere, you may be happy to know that the next chapter, I promise, will have more Lily/James in it! *Much* more. =)

Reviews are not talking 4 months to update!

Love,

Jules