AN: Please remember that all plotlines / characters / places / etc you recognise belong to JK Rowling.


The Cause


Interview with Mary MacDonald, Gryffindor girl in same year as Marauders.

Interviewer (I): So, Mary, what do you think of the Marauders?
Mary (M): They’re funny, I guess. Why?
I: I’m trying to get people’s opinions of them for the book I’m writing about them. What’s you most treasured memory of the four?
M: You’re writing a book? About the Marauders? All right, then ... whatever floats your boat. Will I be in it?
I: Sure, if you answer the questions.
M: Oh, right. Yeah. Treasured memory. Probably the time James won the Quidditch cup for us this year. That was hot, especially when he did that loop de loop and took his shirt off.
I: I see ... but what about the Marauders as a four? There have been many memorable moments, which one has stayed with you?
M: You mean pranks and stuff? Okay ... uh ... ooh, the time they turned McGonagall’s class into a disco for the end of the year.
I: Ah, the Transfigurdisco Incident of ‘74. A memorable moment, indeed. How would you describe your experience as a girl in the same House and year group as these four beloved miscreants?
M: Marty, do you always talk this weird when you’re interviewing people? (Off the interviewers look) All right, all right. I’d say it’s been very amusing and entertaining. Also, that James is a babe.
I: Thank you. One last thing �“ if the naming off this book was up to you, what would it be?
M: Like a title? I guess ... “The Extraordinary Life And Times Of James Potter, Man-God Extraordinaire And His Three Friends”
I: An inspiring contribution. Thank you for your time.
M: Sure, Marty. Whatever.

*~*~*

Chapter One: The Plight Of The Pixie

[Marty]

“I work for The Cause.

“The Cause is not something you can reach by waving your wand and saying some words. The Cause is not something you can reach by handing out the odd leaflet. The Cause will never truly be reached, no matter how many orphans are fed, or murderers caught, or civil rights won. People will always be hungry, corrupt or oppressed.

“But if we do nothing �“ if we stand by �“ it will only get worse. Always remember ... any difference is a big difference.”

“Um. That’s really interesting and stuff, but do you know where the nearest bathroom is? I’ve not been this end of the school much.” The first year girl does look rather desperate.

“Sure,” I say. “Down the hall and to your left.”

“Thanks.” The girl turns and sprints away.

“Stay strong!” I call after her and smile to myself. Another recruit well and truly inspired. Although, I should really be getting back to the Dorm with these new books I borrowed from the Library, so I hurry back in the opposite direction and eventually find myself in the Common Room, banging them down onto a spare table.

The Pixie �“ An Unknown Beauty
Pixies And Mythology
Why Do We Hate Pixies So Much? A Look Into One Of Wizardkind’s Biggest Mistakes
Muggles Are Right �“ Pixies ARE Sweet When You Know How
Pixies And Me �“ An Anthology

The OWLs start soon and I spent all day studying, so now I think I deserve some time to continue my extensive research into my current Cause �“ the Plight of the Pixie.

[Remus]

“James, the point you’re missing is that Evans can’t stand you,” Sirius says. “And it’s no wonder, considering all the whining you do!” Although, to be fair, I think, half listening to them and half reading Peter’s Potion’s essay, She doesn’t see that part. Thanks to him, all she sees is an idiot.

“She does not hate me!” he protests. I sigh. How many times have we heard him say those words? Too many. James’s love is kind of heart warming and pathetic at the same time. If only Lily knew what we put up with because of her.

“Why do you even like her, anyway?” Peter asks.

I look up sharply from his homework �“ mostly correct, although his handwriting is as illegible as ever and there are a few mistakes dotted about �“ and begin signalling frantically for him to be quiet. No one needs to hear another retelling of why exactly James likes Lily, we’re all well aware by now ... however, it seems only Sirius (who looks rather pained, actually) and myself have learnt never, ever, to ask James why he likes Lily.

“Peter, my worm tailed friend,” Sirius hisses. “I would advise you to be quiet now.” And then, his eyes suddenly go from panicked, to distracted, a look they have taken on many times before. Usually just before he gets one of his infamous “great ideas”. Usually just before he and James start planning in very low voices, acting as if we live in a bizarre, military world with codes, drills and missions, which are always called “operations”. Usually just before someone gets their arse kicked and it’s either Snape (by us) or us (by McGonagall) and more often than not, it is both.

“I mean,” Peter continues, as Sirius starts muttering something about worms and tails. “She’s friends with Snivellus, after all.”

Oh, Peter, what have you done? Bringing up Lily and Snape? Now I’ll never be able to finish what is ultimately YOUR homework. Which, by the way, you were supposed to hand in three weeks ago.

I do not say this, however, because James has already opened his mouth and drawn a very long breath, as if whatever is about to come out will take a very long time.

“Do I have to tell you again, Peter?” he begins, incredulously, although he looks rather excited about the idea.

Here it comes.

“I mean, have you not noticed how her and Snivelly seem to be falling apart lately? She’s noticed his attacks on Muggleborns, she’s realising what a nasty little snake he really is. Lily is finally coming to her senses, waking up and smelling the tea leaves, so to speak ...”

Smelling the tea leaves? I’m sure the correct term is something quite different.

“And, once she’s free of that cockroach, all that will be left for me to do is swooping in and taking his place. Because if he wasn’t such a creepy fellow, she would have fallen in love eventually, it’s only natural. I, however, am far from creepy and so, as long as I gave her the companionship she got from Snape, she’d fall in love with me instead. It helps, of course, that I’m a God on the Quidditch Pitch. Did I ever tell you guys about the shape of her eyes?”

“Multiple times,” I mumble, in what I know is an unrealistic attempt to ebb the coming avalanche of drivel. However, Sirius has got that excited look in his eyes, the one he always gets just before he �“

“Wormtail!” he cries, a little too loudly, standing up in a ‘eureka!’ moment of clarity. Well done, Sirius. You get fifty Nutter Points.

However, at least James is temporarily distracted.

“Peter’s new name ... can be Wormtail!” he says dramatically. “In fact ... we can ALL have new nicknames relating to ... to ... our favourite animals,” he finishes, glancing round at the Common Room, uncertainly. For a moment there, my heart stopped as he nearly told the whole Common Room about the one thing I never, ever, want them to know. Everyone is staring at him. No, really. Everyone. That group of First Years over there ... those older students in the corner ... the couple who were previously making out ... that strange girl in our year, who now appears to be taking notes on something furiously, glancing over at us feverishly now and then and concealing a grin, like she’s a cat who’s found some particularly appetising cream.

Peter, however, just seems pleased to have been given a nickname before the rest of us. Innocence is such a touching thing to behold.

[Marty]

So, I was reading up on pixies just now, when Sirius Black (one of the Marauders, give me a second and I’ll explain everything) stood up and started bleating (bleating, hmm, I like that word. I’ll have to use it in my book. Oh, damn. I’ll explain later) about Peter’s new nickname being Wormtail and how they’ll all have new nicknames based on “their favourite animals”. Naturally, I couldn’t let this moment slip by and pulled the nearest blank parchment towards me, so that I could begin scribbling down notes, occasionally looking up to check I wasn’t missing anything.

Apparently, Marauder Peter Pettigrew has been given the nickname “Wormtail” based on his animal preference. It appears to have been thought up by Marauder Sirius Black. No more nicknames have yet been proclaimed, but I will be listening out especially for any new names they are using for each other.

So, which animal, then, has inspired “Wormtail”? A creature with a worm-like tail, one can presume, but this leads to many (okay, not that many) possibilities. Perhaps, maybe, a �“

Marauder James Potter just proclaimed loudly, “I am NOT going by the name of Horny!” Does his animal have horns, then?

“Don’t take it personally, J,” Peter replied. “I wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of THOSE prongs!”

“Prongs,” Sirius repeated. “I like it. Welcome to the team, Prongs. It has a certain ring about it, don’t you agree?”

No further conversation has yet been overheard.

And, while I await more names to be announced, I will take this opportunity to explain the Marauders. They are four boys �“ James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin �“ who spend almost all of their time together. I find them absolutely fascinating. They are the school’s most notorious pranksters and yet come top of virtually every class. They are arrogant bullies to some and the most courteous of gentlemen to others. Girls fall over themselves, blinded by their looks, yet they are all single. They seem to really care for one another �“ although I only notice this because of my near constant surveillance �“ yet they are always bickering and arguing. There are so many conflicts in their personalities and yet they seem to be in total harmony with each other.

And it is this phenomenon that inspired The Book, all the way back in third year, when their fame really began to climb. I take notes on them often and have interviewed people around them �“ although never them �“ on numerous occasions. I have many folders of scrap pieces of parchment, full of their everyday behaviour. Every prank they’ve pulled �“ to my knowledge �“ I have recorded somewhere. And, eventually, I will write it all in a book, The Book, which will portray an accurate portrait of their lives.

Not that I’m a stalker or anything. My interest is purely psychological.

Naturally, this and my devoted campaigning for The Cause takes up most of my time, so it’s probably a good thing that a) I don’t have many �“ or, in fact, any �“ friends to distract me and b) I don’t mind solitude.

Sure, sometimes I wish I had someone to laugh and cry with. Wish I had something like the Marauders have with each other, like Lily Evans and that Snape guy have (although I hear that’s a little shaky and possibly crumbling at the moment), like Mary MacDonald, Roxanne Page, Phyllis Goodman and (when she’s not with that Snape guy) Lily seem to have. Those are the other girls in my year, who are in Gryffindor, by the way, they all seem friendly with each other.

But I never wish that for too long. My mother, Saffron Price, only ever had her sister, my Aunt Tabby, when she was growing up and they are both direct campaigners for The Cause. Obviously, those who work for The Cause are often solitary beings.

Besides. I’m happy. I’ve always been a happy kid, so my mother says. I have The Cause to work for daily, my studies to complete and The Book (which is still nameless) to write. It’s not like I’m ever short of something to do.

[Remus]

“So. Wormtail, for Peter. Prongs for James. How about Remus?” he asks and I sigh. Because, this means that I will be forced to think about my problem and that’s just something I don’t enjoy doing. I prefer to relish the times when it’s far away and my life seems normal, so thinking about it just reminds me of the hell I’m going to have to go through all over again in a few short weeks.

“Snoutface?” James suggests.

I raise an eyebrow. These friends of mine will be the death of me, one day. “Gee. Thanks,” I say dryly. “That’s really flattering. You go ahead with your cool nicknames, Wormtail, Prongs and whatever cool thing Sirius comes up with for himself. You guys will go down in history with names like that. Just don’t forget old Snoutface when you’re off being legendary, all right?”

“You don’t have to be called Snoutface,” Sirius says. “There are much cooler things to associate with were�“ uh, with your animal.” Honestly, I don’t know what’s happened to Sirius’s discretion of late. Not that he had much to begin with.

“Ambereyes?” Peter pipes up.

“It sounds too girly,” I say, albeit a little sulkily. Because who wants to be known as Ambereyes?

Sirius takes it upon himself to inspire us a little. “Come on. Something to do with ... you know, what you ... you know.” I’ve always admired how he can convey such meaning in so little words. Which, by the way, was me, being sarcastic, a habit I picked up from my mother at a frightfully young age. “How about ... Snarler? That’s cool.”

“That’s psychotic,” James scoffs at him, quite rightly. “What about Mooner?”

“Mooner,” I repeat, sceptically. “Mooner. You know the sought of crazy reputation I’d get with a name like Mooner? People will think I can’t afford a belt.”

“What about Moony, then?” James says. “You know. It’s ambiguous. It’s ominous. It’s very cool.”

“Not really,” I point out, although it’s admittedly better than the other twaddle these twits have come up with so far.

“You’re just determined to hate every single name we give you,” Sirius snaps at me. This is not entirely true and if I had the energy, I would be offended. “So your opinion no longer counts. ‘Moony’ it is. Now ... how about the greatest of all of you? What will I be called? What special features do I have that we can make a good name from?”

“Fleas,” James says, grinning. Sirius glares at him, but I can’t help but smile.

“Well ... you look a bit like a Grim. How about Grimmy?” suggests Peter. I, personally, think this is rather a good idea and it suits Sirius down to the tooth.

“I refuse to be called anything that ends with an ‘ee’ sound,” he declares. “It’s too girly.”

This statement is so unbelievably rubbish that I can’t help but splutter, “And yet me being called Moony is of no consequence?”

Sirius, however, ignores me. “What other features do I have?”

“Fleas,” James says again. I laugh this time, feeling a little mutinous, but Sirius ignores us both and looks towards Peter.

“Your feet are sort of padded,” he says, shrugging, which is true, but a rather questionable thing to have noticed. Still, I suppose, due to his size, he gets a much better view of our feet when we’re on one of our ... escapades.

“Padded feet, eh? So ... Footpad? No, people might mishear and think you’re calling me ‘footpath‘ which would inevitably lead to confusion. What about Padfoot?”

“Yeah, great, good one,” James says distractedly. He is looking over my shoulder, towards the girls dormitories. Knowing what I will see, I turn to look, too. Sure enough, Lily Evans is coming down the stairs, talking urgently with Mary MacDonald.

As they walk past us, I catch Lily saying, “I just can’t understand why he would want to hurt people like that ...” And then she sighs, loudly. “I’ve turned a blind eye for too long, Mary ...”

Presumably, she is talking about Severus Snape �“ or Snivellus, as we have affectionately called him from the day we met him. I will say here and now that I had no part in this particular nickname.

“Did you hear that?” James says excitedly. “‘I’ve turned a blind eye for too long’! That’s what she said! She must really hate him! It’s almost over! I’m in the game!”

Sigh. It seems, my friends, we have found ourselves back at the oh-so-familiar square one of the Distract-James drawing board.

*~*~*

AN: There you have it. All characters officially introduced! I hope you enjoy this, please remember to leave a review!

A few weeks after their creations and The Marauders are still using their new “names” in excess, as if to brainwash others into using them too. For example:

“Prongs, could you pass the milk please, Prongs?” asks Marauder Sirius Black, referring to Marauder James Potter.

“Absolutely, Padfoot, you Padfoot old pal. Say, Wormtail, [referring to Marauder Peter Pettigrew] did you have any more dreams about cheese, Wormtail?”

“Why no, Prongs, but Moony [referring to Marauder Remus Lupin] seemed to be enjoying his subconscious night time escapades, didn’t you, Moony?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Note the over exaggerated linguistics, as if trying to find ways of fitting their new code names into conversation in whatever way they can �“ except Remus, who seems to be more reluctant to join in and is also (as happens often) looking rather tired.

Note to self: Investigate these supposed “cheese dreams” of Peter’s.

Chapter Two: Trendsetters

[Remus]

I wake up this morning from a very nice dream involving Shakespeare, his wife and a very useful House Elf called Puck, who very courteously offered me tea and cupcakes. Naturally, I was having a rather nice sub-conscious time, so it was rather disconcerting to awake to the sound of Sirius, seducing James. As you can imagine, this is a fairly disturbing thing to wake up to and any normal person would probably have to have counselling for the rest of their life. However, I have lived with Sirius, James and Peter for five years now and I have come to get used to the bizarre goings on.

“Oh, James,” he says in a voice which is rather more high pitched than I remember, but unmistakably his. “It’s Ev �“ Lily, James! Oh, James, hold me! Hold me, you big hunk of man!”

Ah. That explains it, then. Sirius has taken it upon himself to �“ for want of a better expression �“ screw with James’s head while he sleeps.

How amusing this could all turn out.

“What’s going on in there?” I say, sitting up and grinning, looking over towards the drawn curtains of James’s four poster. I hear a crash and, oddly enough, the exclamation, “Holy gall bladders!” which is not one I’ve heard before.

“Nothing!” he yelps. I slide out of my own bed and open his curtains, surveying the scene in front. James is sleeping soundly, his glasses on his bedside table, while Sirius is lying on his back �“ apparently having fallen there in alarm, after kneeling beside his friend whispering those heartfelt sweet nothings.

“Are you trying to brainwash James, Sirius?” I ask, accusingly, taking on the air of a kindly, but still firm, primary school teacher.

“It’s Prongs and Padfoot now, Moony,” he says to try and change the subject �“ badly, I might add. Over the past few weeks, including OWLs, our nicknames have slowly become more well known and the other day, a small first year came up to me and called me Moony, which was actually quite unsettling.

“So ... you consider Prongs to be ... what was it ... a big hunk of man?”

I try very hard not to laugh at his slowly reddening face. “Come on, Moony, he was snoring and everything! I just wanted to see his face when he woke up thinking it was Evans, then realised it was actually me! I wanted him to drool or something!”

“What will you pay for my silence?” I ask. This is way too much fun. I must have the devil in me, yet. That was a stupid thing to say. I do not have the devil in me. I have a monster.

Sirius clutches at his heart.

“Treachery! Blackmail! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“I didn’t know you thought of James that way, but I’m sure ... um ... oh, the whole school would be pleased to find out, wouldn’t they? Sirius Black, self proclaimed ladies schmooze, whatever that is, carries a burning flame for his best friend and Quidditch star, James Pot�“”

“All right!” he protests, holding up his hands. “What do you want?”

I grin. “Oh, nothing.” And walk away.

This results in a great many shouts, threats, begs and pleads from poor, troubled Sirius and before long, James has woken up and is trying to hear the full story. Sirius will reveal none of it, but keeps shooting me furtive glances, hoping I won’t reveal his secret. Then, James starts talking a little too loudly and Sirius does the same so that his assurances of his own innocence can’t be drowned out and suddenly everyone is getting a little too paranoid about it all. I try and yell at them to shut up, but that gets us nowhere, so instead I scramble for my wand and let it emit a loud bang, several streamers shooting out of the top at the same time and landing on Sirius’s head. Which, if you ask me, looks a little ridiculous, but at least there is temporary silence. Ah, blessed silence.

“Sometimes I hate living with you guys,” Peter mutters, breaking the momentary quiet as he sits up and rubs his eyes. “I barely ever get enough sleep.”

“Sleep is for wusses,” Sirius replies, shrugging.

Peter groans and falls back on his bed, with the intent of going back to sleep now that we’ve all stopped bickering so loudly.

“Oh no you don’t,” Sirius says, pulling off his covers. “You can sleep later, we have something vitally important to do, first.”

“What?” I ask sharply, as James and Peter lean in closer. We only just finished our exams yesterday, I can’t think of anything remotely important we’ll have to do for a couple of days, at least.

Sirius takes a deep breath, enjoying his power to prolong the tension as long as he likes.

“What?” asks Peter, this time, looking excited at the prospect of an adventure.

“We need ...” he begins dramatically. The boy should join an amateur theatrical society, he really should. “... To enjoy our day!”

I sigh, relieved not to have forgotten something, whereas James laughs at the overly cheerful, almost sing-song in his voice and Peter groans and throws his pillow at him.

“That’s the spirit, Wormtail!” Sirius declares, brightly. “Who needs bedding when the sun is shining so brightly?”

And with that, he skips out of the room and down the stairs. “Uh �“ Sirius? Padfoot, mate?” James calls after him and it seems it is only then that he notices he is standing in front of the whole Common Room in his pyjamas, having forgotten to get dressed. A very loud and uncouth expletive rings out, before we hear his loud footsteps thud back up the stairs.

Congratulations, Padfoot. Another job well done.

[Marty]

I wake up this morning to the sound of the violin, which can only be Lily. She likes to practise in the mornings, she says it wakes her up. She’s really very good, but I can’t help noticing a mournful sound to the melody this morning.

Not everyone is always supportive of her playing. Mary and Roxanne generally don’t complain, but Phyllis (known simply as Phyll to most) usually moans it’s giving her a headache. Still, some days �“ like today �“ Lily does it anyway.

Now that the OWLs are over, I feel it’s time to really focus on my Plight of the Pixie campaign before we all go home for the holidays, so I plan to raise as much awareness about pixies as I can. I start with Lily, sitting up and listening to her finish the song on her violin, as she stares out of the window, a little overdramatically. I pretend not to notice her silent tears.

“‘Morning, Lily,” I say. She starts and nearly drops her violin in her hurry to rub at her eyes.

“How much do you know about pixies?” I ask, upfront. She looks confused at the odd question, but everyone’s used to me being a little different by now.

“They’re from Cornwall, right? Mostly?”

I nod.

“Um ... they’re kind of blueish? I’ve never seen one in real life. Aren’t they meant to be really mischievous? Picking people up by the ears and stuff?”

I nod again, solemnly. “That’s they’re defence mechanism, yes, which people mistake for mischief. But it’s not true �“ they’re actually doing it as a defence against those who want to exploit them.”

Lily frowns. “How do you exploit a pixie?”

“Well, that’s just it,” I sigh. “That’s what people always say. They presume that just because pixies enjoy a laugh while they defend themselves, that they’re not in danger �“ that they’re not on the brink of extinction!”

Lily looks alarmed �“ who wouldn’t be, to realise something so drastic was happening underneath everyone’s noses? She is probably cursing herself for being so naïve. This is why I work for The Cause; to educate people about what needs to be done.

“I didn’t realise it was that bad!”

“Of course you didn’t,” I say understandingly. “But people get annoyed with them ... they start treating them horribly, using spells and things. No wonder they react against us! We need to raise awareness fast and stop people harming the poor creatures!”

“I’m not sure they’re being harmed, Marty,” Lily tells me, carefully. “Not many people like the idea of being picked up by the ear and flown away.”

“That’s no reason to jinx them!” I cry, enthusiastically. “Here, just sign this petition. I’ll send it to the Minister when I have ... ooh ... two hundred signatures should do it and they can know that people are serious about keeping our ancient magical environment and species intact.”

“But surely there are more important issues?” Lily now asks.

“Any issue is an important issue, Lily,” I say sternly. “You should remember that.”

She sighs. “All right.”

And signs my petition.

One down �“ one hundred and ninety nine to go!

[Remus]

After the small pyjama mishap �“ which Sirius solved by acting his usual self (i.e. what he probably thinks his smooth and suave, but what is actually idiotic) and acting like he’d done it on purpose �“ we went down to breakfast, happily planning how we’d spend our day; even I was looking forward to not having to study for any imminent and life changing exams.

And now, after a delicious breakfast of ham and eggs, we have predictably found ourselves sitting underneath our favourite tree by the lake. James has started playing with that confounded Snitch of his, while Peter is wetting himself once again with excitement. Meanwhile, Sirius and I are having a slightly heated, but overall friendly discussion about one of the questions that came up on the Charms Theory exam. That is, we were until something else caught his ever wandering eye.

“What is that mad Marty girl doing, now?” he asks, staring across the Grounds.

“And that’s why I don’t think �“ what?” I stop, mid-sentence.

“That Marty girl. It looks like she’s setting up some kind of ...” his voice trails off as he tries to think of the right word. I too, turn around to look.

“Stall?” I suggest.

“Yes, thank you, Moony.”

“I see what you mean,” Peter says, joining us in staring over at her. “She’s crazy.”

I have to say, a part of me can’t help but agree. As I squint towards her stall �“ smack bang in the middle of the Grounds �“ I try and make out the banner above it, floating in mid-air.

The Plight Of The Pixie

“The plight of the what?” James says incredulously.

At the same time, Peter says in the same tone of voice, “The what of the pixie?”

“I wasn’t aware that pixies were in any immediate danger,” I say, which is perfectly true. After all, we learnt about them a couple of years ago in Defence Against the Dark Arts and never once did it come up that they even had a “plight”; quite the opposite, in fact.

“That’s because they aren’t in danger,” James scoffs. “You should know by now that Marty Price is one of the nuttiest people at this school. Nothing she campaigns for is ever real! Remember the time she started trying to organise a protest march against using pumpkins in our drinks, pasties and Hallowe’en celebrations? Something about not exploiting one of nature’s greatest assets? I heard somewhere that she, her Mum and whoever else runs that mad tea shop on Diagon Alley have never drank pumpkin juice, they just have water, while they’ve never eaten a pumpkin pasty either and during Hallowe’en they make the things out of paper instead. And remember when she was protesting using newt eyes in potions? And when she wouldn’t powder her beetles because it would damage their natural beauty? And I’ve not even started on the way she stares at us all the time, like we’re some kind of specimen! And do you guys remember when �“”

“Shut up, James,” I say, deliberately not using his nickname. Peter immediately stops his sniggering. Sirius turns to look at me, eyebrows raised, as it’s not often I interrupt my friends; or, indeed, anybody for that matter. I wish he wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry?” James says, perplexed. I feel myself reddening, but don’t give in.

“Leave her alone,” I say defiantly. Not sticking up for Snape when they do him wrong is one thing. A Gryffindor girl with not many friends is quite another. “Look, she seems upset. Everyone’s ignoring her stall.” It’s true that she is looking a little forlorn as people either go past with their heads down, avoiding eye contact, or just openly mock her.

“Um,” James says, surprised and kind of affronted at my sudden attack of gentleman-like morals. “That’s because it’s a load of horse baloney.”

“So?” I snap at him, a little too harshly and immediately soften my voice. You have to tread very carefully when arguing something like this to James or Sirius. “There’s no reason to mock her, she’s a Gryffindor, like us. We should ... we should be ... I mean, she’s not doing anything wrong.”

“No ...” he says slowly, like I’m a child having difficulty grasping a particularly complex rule. “... She’s just crazy.”

“Some might say you are, the way you sit around deluding yourself that Lily Evans is in love with you,” I retort and immediately regret it.

“Ooh,” Peter says, wincing. “Harsh.”

I sigh and any anger that remains leaves me at once. “Sorry. But I don’t see why we should be turning on our own House, now.”

“I wasn’t turning on her, I was just �“”

I cut across James for the second time today. “I mean, sure she’s ... unconventional, but let’s save it for the Slytherins, right?”

James nods, but still seems a little perplexed.

Sirius smiles. “Sure, Moony. If you like. What would we do without your moral guidance, eh?”

“You’d all go to Hell,” I reply and Sirius grins.

Soon, all is back to normal, which I know because James begins playing with his Snitch again.

However, after a minute or two more of watching everyone ignore Marty’s good intentions �“ however misguided �“ I give in.

“Oh, come on!” I say, standing up and striding off towards her. My friends soon catch me up, shooting me the odd confused look, but to their credit, they keep quiet about my unexplained (even to me) rush of sympathy for the odd girl we’ve all gotten used to and her unusual ways.

[Marty]

Remus Lupin. What about him, you say? He’s just come to my campaign stall. That’s what.

“Hi,” I say nervously. My eyes glance towards an �“ almost filled �“ notebook of Marauder Observations and my hand twitches a little, wanting to start scribbling about this latest development immediately. I resist it. “Are you here to sign the petition?”

He looks down at it, seeming surprised. He pretends not to notice that there are only two signatures (mine and Lily’s) and I pretend not to notice that he’s pretending not to notice.

“Sure,” he says, taking a quill and signing the petition. His signature interests me. It’s small and neat, but with an intriguing flair of character. I get an idea and shove a blank piece of parchment at him. “And can you sign here, too?” I ask.

“Um ... what for?”

“Oh, just, you know, official reasons,” I say brightly. He looks unconvinced, but signs it anyway.

“How about you guys?” I say to the other Marauders. “Are you signing?”

“I �“ we �“ um �“” James seems to be having an internal struggle. “Well ... what exactly are we signing for?”

“Oh, just to let the Minister know that people are serious about our concern for the exploitation of pixies nationwide,” I tell him.

“Exp �“ exp �“ exploit �“ you really think �“ pixies �“ exploited?”

“Congratulations, Prongs,” Sirius says, grinning. “You’ve finally achieved your lifelong goal of sounding like an blabbering idiot.”

“He achieved that years ago,” says Peter, laughing and he signs the petition and also �“ without questioning it’s reasons �“ the other bit of parchment. Sirius follows suit, winking at me as he does so. I feel a thrill of excitement. A Marauder! Winking at me!

“Thanks,” I say brightly. “Would you like a T Shirt?”

I indicate my many handmade T Shirts on display around the stall. They all depict merry looking pixies and I have charmed them to wave and occasionally pull mischievous but loveable faces. The one I am wearing has two pixies, doing back flips and waving.

This seems too much for James. “Just give me the petition,” he mutters, pulling it towards him and signing both bits hurriedly.

“Thanks very much!” I say. They leave quickly, James going ahead of the rest, his head down. Remus turns round at the last minute and smiles at me. Smiles! As if I’m his friend!

It becomes too much and I reach for the notebook and a quill and start writing.

It seems the Marauders �“ and, in particular, Marauder Remus Lupin �“ are interested in moral issues after all, after signing a petition to raise awareness about “The Plight of the Pixie”. I have also managed to gain their signatures for analy�“

“Excuse me?”

I stop writing and look up. There is a queue of people waiting at my stall. The bold second year who spoke looks nervous, but continues nevertheless.

“Was that Sirius Black, James Potter and their friends just now?”

“Why, yes,” I say, smiling at the boy. “It was.”

“Oh,” the boy says, smiling back. “Then can I sign whatever it is they did?”

I blink. “Do you want to know about the issue you’re raising awareness for?”

“No thanks,” he says. “I just want to sign it.”

Trendsetters. Don’t you just love them?

*~*~*

AN: Hey! That was the second chapter, I hope you enjoyed it ... soon there might even be a real plot! Yeah �“ a real one! Radical, huh? First, please leave a review, because I’d love to know what you guys think of Marty and the crew!

Interview with Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House.

Interviewer (I): So, Professor, what do you think of the Marauders?
McGonagall (M): Who?
I: Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. I’m trying to get people’s opinions of them for the book I’m writing about them. What’s your most treasured memory of the four?
M: My most treasured ... (her lips go rather thin) Miss Price, do you not have better things to be getting on with?
I: Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll still get all my homework done. What is the memory that comes to mind when you think of those four special boys?
M: Probably their complete inability to listen to a word I say, yet somehow still get top marks. Now, I’m very busy, Miss Price, is there anything important you wish to speak to me about?
I: This is important. What would you say your experience has been like as an authority figure to the boys for so long?
M: (Quite darkly) Trying. If that’s all, Miss Price, you should really get along and enjoying the beautiful grounds before you leave for home, on Monday.
I: One last thing. If the naming off this book was up to you, what would it be?
M: I would call it “Martina Price really needs to be leaving now.” Happy?
I: Ecstatic. Thank you for your time, this has been most enlightening.
M: Go on, just go. And Marty?
I: Yes, Professor?
M: I hope that this book writing has not affected your overall grades this year. I expect no lower than an E, remember?
I: Yes, Professor. Don’t worry about me, Professor. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.
M: (Smiling slightly) I hope not.


Chapter Three: A Victim

[Remus]

“So, Moony, when’s the next full moon?” James asks.

I look up from my book, sharply. “July 24th,” I reply, cautiously. I remember the transformation a week ago, the last of this school year and am torn between smiling and grimacing. We had gone out of the Shack and into the Grounds and I had almost got free from them �“ there was a young couple still out late in Hogsmeade and it took both Prongs and Padfoot to stop me going after them and �“ well, whatever I would have done, it wouldn’t have been fun. In the morning, the others had laughed at our close call, but �“ as ever �“ I could not entirely see the funny side, which eventually Peter picked up on, silencing the others with a rare moment of leadership.

“So, how are you going to cope without us there?” Sirius asks, looking a little worried. I smile, remembering for a moment how terrified I was that my friends would desert me for my secret, when I first arrived five years ago.

“I coped before, Sirius and I’ll cope again.”

“Yeah, but now you’ve kind of gotten used to us being about and stuff ... maybe it’s worse than you remember.”

I give him a sharp look. He recoils slightly. “You think,” I say softly, fighting to keep my emotions down. “That I would forget something like that?”

Sirius says nothing. James leans forward. “That’s not what he’s saying, Moony, he’s just worried about you.”

“Then tell him there’s no need and I’ll be fine. I coped before and I’ll cope again. All right?”

“Remus,” Peter says timidly. “Um ... how do you cope over the holidays? I mean �“ is there a Whomping Willow in your back garden, too?”

Now, Sirius and James have both looked up and leaned in closer without realising it. Nosy gits.

“There’s a ... we have a ...” my voice trails off and I look down at my hands, trying to quash the feelings of shame that always rise up when the subject is addressed. I know my friends don’t hold my condition against me, but I can never quite help but be ashamed. “We have a secure building near the house. The land we moved to when we first found out, it had some outhouses, one of which my Dad converted into something that could ... contain me.” I shudder internally at the thought of that cold building, its steel doors, my parents’ faces as they shut me in.

“Cool,” Sirius says, grinning. “So, we’ll come visit, yeah? You can let us in before you change and we can wait until you come and we can help you out. Easy.”

“What?” I splutter, appalled. “No! Sirius, it’s too dangerous, you don’t know the area, someone could get hurt! What if you were found, you could�“” I lower my voice, “�“You could go to Azkaban!”

Peter speaks up, unsurely, “They wouldn’t put three kids into Azkaban, Moony.”

“You’re not three kids any more,” I say heatedly, trying not to draw attention to our conversation. “You’ll all be of age next year! They’ll do anything for an arrest these days, you guys know that!”

“We don’t care,” James says flippantly. “We’re helping you out. You said yourself it’s so much better than before when we’re around. You shouldn’t have to go through that again.”

“But I can cope, James, I’ll be all right!”

“Come on, Moony,” Peter prompts. “We’re your mates. We want to help you.”

“I know that and I’m grateful, but �“”

“You never complain here,” Sirius says. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that you’d be on my parents land. You wouldn’t be the only ones who got in trouble, you know.”

“We can risk it, we won’t get caught,” James says, shrugging. Doesn’t anyone get it?

“No, you can’t risk it, James! I’m not getting my parents into trouble, I owe them too much as it is!”

“But don’t you think your parents would want your time to be easier on you?” Peter asks. I am beginning to lose patience.

“I don’t care! I won’t let you risk so much for me! You know, maybe I should start complaining about you guys helping here, too, if this is your attitude. It’s not a game! You don’t know what it’s like, turning into a monster every month!”

“Oh, don’t start that victim thing with us, Remus Lupin,” Sirius sneers. “We all know your tragic fate.”

The look on his face causes anger to bubble up inside of me. And, as always in these situations, I start to feel the wolf inside growing stronger and try desperately to suppress it �“ but this time, it’s harder. Maybe it’s all in my head, maybe I just imagine it inside me, feeding off my emotions. But whenever I imagine it getting stronger, I get suddenly scared and that just makes it worse.

“Victim? You think I’m being a victim, Sirius Black?” I spit out, glaring at him.

“Come on, Moony, that’s not what he meant,” James says.

“It bloody well is!” Sirius protests.

“D’you know what, Sirius? I am a victim! At four years old, I was attacked by a savage monster and now I’m cursed for the rest of my life! I think that just about counts!”

“That’s not being a victim, that’s being unlucky,” Sirius snarls. “Being a victim is harping on about it like no one else has problems and then refusing help when it’s offered to you!”

I stand and slam down the heavy book I had balanced on my lap seconds before. “Oh, go and die somewhere, then!” I say loudly and stalk away.

“Remus, no, wait!” Peter calls after me. I ignore him.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Sirius,” I hear James say.

“Whatever, Prongs.”

I slam the Portrait Hole shut behind me.

“There’s no need for that sort of treatment, young man,” the Fat Lady protests. “Do you know how old I am?”

I ignore her and thrust my hands in my pockets before storming darkly away.

[Marty]

Sitting on my bed in the Dorm, I am analysing the extra signatures I got from the Marauders when they signed my campaign. I have done Sirius’s, coming to the conclusion that he is both arrogant and highly born, yet trying to suppress it. James, according to his signature, seems to have the same elegant, upper-class flair, but is far too energetic and busy to spend too much time worrying about presentation. Peter has his mind elsewhere and no desire at all to keep himself �“ or his writing �“ immaculate. Which leaves Remus, who �“ I have to admit �“ I am finding a little more difficult.

I sit back for a minute and relax; or, as good as. My head is buzzing with excitement over the sheer popularity of my campaign, as I now have eighty-three signatures in total, after just three days of inadvertent promotion from the Marauders. Even the girls in my dorm signed up and they’re usually pretty sceptical about my campaigns.

“Hey, Marty,” Mary had said, yesterday, “That petition you have �“ did James Potter sign it?”

“Yeah,” I say, thinking she would just ask to see his signature, so she could pretend it was on their marriage certificate or something (her infatuation with him is quite renowned, although James seems to neither notice nor care �“ it doesn’t take daily observations to realise that he has a thing for Lily). Instead, she asked if she could sign it, too.

“And can I use the same quill and ink that he did?”

“Uh, sure, Mary. I have it right here.”

And while she was doing that, Roxie spoke up, too (a rarity in itself. She’s not shy, she just doesn’t see the need to talk all the time. That’s what I heard her tell Mary one time, anyway). “Did his friends sign it, too?”

“Yes, they did,” I confirmed, bemused but happy at the attention �“ usually the girls don’t bother to talk to me. Not that I mind. I’m fine by myself. But still. “All the Marauders did.”

“Even Peter?” she asked breathlessly.

“Peter?” Phyll scoffed, turning round from the mirror she was brushing her short blonde hair in. “You like Peter?“

“He’s sweet,” Roxie insists, blushing. “Not smart like the others. I couldn’t go out with someone smart, because I’m not smart and what would we talk about? He’s just sweet.”

“But kind of odd looking, though. Not like Sirius. Did he sign it?” she sucks in her breath and closes her eyes, smiling as she sees something in her mind’s eye. “He’s so gorgeous!”

And then she and Roxie signed the petition too. It is in this way that I have managed to obtain most of my signatures since the Marauders signed up, something I haven’t failed to record for The Book (influence being a large part of who we are). Not just girls either �“ the boys of the school aren’t interested in the Marauders romantically, but they certainly look up to the four and pretty much want more than anything, to be noticed and respected by them.

As I reflect on this, I stow away my notes into the Fifth Year file to complete at a later date, before storing the overflowing file in the bottom of my trunk, ready to join the others on my Marauder shelf at home, where I also have files for Fourth and Third Years, as well as the “Things I Can Remember From First And Second Year” file.

I wonder what to do next. There are still a few days until we go home and nothing in particular to do until then. Most people are spending time with their friends, enjoying the sunshine ... but I have no one to do that with. I get up off my bed and head to the window. It’s just after dinner and the sun is on it’s way down, very slowly. Maybe I should do some more research for the evening. There was a footnote in Pixies And Mythology about another book, apparently one by the Professor who first studied Pixies hundreds of years ago�“ it’ll be hard work to read thoroughly, but perhaps Madam Pince has it in her collection, anyway. I make my mind up and grab my cloak as I leave the Dorm and head down the stairs.

As always, I locate the Marauders when entering a room. It’s just habit, really. I notice that Remus is not there and they are looking very depressed about something. I make a mental note to record it, later �“ they are always fighting and bickering, but nothing serious ever comes out of it all ... I think, in a way, it’s mostly for show. Real arguments don’t happen very often.

I make sure I pass them on my way out, in case they say something interesting, but they are silent, all looking in different directions. Where is Remus, I wonder? He has been known to go off on his own occasionally, has done all through his time here, but he did that a week ago, it’s not normally as often as that ... and the rest of the Marauders never sit around, brooding when it happens. In fact, they usually leave soon after. So what could they have fought about to bring this on?

I think on this as I make my way through the corridors, towards the Library, so it’s very disconcerting when I walk in, to find him sitting at one of the tables. Alone. And every other table is full. I smile to myself and go in search of Madam Pince to enquire about the book. Which turns out to be in the restricted section. Who knew pixies were so indecent?

But, on the way back from The Lion’s Den (Pince’s office) I see a book called Modern Moral Issues Facing Wizardkind which sounds like it might have some interesting points for The Cause, so I pick that up and make my way over to Remus’s table.

“Can I sit here?” I ask, brightly. “There aren’t really any other tables.”

He looks up from the book I suspect he wasn’t actually reading and shrugs. “Yeah, sure, Marty. Whatever.” And goes right back to staring at a picture of an old fashioned wizard (who knows, maybe he was quite modern in his day, but to me he looks old fashioned) having his legs gnawed off by several goats. How friendly of them.

“So how are you?” I ask, cheerily, hoping to find the true reason behind their fight �“ it could be interesting for The Book �“ another angle on their friendship.

“What? Oh �“ uh, yeah. Great. Just reading about ... um ...” he seems to see the picture for the first time. “Goats.”

“I like goats,” I say, smiling. You should always try and be friendly, my Mum says. You never know who you might cheer up.

“Mmm,” is all Remus gives for an answer. I don’t let it deter me.

“I’m just researching some more issues that might need to be addressed for The Cause. I’m currently interested in pixies, as you know, but you can never have too many campaigns.”

“Mmm.”

“Thanks for signing the petition, by the way. You really started a trend. I think that, if things keep going, by the time I get home I’ll barely have to get signatures from customers at all! Of course, it’s much easier to get customers to sign than students, I’ve found, because we do really good coffee, so people are generally in good moods. And I think that The Plight Of The Pixie is an especially interesting one, that could grab people’s attention, you know? Because it’s got a really unusual �“”

“Marty,” Remus says, groaning. “Do you ever shut up about your stupid Cause?”

I am a little abashed at this. Of course, if I was talking to Sirius I would expect that kind of thing, but not Remus �“ he’s always a very polite kind of guy. There must be something wrong.

“What’s up, Remus?” I ask, kindly, trying to be compassionate and inviting to people’s confidence, the way my Mum can be for customers at the drop of a hat. She’s always having people sob their problems to her over their tea and scones. I’ve never quite had her subtlety, though.

“There’s nothing up,” he says. “I’d just like to be in peace, all right? Can people not just leave me alone?”

I fix him with what I hope is an understanding stare. He looks uncomfortable.

“Look, all right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s just that �“”

“What?” I prompt, eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly, he looks startled all of a sudden.

“Nothing. Nothing. I had a little row with my friends, that’s all. It’ll work out. I’ve gotta go. See you, Marty.”

He stands and leaves, placing the book back in a random place, as he goes. I can practically hear Madam Pince having a heart attack.

I watch him leave, frowning a little. Something about his demeanour has made me terribly concerned, like I want to help him. Possibly give him some hot chocolate and a pat on the head. Perhaps ... it’s possible that Remus Lupin just made himself my new, secret, Cause.

*~*~*

AN: Look out, Remus! =D Please review! How are you finding it so far?

The Marauders are still not speaking it seems, except for Peter and James, who seem on good terms with each other, but no one else. The three sides have just been witnessed eating lunch, keeping as much distance from each other as possible. However, they each kept sneaking glances at the others when they thought no one was looking, suggesting that they do, in fact, care about each other.

The argument will not last. They would never depart for home tomorrow without making up their differences. Besides �“ they are never angry for long. The longest was one and a half weeks in second year. It all reached a very dramatic climax when they duelled in the Entrance Hall one afternoon. Professor McGonagall started demanding to know “the meaning of this” and they started covering up for each other like nothing had ever happened. It was a true display of friendship at it’s finest.

Chapter Four: The Bullies

[Marty]

I put down my quill and look around the Common Room. Remus is sitting in one of the armchairs in the corner, staring at an open book in his hands. Now that I have proclaimed him �“ secretly �“ my new Cause, I have been keeping an even closer eye on him than usual and happen to know that he has not turned the page of that book for fifteen minutes, after arriving back here from lunch and opening it at a random page. I don’t think it would be too much of a leap of faith if I were to say that he is certainly not reading that book.

I decide that the time is right to make my move. I close my eyes for a moment and picture my mother, in our tea shop, talking to a customer calmly and gently, without expecting them to give her any more than they want to.

I open my eyes and start to fill my arms with as much junk as possible. I begin to amble over to his corner, as if going there completely by chance. When I reach him, I suddenly trip over nothing in particular and drop the many things I had been holding.

“Oh!” I cry dramatically, glancing over at Remus quickly, before dropping to my knees and gathering my things up. I don’t look up again, but I know he saw me. Hopefully, he’ll feel the need to �“

“Here, let me help,” I hear him say and conceal a grin. Phase One of ‘Operation: Help Remus’, complete.

“Thanks,” I say, looking up and smiling.

“Why were you carrying a turnip across the Common Room?” he asks, holding up said turnip. Oops. Maybe I should have taken note of what I was going to carry (and, indeed, drop). What was a turnip doing lying around, anyway?

“I was ... um ...” my mind invents wildly. “I was just tidying up. No one wants an untidy Common Room. It’ll do no good for people’s spirits, which is no good for The Cause. And it gives the house-elves one less thing to do, doesn’t it? And ...” I try to think of something else plausible, but he seems already satisfied.

“Okay, okay. Look, why don’t you just ...” he pulls out his wand, swishes it and flicks it. The items I had bent to pick up in the hope he would come to my aid all rise in the air.

I laugh nervously. “What a good idea! So ... can I sit with you?”

He looks startled and I curse my everlasting lack of subtlety. “Uh ...”

“I mean, you’re sitting alone, I’m sitting alone, maybe we could be alone together, you know?”

He looks suspicious. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

I nearly choke with alarm. “What? No! Why would I �“? Not that you’re �“ I wasn’t �“ I just meant ...”

He smiles, albeit tiredly. He flicks his wand again and the floating items order themselves into a neat pile next to our table. “Go ahead.”

He sits down and picks up his book again. I sit next to him and for a moment try to think of something to do. Remus seems to have decided to ignore me. I reach into my bag and take out my Pixie notes. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, then fine. Maybe companionship will be enough to help him. I begin to design a banner and maybe some T Shirts for my campaign and soon I become so absorbed in my task, that I jump about a foot in the air when Remus says my name.

“Marty �“ oops, sorry! Marty, you’re a nice person, right?”

“Um ... Well. I do try not to be horrible ...”

“Right! And, if I ... say, if I told you ...” he sighs. “I don’t know if you noticed, but me and my friends are kind of angry at each other right now.”

“Well ... yeah, I did pick up that vibe.”

“Right. I mean, I don’t want to be fighting with them all the time, after what they �“ I mean, they’re good friends to me. But sometimes ... sometimes they just ... it’s like they get something into their heads and they just push it and push it and don’t let it slide. They �“ look, you won’t tell anyone this, will you?”

I shake my head. “Of course not.” It’s just that I might jot it down in a notebook later on.

“Okay ... I’m not going to tell you exactly. But they can help me with something, right? Only, they might get in trouble for it. And so they offered to ... to help at my house over the summer, only I said no, because my parents might get in trouble, too. Only they kept pushing it and then ... and then some things were said which none of us meant. I don’t think. And now ...”

“None of you want to make the first move?” I fill in, since his voice had trailed off.

“Right,” he says, snapping out of wherever he had drifted off to. “So until one of us apologises, then we’re all just going to sit around being miserable.”

“So why doesn’t someone just apologise?” I ask, thoroughly confused. Okay, so I haven’t exactly had much experience in the friendship department. The closest I have is Lily, since she is the one most likely to take pity on me out of all the girls in my Dorm. And she’s not really counted as a friend, since she’s often with that Snape guy. And I wouldn’t be her second choice either. That would be Roxie or Mary, or maybe even Phyll.

Remus smiles at my innocent question. “It’s called pride, Marty. We all have a little too much of it.”

“Well, it seems stupid to me. If you still want to be friends, why not just apologise now instead of waiting around? It would really be a lot simpler. And, if they are the ones helping you with �“ uh, whatever it is �“ then it’s really your decision isn’t it?”

He blinks. “Sometimes, Marty, you’re like a breath of fresh air. Everything’s simple with you, isn’t it?”

I shrug. I never really thought about it before, but I suppose it’s true. “Well, what’s the point of over-complicating things? It won’t get you anywhere, will it? Just more and more miserable. If I were you, I’d just make up. What is it that’s so terrible if they get caught, anyway?”

“I really can’t tell you. I’m sorry. It’s very complicated. But ... you know, I might just accept your advice. We’re going home tomorrow, after all.”

I smile. “In that case, my work is done.” I stand and levitate the pile of items in the corner, then walk away, hovering them in front of me, feeling completely satisfied at my achievements. I didn’t even embarrass myself with lack of subtlety! At least ... not much.

[Remus]

I stare after that girl �“ that crazy girl �“ feeling utterly perplexed. Since when was Marty Price capable of intelligent conversation? Usually it’s just her talking about her latest “Cause” and you nodding occasionally, waiting for the chance to get away.

If you still want to be friends, why not just apologise now instead of waiting around?

You know what? Why not, indeed. I look across the Common Room and spot Sirius in an armchair, arms folded, glaring at the floor. Typical of him not to even bother pretending to be busy.

I wander over to him, casually. “Hey, Si �“ Padfoot,” I say when I reach him, deliberately not using his real name. “Have you seen J �“ um, Prongs or Wormtail about?”

He looks up, begrudgingly. “Why would you want them? Don’t you hate us all? We deserve it. Or, at least, I certainly do, after what I said.”

I swallow hard. Someone’s feeling sorry for themselves, aren’t they? “No you don’t. Besides, if we’re going to celebrate the reuniting of Hogwarts’ most troublesome foursome, we’re going to need all four people, aren’t we?”

Sirius shakes his head. “Don’t try and be nice, Moony, you should have real friends. Not wastes of space like us. Go on, I’m not stopping you.”

His �“ probably subconscious �“ use of ‘Moony’ is the only thing lets me know I’m right on track �“ but it’s enough. “Oh, Padders, where would I ever find anyone in quite the same league as you guys?”

The smile I have come to know so well slowly slides back into place. “Certainly not a dump like this. Come on, I bet I know exactly where the other two are ...”

Sure enough, when we climb through the painting into the Kitchens, James and Peter are sitting on one of the miniature work surfaces, drowning their sorrows in what looks like the entirety of Gryffindor’s leftover pies from lunch. It seems they have worked out a wordless system whereby Peter shells away the pastry and puts it on James’s plate, then eats the meaty filling himself. James always did have a bit of a pastry fetish. Who knows how many they have got through in this manner?

They both look up in alarm when we enter. “Hi, guys,” I say a little nervously. “Having fun?”

After a moment’s thought, James says, “Pie good.”

And that is that.

Half an hour later, we leave the house-elves, who promise to send up a feast of pure puff pastry, sometime around midnight (as a leaving present, one can assume) and make our way back up towards the Entrance Hall. Just as we come up from one side, none other than Severus Snape appears from out of the dungeons on the other.

“Perfect. Want to make our reconciliation official?” Sirius asks, passively, as if asking whether to have another game of Exploding Snap.

However, his malicious grin is rivalled only by James’s. “I think,” he replies. “That that’s an excellent suggestion, Padfoot.”

After only just smoothing over our differences, who would even think of protesting?

[Marty]

I watch with some interest as Roxie and Phyll �“ the two procrastinators of the Dorm �“ are running around in circles, trying in desperation to pack as much into their trunks as they can.

“Has anyone seen my hairbrush?” Roxie asks, nervously.

Her question is barely heard, however, over Phyll practically screaming, “Which one of you thieves stole my alarm clock?”

“No one stole it, Phyll,” I say from my position on my bed. “You put it in a safe place because you hated it. I think your exact words were, ‘it sucks out my brain as I sleep,’ And, Roxie, last time I saw your hairbrush, it was under Mary’s bed.”

“Thanks,” Roxie says, before diving under the aforementioned bed and squealing, “Mary! When was the last time you cleaned under here?”

Phyll, however, glares at me. “No one asked you, Marty.”

“Were you not addressing the whole Dorm? Sorry, my mistake. You should really try and be clearer about that sort of thing, you know.”

“Don’t start getting smart with me, Marty,” she warns, darkly. I shrug. Being ‘smart’ wasn’t what I was trying to do, I was just stating facts. But sometimes people don’t like it when I do that.

“You’re so annoying! Why aren’t you packing?” she asks, frustrated. “Why are you always so organised? It’s maddening!”

I pause for a moment. “Were you talking to me, this time?” I ask, innocently, because I genuinely didn’t want to upset her by getting it wrong again.

The only way to describe the strangled yell she then makes, is “Arg!” but that doesn’t quite get across the sheer aggravation in her voice. She’s not normally this bad, it’s just the stress of packing, mostly �“ but I decide to leave before any more damage is done. Currently, everyone in the Dorm kind of fits in together, so I don’t want to disrupt that too much.

I wander down to the Common Room and notice straight away that Remus has left and so has Sirius. I wonder where they are? Did Remus make it up with them after our talk?

But what if our talk hadn’t been enough to convince him? What if it went wrong? What if the others turned against him? He could be sitting in a corner of the Library, crying silently to himself and all because I ...

Sweet Merlin, I have to help him!

I begin scouring all the likely places around the school, but cannot find him anywhere. Does this mean he and the Marauders are off having fun? I hope so. But I won’t rest until I know, because what if I made everything worse when I stuck my nose in?

Eventually, I reach the Entrance Hall. There is a large crowd. I think I can hear James and Sirius’s voices above the excitement. They sound ... malicious. My breath catches. What are they saying to him?

I push my way through the crowd, fully expecting to see Remus being ganged up on, fully expecting to feel my veins fill with ice at the sight which is my own fault. But it’s not Remus with a wand pointing at his chest. It’s Lily’s friend �“ it’s that Snape guy. Sirius has two wands in his hand, his own and that Snape guy’s. James’s wand is doing the pointing. Peter and Remus stand back, smirking at the scene in front of them. Smirking. Like it’s some kind of circus show.

The icy fear inside of me suddenly turns to red-hot rage. “Hey!” I yell, before I can stop myself. “Stop that!”

All eyes turn to me. I feel a little queasy at the attention. “What do you want, Price?” asks Sirius, sneering a little.

“I want you to leave him alone. We need to be making the world a better place, how are we supposed to do that by turning on our own classmates? We can only work towards The Cause if everyone puts aside their differences and �“”

“Get lost, Price, no one wants you here. You or your pointless theories. All right? In fact, why do you even bother coming to school anymore? No one likes you.”

Anger turns to hurt. Are these the same guys who signed my petition? Are these really the same guys who I admire so much? I know they’re not perfect and I’ve always known that. I’m well aware they are capable of bullying. But never people from their own House. Sure, they’ll prank their fellow Gryffindors �“ but they would never deliberately hurt their feelings. Unless, of course, I’ve been concentrating so hard on the details of their lives and personalities, that I never saw the truth �“ the one thing that stands out above all others. The Bully in them.

My eyes seek Remus. Remus, who I spoke to not hours before. Remus, who I helped work through his problems. Remus, who told me I was �“ what was it? �“ a breath of fresh air. My eyes must give away what I am feeling, for I see remorse in his own.

But he does nothing. He just looks away.

For one of the few times in my life, I truly long for a real friend. Not just want one. Not just like the idea of one. But completely long for one. Someone to cover up for my hurt with a scathing comment right back and to hug me later and tell me they’re not worth it.

But I don’t have a friend. Not like that. Not really. There’s no one to cover for me. My eyes fill with tears. Before I let them see me cry, I turn and force my way back through the crowd, up to the marble staircase and away from there.

Anywhere, where I can get away from their faces.

[Remus]

I watch Marty run away in tears and curse my own cowardice. After what she did for me earlier today; after the way she made me realise how important my friends are. And as soon as they turn on her, what do I do? As soon as she looks at me with those eyes full of pain, what do I do?

Nothing. It’s just that I hadn’t wanted to start another argument with my friends so soon. Not after spending so long not talking to them.

“Come on,” James says into the silence, sounding a little shocked himself. “Come on, it’s not worth it anymore. Let’s go.”

“All right,” Sirius agrees. “Hang on, though.” He takes Snape’s wand and throws it over the top of the crowd, far across the other side of the Entrance Hall. “Go fetch, Snivelly.”

We leave, the crowd parting our way towards the staircase Marty just ran up.

An hour or two later, the incident is almost forgotten, as we run round in circles trying to collect all our things together into our trunks.

“Why,” growls James, whilst throwing socks about randomly, “do we always leave it this late?”

“Don’t talk,” Sirius replies. “Just pack.”

Another hour later and we have collapsed. Our trunks are at the front of our beds, bursting with all of our possessions �“ but they are closed. The room looks oddly bare.

“Can’t wait to personalise this place again next year,” James says, staring at the blank walls which are usually adorned with posters and hangings. “I’m thinking a real all-out Quidditch theme. Start collecting team posters over the summer, lads, it doesn’t matter who they are.”

“You can come do my room if you’re that keen on interior design,” Sirius says. “I want to really drive my parents over the edge with it this time. Most preferably red and gold all round.”

“How about Muggle prints? You know, ones that aren’t moving. I’ll get practising my permanent sticking charms,” I suggest.

“You’re a genius, Moony. Imagine the old bat’s face ...”

“Comedy,” Peter comments.

“Indeed.”

We continue making plans for our holidays, no one particularly wanting to go back down to the Common Room like we would any other night. Tonight is about the Marauders.

As it gets darker and darker outside, we keep talking and it starts to get a little weird �“ we are very loudly and extrovertly discussing the pros and cons of certain puddings (“You can’t beat tiramisu. Tiramisu is the kind of dessert that looks innocent and inviting, then kicks you in the balls and runs off with your wallet. Damn, I love the stuff!” Sirius had proclaimed loudly, to be told that he had just earned many “Gay Points” by James. See what I mean about it getting weird?) when there is a loud crack.

James falls off his bed in alarm.

“Okay, now you totally just took those Gay Points back,” Sirius tells him.

The house-elf which caused the cracking noise brings itself up from a low bow. “I is delivering your pastry, sirs,” the house-elf says. It is then that James notices the plates of pure, stand alone pastry and his eyes fall out. Well, almost.

After a period of stunned silence, James chokes out, “Thank you. Erm ... are you looking for a new master? Would you like to work in my kitchen and do this for a living?” I snort with laughter and grin to myself. Poor James is a bit of an idiot sometimes.

“No, thank you, sir, Dooky is very happy where he is.” The house-elf �“ Dooky �“ bows again.

“Er �“ all right. Thanks, Dooky. You’re a star. You’re wasted in this desolate place. If ever you feel like a change, come to the Potter Household, yeah?”

Dooky bows again and with another crack, he is gone.

“I love this school,” James breaths. And then he dives in. Soon, Peter and Sirius have joined him. And eventually I begin to feast a little myself.

And so passes the final night of our fifth year, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

*~*~*

AN: Heh heh. Don’t worry �“ James’s pastry fetish in no way mimics my own. At least, not much. And I know, I know. Boys can be such jerks. They’re about 16 at this point, after all. Of course, not all of them are like that, but ... okay, never mind. Who picked up the obscure Ravenclaw reference? Please leave a review!

My first memory of the Marauders:
It was our very first lesson was Transfiguration and we were all handed matches.

“Fantastic!” Sirius said loudly. He and James were sitting at the desk in front of me. “Hey, James, don’t move.”

“Why ...?” James asked, keeping almost comically still.

“Oh, nothing,” Sirius replied, trying to light the match on the side of the table. “Hey, what do you reckon it feels like to have your hair on fire?”

James leapt sideways away from his friend and crashed into Professor McGonagall in the aisle.

“Mr Potter, I will forgive that considering it is your first lesson. However, if you act dangerously again, I will be forced to remove points,” she told him, frowning.

“Sorry, Professor. But really it was him who was being dangerous ...”

However, this was luckily not heard by the professor, as McGonagall turned and began reprimanding Peter for breaking his match in two. Remus, sitting next to him, looked embarrassed. He caught me watching and blushed a little, but smiled.

Chapter Five: Taffy’s

[Remus]

I am sitting in James’s living room, slowly sipping tea. “It was brilliant, wasn’t it?” I say, grinning over at him.

“You bet. The look on his mum’s face!” James has no tea, being in detestation of the beverage, but looks quite comfortable lounged along the sofa.

“It’s a shame she won’t let him out of his room now, though. It’s sort of quiet without him bouncing around breaking things ... still, I suppose he hardly gets much chance to be bouncy at his place.”

“Yeah. You can’t blame him. At least he gets to admire our handiwork this way! I hope he bloody does, anyway, it took forever to find all those motorcycle posters for him ...”

I look at him suspiciously. “Are you saying it was easy for you to find ones of scantily clad Muggle women? For shame, Prongs!”

“Shut up, will you? My Mum could walk in any second ...”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I say solemnly, then burst out laughing when the cushion he throws misses by approximately ten thousand miles. “I’m sorry, James, who was it you said was the best Chaser at Hogwarts? I’m sure that position required aiming ...”

“Ah, shut up and drink your leafy water.”

“Tea isn’t water with leaves in it, Prongs, the leaves flavour the water and are then removed.“

James makes a dismissive noise and flaps his hand. I take another sip. I always feel comfortable in James’s house. It’s cosy, without being smothering, like Peter’s is. But it’s not cold and harsh like Sirius’s �“ not that I’ve ever sat in his living room. But we saw some of the house when we came and helped decorate for him a couple of days ago and it was hardly a gingerbread cottage. Of course, Sirius has now been locked in his room for the rest of the month, but his parents can do nothing about the décor (which, as well as the Muggle posters, now includes many Gryffindor banners, too and just to really send them wild, a stuffed fluffy lion called Godric, with a red and gold scarf around its neck).

“So, are you ready for this Saturday?” James asks, looking over at me. Saturday is, of course, the full moon.

“Yes. I told you, I’ll cope. I always cope.”

James shakes his head in wonder. “I don’t know how you do it, mate. I really don’t.”

I shrug and look away. “I do it because I don’t have a choice,” I eventually say.

James nods and rolls over onto his back again, staring at the ceiling. Silences are never uncomfortable at the Potters’. I look around the room. There is a large mirror hanging over the fireplace, opposite the window, reflecting the room with loads of light. The walls are a friendly cream colour, the carpet a lightly coloured coffee brown. On the walls are family photos, his parents’ graduation certificates, shelves of the quaint little junk a family accumulates over the years. The long, dark brown sofa that James is lying across is against one wall, while two matching armchairs sit in the corners (one of which I am occupying right now). It is, as I said, a comfortable house. It’s not huge �“ James may be rich, but a lot of the property’s worth lies in the surrounding acres of land they own. But there is always a spare bedroom or two for visitors, a large, antiquated kitchen, a welcoming dining room and one or two other rooms I’ve never really explored. I feel safe here.

And it’s not often I get James to myself, either. He and Sirius are always together at school and would be now if Sirius wasn’t locked in his bedroom. Peter would probably like to be here, but his family all came down to see him and he sent an owl saying he wouldn’t be able to get away for a few days. All this meant I was the only one free; my parents could hardly say no. They get so guilty when full moon is coming up, that anything they think will make me happy, they agree to. I’d never take advantage, of course, but it did mean they allowed me to spend the whole day here, at the blink of an eye. I push the thought of my parents and the full moon out of my mind.

“So, what do you want to do?” I ask, distracting myself. “Fancy flying for a bit?”

James sits up, grinning. “I thought you’d never ask. Come on, you can use my old broom. So what do you want �“ Quidditch?”

“There are two of us, Prongs,” I point out, as we stand and leave the room. “I can barely score a goal, never mind catching the Snitch and chasing Bludgers about, too.”

“Well, we’ll just use Quaffles then. Don’t worry, though �“ I’ll let you get a couple past me!”

“So chivalrous ...”

Within fifteen minutes, we are up in the air and I am losing horribly �“ as expected. But I save a couple and once, I nearly knock him off his broom during a daring tackle that pays off spectacularly.

“Lupin scores again!” I cry. “Another magnificent goal! He’s certainly not losing by sixteen points, this one, no he’s not!”

James laughs. “In your dreams, Moony.” And he flies past me, taking the ball from my hands unexpectedly, with light-fingered ease. Naturally, he scores four times in a row before I can catch him up and knock the ball out of his hands again.

“That was cheating,” I say, hovering in mid-air, clutching the ball to my chest.

“Simple rule, mate. Get ‘em while they’re too busy celebrating. Like that time when we were playing Slytherin last year and they were so busy rubbing our noses in it, they didn’t even notice Smithy going for the Snitch until it was too late ...”

While James’s eyes glaze over with pride, I suddenly lunge towards the other end of our playing area and manage to score again.

“Oi!” he yells after me. “I was reminiscing, there!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get ‘em while they’re massaging their massive heads, that’s what you said, isn’t it?” I ask, grinning. He laughs, then accelerates, heading straight for me. For a moment I call his bluff, but then we both swerve out of the way at the last possible second and start to laugh again. I glance down and realise that I’m actually airborne (shocker, I know) which immediately sobers me up. It’s all fun and games until someone breaks their neck, after all.

“Boys!” a voice calls from down below. We both look down and see Mrs Potter looking up at us, hand blocking the sun from her eyes.

“Yeah, Mum?” James calls down.

“You have another visitor!”

We look at each other �“ who would that be? Not Sirius, he’s imprisoned in his bedroom. Had Peter managed to escape the numerous aunties, after all?

“It’s Walburga Black’s son!” There is a hint of dislike in her voice at the thought of Sirius’s mother and I don’t blame her, to be honest. In fact, I wouldn’t blame her if I wasn’t being honest, either, because you just can’t help but dislike everything about Mrs Black.

“Sirius?” James asks, confusion replacing the laughter on his face.

“That’s the one. Well, don’t just hang there, James. He looks a little dishevelled ...”

Without any further questioning, James dives to the ground, pulling his broom to a stop expertly and dismounting. I am not far behind and we make our way back inside the house, hurriedly.

Sure enough, Sirius is standing by the fireplace, looking extremely rough around the edges, his trunks �“ full to bursting �“ standing next to him. Well, well.

“Sit down, Padfoot,” James says, sounding shocked. “I have a feeling this might take a while.”

[Marty]

“And would you like milk in your tea?” I ask, brightly.

“Yes please, lovey. You’ve grown so much!”

“Of course, Mrs Chalmers,” I say brightly. This is untrue, I’m actually quite short, but I still smile and say, “I’m always growing. Can’t seem to stop. Be through the roof, next. Tell me: have you ever heard of the Plight of the Pixie?”

“Why, no, dear, what’s that?”

I launch into my explanation and catch my mother’s eye. She winks and beams. I grin back and continue telling Mrs Chalmers about the pixies.

I love my mother. She’s so smart �“ and the only parent I have. My father died when I was very little, of an illness, so I’ve only ever had my mother, really. And my Aunt Tabby, of course. They own and run the tea shop on Diagon Alley, Taffy’s (a mixture of Tabby and Saffy; my Mum’s name) and when I’m home for the holidays, I help them both out. But I don’t mind; I love my job! My Mum and Aunt are both campaigners for The Cause, too, so it’s sort of become a centre for all things campaigning and protest-y. It’s the perfect place to have a petition signed. I love it here. This little backstreet tea shop is my favourite place in the world; I never feel as safe as I do when I’m here. I’m never treated like a kid, people listen to me ... and I’m not the weird protester kid, like at school. I fit right in.

“Marty, honey?” I hear Aunt Tabby call. “Could you help me over here? I’m suddenly snowed over with coffees ...”

“Don’t you mean snowed under?” I ask, laughing over at her, before grabbing a mug and starting to fill it with the strong smelling liquid. Aunt Tabby’s tendency to mix her words up is rather infamous and one of the many loveable things about her. I hand the first one �“ naturally �“ to the first person in line. He has a long coat, with the collar turned up and a hat pulled down over his eyes. “Thanks,” he mutters, taking it and going to sit in the corner. The next person I serve is similarly sincere and the next and the next ... in fact, the shop is suddenly filling up with grave looking men and women, talking to each other solemnly. I look over at Aunt Tabby.

“What’s going on?” I ask. The happy atmosphere suddenly seems drained.

Aunt Tabby gives me a reassuring smile. “You’ll see. There are a lot more serious issues at hand right now, Marty. Your Mum’s been organising these meetings once a month for a while, now.”

“What are they about?” I ask, curiously, looking around uncomfortably.

“You’ll see.”

Someone claps their hands, twice. I turn to see that it was Mum. She is standing tall and looking around at the group gathered.

“Welcome back, everyone. I’m sure you’ve noticed the rise in these awful things that are happening ... it’s time we stopped holding marches and did something much more useful about You-Know-Who’s reign of horror...”

[Remus]

“All right,” I say, fixing Sirius with a fierce stare. “Stop avoiding the question. What happened?”

He sighs and says humourlessly, “Can’t I dodge it a little bit longer?”

“No,” James replies, firmly. “You can’t just turn up at my house with those,” he jabs his finger at the trunks, still waiting by the fire, “and just expect us not to ask any questions. I mean, I have no problem with you staying and I’d let you whether you told me or not ... but my parents won’t. Especially not the eldest Black son. They’ll need a reason, mate.”

“But your parents have always liked me before now!” he pleads, looking horrified that it might not be going to plan. “I thought they didn’t care about that stuff!”

“Of course they don’t, not really, but you’ve got to admit it will look funny you coming to stay with us, won’t it? Look, I know my parents. They’ll happily fight off anyone who starts sniffing around, as long as they know there’s a good reason for it. You don’t have to go into too much detail if you really don’t want to.”

Sirius sighs again. “We had an argument, all right? So I left.”

“Sirius,” I say gently, as James sighs at the lack of information. “You’ve been arguing with your parents ever since you first got put in Gryffindor. Why now?”

“No reason. I’d just had enough, all right?”

“But why now? You’ve put up with it for years, Sirius, something must have triggered it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it?”

James is losing patience. His hand has flown to his hair and a vein is showing itself rather prominently on his neck. Despite his understanding words, it’s clear that he doesn’t understand at all. Not being able to help his friends is possibly the one thing that gets to James the most; just look what he did for me. He takes a deep breath and tries his hardest to look composed. “Come on, we could help you, couldn’t we?”

“I said I don’t want to�“”

“�“Talk about it,” James finishes for him, dryly and I can just about hear him snapping from over here. “Right. Just like you haven’t been talking about it for five years. It’s good to know you feel you can trust us, mate. We feel like you really appreciate our friendship, don’t we, Moony?”

He’s being a bit harsh, but in a way, he’s still right. I don’t know what will work better, the understanding approach, or James’s new aggression. I suppose I’ve never been one for conflict, though, so I look Sirius calmly in the eye. “Look, Padfoot,” I begin. “If you just tell us what’s going on, we’ll be able to �“”

“They were going on at me about you guys, all right?” Sirius burst out. “I was locked in my room, like you know and my Mum came in. Remember the only non-Muggle picture we stuck up? It was of us four, wasn’t it? And she started asking who you were, pretending to be all interested ... then Regulus came in. Oh, he told her all about you guys. How you’re a Pureblood, Prongs, but love Muggles. How Moony is half-blood�“” this is true, my Mum’s Muggle-born “�“and Wormtail’s Dad is a Muggle. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he started telling her all about our little feud with the Slytherins ... she hit the roof. I’ve never seen her that bad. Started blasting stuff to pieces. I just grabbed Reg and ran. Little bleeder’s a right git, but I wouldn’t want him to be around for all that ...”

James and I are on the edge of our seats. We’ve never heard Sirius talking about his family in such a serious way �“ or show any signs of affection for his little brother.

“What happened then?” James asks. Sirius groans and closes his eyes.

“Well, I dragged him out onto the street. He said we shouldn’t have left her on her own, but I told him we didn’t have to be anywhere near that madwoman, especially when she’s being like that. We got on the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley and I bought him an ice cream to shut him up for a bit. He kept banging on about how we should be helping her, not leaving her in such a state. So I told him that it wasn’t our job. He asked when we’d go back, then and I just said ‘I’m not.’”

“What did he say to that?” I ask.

Sirius shrugs. “He was shocked, I guess, kept trying to talk me out of it. I tried telling him how screwed up it all is, this Pureblood nonsense, but he just doesn’t seem able to ... well, he can’t accept it, after growing up with it for so long. Can’t accept that it might be wrong, he’s not strong minded enough. Well, I told him that we could just leave them all, told him you’d put us up,” he nodded at James, “but he wouldn’t leave Mum, couldn’t even comprehend the idea. Anyway, eventually we went back and I asked him to get my trunks while I waited in the hall, in case Mum found me �“ I knew she was upstairs, you see. To his credit, he didn’t tell Mum what was going on, just got my trunks and brought them down to me. He tried to stop me again, talk me out of it, but I said no. Then I tried to get him to come with me, but he wouldn’t. I even told him she’d blast me off the family tree, that I wouldn’t be his brother any more. That we wouldn’t ever be able to see each other properly again, because it’s not gonna happen at school, is it? Not with him in Slytherin.”

“What did he say?”

“Well ... he said ... he said that someone had to stay behind. That if she lost both her sons at once, who knew what she’d do? That one of us had to be the loyal one. So I said fine. I patted him on the back, said ‘see you around, Reg,’ and stepped into the fireplace with my stuff. And then I came here. All right? That’s the story.”

“I’m sorry,” I say after a minute of silence.

Sirius grins, widely. “What for? They were mad, the lot of ‘em. I’m glad I’m free. Screw those idiots. I don’t need a family. Especially not a whiny little brother. You two should be glad you’re only kids. Could have got away even sooner if it weren’t for him.”

I don’t believe a word of it. My gaze slides towards James, just as his looks towards to me. He raises his eyebrows, disbelievingly and I raise one back at him.

“Sure, Padfoot,” James says.

“Whatever you say,” I add.

Sirius nods, defiantly. “Glad we’re on the same page. Now, am I wrong, or were you two shooting goals in Quidditch? Come on, Moony, I’ll be on your team, that way it might be a little fairer ...”

I don’t feel the need to be offended by this, since I know it’s true, anyway. “All right, then. Good plan.”

Sirius rummages in one of his trunks, pulling out his broom and we all head into the outdoors once more.

[Marty]

Saturday night and Mum and Aunt Tabby are arguing. Now, this doesn’t happen often. They’re normally perfectly cooperative, going along with their lifelong theory that fighting won’t solve anything. However, just occasionally, opinions clash. This time, their opinion on me.

Aunt Tabby, being the more sensible one when it comes down to serious matters (but not everyday things), doesn’t think these meetings protesting about You-Know-Who should continue while I’m around. She says it’s too dangerous.

“As soon as she’s safe at school, we can start them again, Saffy, but we can’t cause too much fuss while Marty is staying here. She’s just a kid!”

Mum, however, doesn’t think we should stand down now. She’s very sensible when it comes down to everyday problems, but tends to get carried away by the bigger picture.

“She’s perfectly safe with us. Do you think I would put my own daughter in danger? Besides, you know she’s just as serious about The Cause as we are! You’ve seen the way she fights for it! She won’t want us giving in on her account!”

“We’re not giving in, we’re just toning it off until school starts again!”

“Toning it down, Tabby, or cooling it off! Why can you not even speak properly?” Mum jibes at her. I gasp, although no one can hear me in my room, as I listen to them downstairs in the closed café. We never get angry with Aunt Tabby’s language slip-ups. Never. We’ve always laughed them away with her. This must be more serious than I thought.

“I’m going to ignore that,” Aunt Tabby says calmly. “Because it’s completely irrelevant. We’re not giving in on anything. We’ll just wait a few weeks. Or have the next one somewhere else. All right?”

“All right. You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know you didn’t. Come on, let’s lock up and go to bed ... Marty can be properly involved when she’s of age ... although hopefully this will all be blown under by then ...”

“You mean blown over.” I can hear the smile in my mother’s voice this time and I know things are all right again.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. You know, it’s really not my �“ what was that?”

I sit up straight, having heard the same thing that Aunt Tabby apparently did. Like several loud cracks. Like several people apparating all at once. Right outside our door. Instinctive panic grabs me, chokes me. Somehow, I know that whoever just apparated cannot be hear for a good reason. I grab my wand off my table and race downstairs, still in my pyjamas.

When I enter the main café, I hear the end of my Mum’s shocked and scared sounding sentence. “�“Eaters, could it?” I have no idea what she’s talking about. But my Mum never gets scared. And what was panic before, suddenly transforms into blinding terror. The door bursts open and out on the street, I see several cloaked and hooded figures, all staring in towards us, ghostly and eerily lit by the full moon behind them. I scream.

Mum whirls around �“ turns her back on the people outside �“ to face me. “Marty,” she yells, stricken. “Marty, get upstairs, go somewhere safe, go somewhere far away from�“”

She stops mid-sentence and behind her I see bright green light, flash. And, horrified and numb, I watch my mother crumple to the floor.

*~*~*

AN: *Shivers* I hate doing that. But I’m afraid it was necessary for certain plot points/character developments. I promise. I’m really not the kind to go around killing characters for the sake of it ... so please leave a review, to cheer me up!

Ever since I first met the Marauders, Remus Lupin has been enigmatic. After all �“ James Potter’s story is known by most, Sirius Black’s is either known, or filled in with common sense and Peter Pettigrew has nothing to hide �“ but Remus has always seemed more mysterious.

For example; where does he go off to? Where does he get those scars from? Attempts have been made to investigate, but have all been unsuccessful �“ the Marauders will always flat out deny any knowledge of disappearances or secret goings on. As for the scars, they are always given unrealistic explanations about daring encounters with various magical creatures, which were destined to end in certain death ... but the creature always seems be overcome. It is plain to see that they are falsehoods created to entertain audiences and distract from the original enquiry.

So what is it that Remus Lupin is really hiding? And why is it so terrible, that such lengths are gone to in attempts to cover it up?

Chapter Six: The Annexe

[Remus]

I feel the dread all day, creeping up on me. As always, I will the hours to go slower and they therefore speed up. I can’t concentrate on anything at all, I just pace around the house. Dad asks for help in the garden to try and distract me, but I cannot even concentrate on what is a weed and what isn’t. Everything revolves around the moon rising in a few hours’ time.

Just after lunchtime, James’s head appears in the fire and starts trying to distract me again with stories of his and Sirius’s various antics ever since Sirius moved in, but it doesn’t last long.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come over?” James asks, before he goes.

Closer to the time, my high horse bucks a bit, but I stand firm. “I’ll be fine. Let’s not go there again, all right? I’ll be fine. Fine.” I realise that the word ‘fine’ was used too many times in that statement and I can tell James realises it too. But he must know by now that there’s nothing I will allow him to do.

He gives a weak smile. “Fair enough. Good luck, mate, yeah?”

I nod. “Thanks.”

And go back to my pacing. With only half an hour to go, I just want to get it over with. My skin is crawling. I feel the change coming up on me very soon and just want it finished. I try not to look in a mirror, knowing perfectly well that I look a mess without its help. Mum fusses that I should eat something, but I shrug her off. With fifteen minutes to go, we are all sitting around the kitchen table, staring at the clock. Dad stands up. “Come on, son. Let’s go.”

I nod grimly and follow him out of the backdoor and down the garden path, as Mum hurries after us. We reach the annexe at the bottom of the garden, a converted outhouse with the windows boarded up firmly and �“ my blood runs cold �“ the steel door I’ve come to fear the very sight of. Dad takes the keys from his belt (the only set we have) and puts them in the door. It opens silently and I step inside. I turn to face them.

“See you in the morning. Have a nice night,” I croak out, trying to sound peaceful.

“Will do. Goodnight, Remus. Don’t stay up too late,” Dad tells me, faking a smile. This pretence of normality is a ritual we go through every full moon. Mum can never take part in the sham. She can barely speak the full day before full moon, let alone ten minutes before.

“‘Night, Mum,” I say, nodding at her. She nods back, not even attempting a smile �“ all her efforts are put to not crying in front of me.

Dad shuts the door and suddenly I’m alone. I flick a switch and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling flickers into life. I settle in the corner furthest from the door and curl my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. Normally, before I transform, I think of the good things in my life. It’s something Madam Pomfrey advised me to do. I remember each of my friends’ faces, their voices, the funny things they have said recently. But this time, someone else appears in my mind. Marty Price, a quill tucked behind her ear and a clipboard in her hands, bubbling over with excitement about some hair-brained scheme no one else could care less about. And then it changes. Then I remember the look on her face the day before we left, in the Entrance Hall. The utter helplessness and desperation and �“ worst of all �“ hurt. I vow to make it up to her sometime next year. She doesn’t deserve all that; after all, there’s nothing wrong with her. No one deserves something like that.

As I make this vow, I suddenly shudder violently. I recognise the symptom only too well. Any minute now and I’ll lose myself completely.

[Marty]

I do not know where I am. I vaguely recognise the view outside my window, but I cannot actually connect it with a specific location. It’s not the Hogwarts Grounds and it’s not Diagon Alley, so I am neither at school nor home.

Something must have happened. I try and cast my mind back. What is the last thing I remember? It’s all a bit hazy ... remembering things never used to be this difficult ...

The door opens behind me.

“Oh, Marty, you’re up!” I turn around and am suddenly swamped by Aunt Tabby in a hug.

“Uh ... hey. What’s going on?”

“Sit down, honey. We have a long talk ahead.”

I gulp. I don’t really do emotion, not meaningful emotions and this “talk” sounds like there’ll be a lot of emotion in it. Don’t get me wrong, I feel stuff. Anger, like when someone’s being bullied; hurt, like the time at the end of last year when the Marauders made me feel tiny; loneliness, when I suddenly long for a real friend. But these negative emotions are spontaneous, quick and you can soon bounce back to your old, happy-go-lucky, Marauder-watching, Cause-driven self. But with “talks”, the hurt goes much deeper. And that I can’t do. I mean �“ some people seem to enjoy that kind of melancholy state. But I just ... I just can’t do it.

I take a deep breath and sit on the edge of the bed. “Go on, then.”

“We gave you a heavy Sleeping Draught, you see, so that you wouldn’t lie awake thinking about everything. Garfield did say you might not remember everything when you woke up ...”

“Oh, that’s where we are!” Garfield Moore has always been Aunt Tabby’s closest friend outside of the family. They met at a protest march in London outside the Ministry when they had both left school and have stayed in touch ever since. I’ve not been here often, which explains why I recognised �“ but couldn’t place �“ the street outside. And he would know about things like Sleeping Draughts �“ he’s a Healer at St Mungo’s.

“Yes. We came to stay at his place ... indefinitely, I suppose.”

I am growing more suspicious with every word. “Why? Where’s Mum?” But on the word ‘Mum’, it hits me and suddenly, I remember. The last time I saw Mum ... she had just been murdered. “Oh,” is all I can think of to say. I feel numb. I can see everything that happened last night, now. The argument; coming downstairs; the door opening; the terrified faces of the two people closest two me in all the world; one of those people falling to the floor. And then after that: being grabbed by Aunt Tabby; side-along apparating here; a light coming on; Garfield running outside in his dressing gown and hurrying us inside, nervously; drinking some tea and feeling immediately drowsy (that would be the Draught, then ... crafty of them). And then waking up here.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“Why?” my voice is croakier than I recall. “Did you do it?”

“You shouldn’t have seen it. You shouldn’t have been there. We shouldn’t have been so public about our views ... we shouldn’t ... we shouldn’t ... oh, Marty, there are so many things we shouldn’t have done.”

I can think of no response, so I don’t give one. My mother �“ gone. It’s not possible. Everyone knows Saffron Price. Everyone who comes to Diagon Alley, which is a LOT of the British wizarding population ... even if they don’t know her name, they know who she is. She writes essays and essays to the Daily Prophet and sometimes her letters are published (or, segments are, anyway). She was like a force, doing good, keeping spirits up, keeping things optimistic. Even when other shops started to tremble, Taffy’s remained as welcoming as ever. Maybe it was a mistake. After all, it’s like Aunt Tabby said ... if they hadn’t been so public ...

But I knew this! They always told me working for The Cause came with a certain amount of risk ... they bought me books full of stories about people imprisoned for their views. The men who stood up for Centaur, Goblin and Merpeople rights. The women who stood up against the Witch Hunting of innocent Muggles, in the seventeenth century. People have sacrificed their lives for what’s right before now ... and they will again. But I always thought �“ I always thought we were different. Protected. Why would anyone want to hurt us? This isn’t the seventeenth century, people know better than that. People aren’t stupid. We understand things more now. People don’t get killed because of what they believe in. Not now. This is the 1970s, after all!

“Would you like me to stay with you for a while?” Aunt Tabby asks, gently. “Or would you rather be on your own?”

I swallow. “You should go. But first ... what happens to us now?”

“Well ... we can stay with Garfield as long as we need. He lives on his own, so he’ll probably enjoy the company ... he’d prefer different circumstances, of course, but there’s no problem about a home. As for the café ... Look, you don’t have to go back to work, but after a week or two, I’ll be opening up again. It’s what Saffy would want. I don’t mind what you do, but ... well, I’m your guardian now. And so ... so, please don’t coop yourself up. It’ll do no good. If you don’t keep going, this could destroy you for the rest of your life.” She stands up and kisses the top of my head. Then, without a word, she leaves, closing the door behind her.

It’s too late for that, I think. My life’s already destroyed.

[Remus]

It’s easy enough once I wake up in the morning. My arm is very painful and I wince to see the damage wolf-me did to myself. Even though I insisted to Sirius that there was no way I would forget what it was like before they helped me, I’m almost ashamed to admit that he was right. I’d forgotten how it feels to wake up, knowing that you almost chewed your own arm off the during the night. I’d forgotten the pain, but it’s familiar and I know the wound won’t be as bad as it looks. It never is quite as bad as it looks. Under one of the floorboards is a medical kit and I take out a bandage and wrap it clumsily around my arm. Mum will fix it properly later on.

I collect my clothes from the corner, get dressed, carefully, before sitting on the shredded old armchair. There are other injuries besides the arm and I generally ache all over, but it’s all familiar. I’ve been in worse states than this and right now, I cannot wait until I can climb into bed. Luckily, it is not too long before I hear a knock on the door.

“It’s okay,” I call. “I’m done.”

There is a thunk as the big door unlocks and then it creaks open. Dad may always be last to shut the door, but my Mum will always open it. She rushes towards me and takes me into a tentative embrace, careful not to put too much pressure on anything.

“‘Morning,” I say in reply, a little more cheerful than I feel, for her sake. It’s a tiring experience, but thank Merlin it’s over for another month. Now I can get my life back where it belongs.

“Come on, I’ve made you breakfast. Your Dad’s reading the paper, of course, there’s been another murder ...” she shakes her head. “It makes your skin crawl, it really does.”

“Who was it?” I ask.

“Oh, Remus, do you really need to ask that by now?”

“Not who did it �“ the person who was killed? Not anyone we know?”

“Well ... not closely. One of the sisters who owns the teashop on Diagon Alley. It’s a damn shame, it really is, they’re both so lovely, so welcoming ... and they do so much charity work, it’s inspiring.”

“Wait �“ do you mean Taffy’s?” I ask, suddenly afraid.

“Yes, that’s what it was called ... why? Oh! Remus �“ one has a daughter, doesn’t she? Around your age?”

I nod, grimly. “Marty,” I say sadly. “Her name’s Marty.”

*~*~*

AN: Oh, I hate writing such sad stuff ... but I promise it’s necessary to the story and things start looking up soon! Also, I’m sorry it was so short ... but don’t be too disheartened, though �“ at least one extra Marauder is in the next one!

I remember in our second year at Hogwarts, Marauder James Potter received news that his grandfather had died peacefully of old age. James was devastated and had been close to his grandfather, I realised. The other Marauders were very sensitive and careful around him. Marauder Sirius Black stopped cracking cheap jokes and glared at anyone who dared challenge their sudden serenity. Marauder Remus Lupin endeavoured to do James’s homework, or at least heavily influence what was written. Marauder Peter Pettigrew was available to steal comfort food whenever possible and distract Professors from James’s poor work by making his own positively disastrous. Eventually, after a few days of solemn mourning, James began to come back to his old self and his friends adapted slowly back to normal with him. They were there all the way. Their sensitivity at such a young age to the death of a loved one showed that beneath their careless exterior, the boys all harbour a heart of pure gold.

Chapter Seven: Hide-And-Seek

[Remus]

Not long after I have “woken up” and gone upstairs to my room, I hear the fire roaring into life downstairs.

“You have a visitor!” Mum calls, back to her normal self now that the full moon is over for another month. There is another roar and she adds, “Make that two!”

I smile to myself and jump down off my bed, before making my way downstairs. Sirius and James are standing in the living room.

“Hi, Moony. Wormtail should be along in a minute,” Sirius says. He looks much better than when I saw him last; living with the Potters is clearly doing him good.

“Great! Did you, uh ... see the Prophet?”

James nods. “Yeah. Awful isn’t it? I used to go to that place as a kid. And after I was a kid, too.”

“What happened?” Sirius asks. “What place?” I stare at him. It was headline news. Surely he couldn’t have missed it?

James rolls his eyes. “Sirius has only been up for ten minutes,” he explains. “Did you sleep until noon all holiday when you lived with your family, too?”

“‘Course. Meant I didn’t have to see them, didn’t it? It became a habit. Besides, Mr Up-At-Seven-Even-Though-We-Don’t-Have-Any-Classes. I’m making the most of our temporary freedom. So what happened? Was someone attacked?”

“Yeah,” I say, ignoring their previous steer in conversation (being friends with those two, you learn when to change the subject, as neither of them like to let things go). “Yeah, someone did. It was�“”

The fire bursts into life once more, cutting me off and Peter stumbles out.

“Hi guys!” he says cheerfully. “How did it go, Moony?”

I cannot help but smile at my ever-faithful friend. Even if his hair is sticking up in some rather inhumane directions ... that’s normally James’s domain. I think I know someone else who is making up for lost sleeping time.

“It went fine. Just like I said it would,” I reply, sneaking a meaningful glance at James and Sirius, who are looking rather a little too innocent. “And how are the multitude of relatives?”

Peter looks appalled at the mere memories. “Gone, at last. If I’m ever asked how old I am again, I’m joining the Death Eaters. Same goes for whether I have a girlfriend and any statement referring to how much I’ve grown. So, what’s the plan for the day?”

The subject of the latest attack is forgotten about until much later when we are sitting on the grass in the garden, after a rather unusual game of hide-and-seek. Don’t ask how we ended up playing that particular game, because I’m not sure anyone could give a sufficient answer. All I know is that we’re now all looking a little worse for wear, after hiding in various bushes, spidery outhouses and, in Sirius’s case, quite a deep pond. In fact, I think there may still be a frog in his hair. Naturally, when told to hide somewhere harder to find than behind a bush, he presumed this meant underwater. I don’t want to think about how he managed to breathe. One would hope with some kind of straw.

“Hey,” Peter says. “Did you hear about the Price family?”

I look up and feel a little guilty for forgetting the terrible misfortunes of others, even if it was only for an hour or two. “Yeah. We were discussing it before you came.”

“We were?” Sirius asks. “I thought we were discussing the ethics of waking up at seven versus noon?”

“We were,” James confirmed. “But we were also discussing the attack on the Prices last night.”

“Price ... Price ...” Sirius is evidently trying to place the name.

“As in, Marty,” I fill in for him, raising my eyebrows, sceptically.

“Oh! Of course! I think some of your pond water addled my brain, Moony. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, we think so,” James says. “It was one of the women who ran that tea shop. Either her aunt or her mum.”

“Her mum,” Peter supplies. We turn and stare at him. It’s rather unusual for Peter to know the details of something we don’t. He’s never been one for reading up on background information, so to speak.

“How do you know that?” James asks.

“Well, you know what my Mum’s like,” Peter says, shrugging. “Everybody’s business is automatically hers. She liked talking to the sisters, apparently. Saw them as her own personal priests or something ...”

We stare at him blankly some more. Has pond water addled someone else’s brain, too? But it couldn’t have done ... he had concealed himself in the compost heap, which would explain the leaf sticking out of his ear.

“You know,” he says uncomfortably. “Going there was like going to Confession or something. They were nice to me, though. They were nice to everybody.” He shrugs, still watching our perplexed stares warily.

“So, it was her Mum who was killed?” I ask, diverting the subject away from Peter’s unexpected knowledge. “That must have been horrible. Especially considering the way we left things with her.”

Now it’s my turn to be stared at.

“Eh?” Sirius asks, eloquently.

I sigh. The incident has been secretly nagging at me since I read the paper this morning, but apparently the others need some reminding. Honestly, they have memories like sieves, the lot of them. If it didn’t happen two seconds ago ...

“You remember ...” I prompt. “In the Entrance Hall? With Snape? Sirius, you were horrible to her, you must remember!”

“I wasn’t horrible ...” Sirius insists, sitting up straight and pushing his wet fringe out of his eyes. “I mean �“ I didn’t mean to be horrible �“ I mean �“ it was ages ago!” I am oddly satisfied to hear the note of guilt in his voice.

“Maybe it was a bit harsh,” James concedes. “But it was ages ago and ... well. She has bigger things on her mind now, right?”

I shrug again. “I just feel bad. Maybe we should send her a letter or something. Let her know how sorry we are. After that, maybe we could go into Diagon Alley or something?”

Peter nods enthusiastically, while James shrugs in agreement.

“Yeah, all right,” Sirius says, nodding. “Go and get some parchment then.”

I stand up and just as I’m about to go back into the house, Sirius calls, “And Moony? Get a towel, too, won’t you?”

[Marty]

Sometime around midday, Aunt Tabby enters my room. I am lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about ... well. My mother, mostly. The future. Voldemort. The Cause.

“Would you like some lunch?” Aunt Tabby asks, kindly.

“No thanks,” I say, not particularly wanting to move.

“I could bring it up to you.”

“No thanks,” I say again, because not wanting to move was just an excuse and to be perfectly honest, eating is not at the top of my agenda right now.

“You should keep busy,” Aunt Tabby says. I look over at her and notice she is wearing an apron, those funny rubbery yellow gloves and a strange turban type contraption to keep her hair out of her way. Cleaning, then, is my Aunt Tabby’s distraction from her troubles. I can’t say I’m surprised. It won’t do much, though. I like Garfield and everything, apart from his stupid goatee, but this house is so cold. It’s just been him living here for years, on his own and he’s always at work, at St Mungo’s. No amount of cleaning can bring life to a house. For that, you need ... well, life.

“There’s nothing to do,” I tell her as an excuse, which is true. “All my stuff’s at the café.”

“Maybe ... maybe you should go collect some stuff later, then,” she says. “Some schoolbooks to read, or one of your notebooks to write in?”

The thought of going back so soon makes me want to jump out of the window, but I try not to let that on. “Another time,” I say and look back at the ceiling pointedly, waiting desperately to be left alone.

“Okay,” Aunt Tabby says softly and the door closes. For a few minutes �“ or maybe hours �“ I stay where I am. And then, there is a tapping at the same window I had considered leaping out of, days �“ or maybe only moments �“ before.

I look over and see an owl. Remus’s owl, to be exact, name of Chudley (a joke of James’s, because he said it was too scraggly to ever get very far, but I’ve always thought its raggedness had a kind of sweet charm to it, like a street urchin, only in the form of an owl), acquired sometime in between second and third year.

The sight of old Chudders makes me jump over to the window with a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible a minute or two ago.

After fiddling with the ancient stiff window for a moment (Garfield’s house is just so old and he doesn’t take care of it nearly as well as he should), I manage to open it and Chudley sweeps in and lands on one of the highest shelves, before settling down and promptly going to sleep. At least, I hope he’s asleep and not dead, because that wouldn’t exactly make my day. I poke him, to make sure and he grunts. Even though I’m overcome with excitement at what the letter could possibly contain, it still takes a few attempts to retrieve it. Eventually, though, I can sit down on my bed and open it.

“Dear Marty,

“I was very sorry to hear about your mother’s death and when I heard, I couldn’t help but remember the terms we left on. It was hardly very ideal and I apologise for myself and the others, who, I can assure you, feel remorseful about it all, too. I’m not really sure what to say to be honest. I had the idea of sending you a letter of our condolences, but didn’t really think what I should write beyond that.

“You helped me a lot, Marty, towards the end of last year and I’m grateful. Even though it maybe didn’t seem like it.

“Sorry to bother you. There’s probably been loads of letters and things, so I’ll stop now and let someone else have a turn. See you next year.

“- Remus”

I smile at the first part of the letter and feel my eyes wet a little. I had brushed aside their treatment of me quite quickly and hadn’t really thought about it much since I got back, just read over the years’ observations and filed them properly with the others. The thought of Remus still being upset about it made me sort of happy in a way. Like someone besides my family might actually care about my feelings.

“Hi Marty.

“Uh, this is James, if you were wondering. Sorry about the handwriting. I was really sorry to hear about what happened, too, I used to love that tea shop. My Mum would take me when I was a kid and buy me some pumpkin juice. I know she liked your relatives, she’d always have a small chat with them, but everyone loved them, as far as I can tell, although you probably know that, it’s just that it feels so awful for me to think about what happened, because they didn’t deserve it at all and this sentence has gone on far too long already, but I’m nervous, you see and have a tendency to ramble and now I can’t seem to stop, even though I’m not saying anything that’s very important at all, I just don’t know what else to say and once you finish one sentence, you have to start another, with a new topic and I can’t think of any other topic right now apart from how very sorry I am about what happened to your family. I just counted the words in that sentence. There were one-hundred and thirty-five. I think I broke some kind of international record. What did Remus say to write about?

“Oh. Yes. What happened, with the Entrance Hall and �“ actually I can’t remember exactly what was said, but it wasn’t good, was it? Whatever it was, you probably didn’t deserve it.

“Sorry that this letter (or my part of it, Remus’s seemed quite nice really) has been so useless so far. I’m not very good with comforting people.

“- James”

My eyebrows have found their way right to the top of my head. James’s letter writing shows off the awkward side to him, doesn’t it? It’s sweet, really. I don’t know why Lily seemed to hate him so much last year, he’s really quite nice when you study his behaviour for five years.

“Marty

“So, um, sorry about your Mum. That’s really stupid unfortunate bad. I mean, I pretty much hate my mother, but I hear yours was a generally lovely lady, so I doubt she deserved to be killed what she got what happened. It’s a shame we can’t swap mothers, because to be honest, the world’s probably a better place without mine and yours was like you �“ a do-gooder, you know? Although I never met her. Which apparently makes me the only person in the world never to have met one of the Price sisters or set foot in Taffy’s, according to my three slaves friends.

“Also ... yeah, sorry about that thing I said. People do like you. You’re just a little annoying sometimes. There’s no way I should have said what I did it was mean horrid nasty Moony says I should put “despicable”not a good thing to say to you.

“I apologise for the utter shambles that this letter has turned out to be.

“- Sirius

“PS. Sorry about all the scribbles out, too.”

I smile, immediately forgiving Sirius for everything. He always makes me laugh and this letter is no different, whether that was his intention or not.

“Hi Marty, it’s Peter. How are the pixies? I’m really sorry about what happened, because it was a great tea shop and I know my mum really liked it there, for a start, same as Remus and James’s mums did and probably everybody’s mums, really (except Sirius’s). Also, Remus says we should mention what happened at the end of last year. I presume he means that time when Sirius said nobody likes you and then you ran away. Sorry about that. People do like you really, it’s just that sometimes when Sirius is getting excited about something he’s doing, he doesn’t like to be interrupted or corrected and he lashes out. But he felt guilty when Remus brought it up just now and he probably said sorry in his bit of the letter. But in case he didn’t, sorry. That’s from all of us. �“ Peter. PS. Sorry if the parchment’s a bit wet, Sirius hid in Remus’s pond when we were playing hide-and-seek.”

I try not to think about why the Marauders were playing hide-and-seek, particularly when it involved hiding in a pond (although that does explain the damp patches). Now that I’ve reached the end, I feel a little disappointed that it’s over, as well as excited. I received post from the Marauders! Remus was wrong �“ this is the first letter I have got about what happened last night and will probably be the only one.

I read it through again and then fold it and slip it into my pocket, before leaving my bedroom and heading downstairs to get my coat. Hearing from the Marauders has given me the push I needed to stop studying the cracks in the ceiling and actually get something done. Even if it’s just to go up to my bedroom (my real one, at the café, not the bleak, shabby room I spent the night in, upstairs) and collect a fresh notebook to analyse the meanings behind the letter in.

I pass through the neglected, dusty rooms on my way downstairs, but don’t linger. Don’t get me wrong, Garfield really is an okay guy. But if he’s not at St Mungo’s, then he’s at the café, with us and if he’s not there, then he’s so exhausted that he’s already crashed out here and is practically comatose. He just doesn’t have time to do simple things like housework and probably wouldn’t know how to, if he did. Well, there’s no way that staying here a moment longer will help me in any way. I have to get out. There’s nothing to do except brood and then I’ll never be able to move on and be happy. And if I’m not happy, I won’t want to help campaigns for The Cause and if I don’t help campaigns, then no one else at school will and if no one else at school will, then no young witches or wizards will have their say about these important issues.

And if that doesn’t happen, then future generations will never understand the importance of the people’s right to protest and then something awful will happen (and perhaps already is happening) and no one will be able to stand up and defend the world from evil. And if no one does that, we’ll basically all die.

You can call me egotistical, but in short, if I don’t leave this house, everybody in the whole world will be killed.

And I really don’t want to lose anyone else, right now.

“I’m going to Diagon Alley, Aunt Tabby!” I call, as I grab the floo powder out of an old jug on the mantelpiece and throw it into the fire. Before I have the time to doubt what I’m doing.

“Oh! Are you sure, you don’t have to go so soon, if you don’t �“”

“DIAGON ALLEY!” I roar over the top of her, to block out the uncertainty her words brought up inside of me. I feel myself spinning and try not to think about what state the café might be in. Just one step at a time; or, at the moment, one spin.

When I come out of the fireplace, it seems like the whole of the Leaky Cauldron has turned to stare at me.

“Martina,” an old witch I have served tea to before mutters, standing up to come over to me. “Oh, Martina, I was so sorry to hear about what happened.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, before hurriedly making my way out into the yard, keeping my head down, so that no one else can come up to me and start telling me how sorry they are ... because frankly, I won’t be able to stand it.

Luckily, the street is as busy as ever and no one recognises me as the dead woman’s daughter as I gravitate towards the tea shop, slowing down the closer I get. When I am just a few feet away from it, I stop. The floor is covered with bouquets, all with messages and notes attached. I stoop down to read some.

The world is just a little less bright without you around �“ and so are our lives.

To an angel, from one of the many who basked in your light.

Our thoughts are with you and your family, Saffy. You’re in a better place.

To the family and friends of Saffy Price: Merlin be with you in these troubled times.

We’ll all miss you, Saffy. Let your example live on in our lives.

Not one of the cards is signed and I am glad of this. Not only will it keep them safe (Mum was, after all, killed because she was too outspoken in her views and it’s good that people seem to have learned from this) but if I knew the names of these people, I would probably be able to connect a face and a voice to their words, which would only serve to make me start crying over their kindness, right in the middle of the street. I stand up.

The front of the shop is the same as ever, although the curtains are still drawn from last night and one or two of the posters advertising various meetings, groups and Causes have half come off, leaving them hanging pathetically from the large windows. I try to move towards the door, but find that I can’t. It may look relatively normal from the outside, but I know that inside is a different story. I can’t bring myself to see the destruction caused. Who knows what the Death Eaters did to it once we had Disapparated?

“Marty?” I hear someone say. They sound surprised, but caring. I whip around to find myself face to face with Remus Lupin. For the first time, I remember that I am wearing yesterday’s clothes, have not yet washed or brushed my hair even and my eyes are most likely red rimmed and puffy. “Are you okay?” He touches my shoulder lightly. It’s all too much.

Before I know what I’m doing, I have leapt at him, thrown my arms around his neck, buried my head in his shoulder and burst into tears.

*~*~*

AN: Oh, poor Marty. Don’t worry, things will look up for her very soon! Until then, leave a review and tell me what you think! And thanks to Chomione for beta-ing.

The home of Marauder Remus Lupin seems to explain a lot about his careful and solemn personality. There are many books and the décor is plain, but cluttered with various objects and furniture that some might consider junk. I rather consider them to be quaint. I notice that out of all four Marauders, it is Remus who seems the most uncomfortable in his own home. Is this because there are guests and he must play the part of host? One would assume so. It would be very interesting to seem him as he naturally is ... although it is clear that the others, particularly Sirius Black and James Potter, have no problems and can act perfectly at ease in the most uncomfortable of situations. Peter Pettigrew seems a little uncertain to have a new guest they were not expecting, but overall comes through with cheerful grace. I wonder how they would react if they found out how much this supposed stranger (well, almost) knows about their lives ...?

Chapter Eight: Pastimes

[Marty]

“So, what are you writing?” asks James and I jump.

“Um, just some notes,” I say quickly and shove the parchment and quill into my bag.

“What on?” James asks, obviously trying to be friendly. I’ll have to remember that, so I can note it down, later.

“Oh, nothing much,” I reply, smiling and wonder again what they would do if they found out the truth. I’d like to think they wouldn’t mind, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that they can be unpredictable.

“Um ... Marty ... I don’t know if you got our letter, but ...” Sirius falters, uncomfortably and for the first time, he doesn’t look quite at home any more.

“It’s okay,” I say gently. “Really. I forgive you. Thank you so much �“ all of you �“ for sending it to me. You were wrong, Remus. It’s the only letter I’ve got from anybody about what happened, so I’m really grateful.”

“The only �“ but, surely ... it was really bad what happened to your Mum! And we’re the only ones who wrote?” Remus asks, looking appalled.

I shrug. “It’s not that surprising. It’s not like I have any proper friends who would care enough to write, is it?”

Everyone suddenly looks a lot more uncomfortable for some reason. I wonder why that is? It’s not like it’s their fault.

“Would you like a drink?” Remus asks, standing up suddenly and turning away from me, towards the door.

“Oh, I’m okay, really.”

“I’ll see what we’ve got,” he mutters, ignoring my answer and leaving without looking back.

“Is he okay?” I ask. I haven’t forgotten that he was my Secret Cause at the end of last year and I’ve not abandoned him, either.

“Yeah, he just feels guilty because you said you didn’t have any friends,” Peter explains, placidly. James glares at him.

“Moony was a bit ill yesterday, that’s all,” he says, while Peter mouths ‘what?’ at him, confused. “He’s probably just tired.”

“Oh,” I say and suddenly worry that I’ve somehow outstayed a welcome. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Sirius cries, a little too suddenly. “That’s not what he meant ... it’s more ... uh ... how are the pixies?”

I blink at him for a moment and then realise that Remus is clearly not a topic that they want to discuss. Whoever said I was clueless? “They’re holding up,” I say a little overdramatically. “To be honest ... well ...” I wonder whether to voice what I’ve been thinking lately or not. “The thing is, I’m not sure they need me as much as I thought.”

Peter leans forward. “How come?”

“Well, it’s just ... what if there are worthier Causes? Like �“ like You-Know-Who? After what happened, shouldn’t I be raising awareness about him instead of ... you know. The Plight of the Pixie.”

The three Marauders look stunned. “But �“” James seems lost for words. “But �“ if you’re not looking after them, who will?”

Sirius stares at his best mate incredulously. “You’re the one who kept going on about what a waste of time it was!” he accuses and I laugh a little.

James looks guilty. “Well, yeah, but ... I mean ... it’s weird. Thinking of Marty not protesting about some worthless �“ I mean, uh, less heard of �“ campaign just doesn’t seem right. You should stand up for what you believe in,” he adds, almost muttering now, so that I have to strain my ears to understand him; something tells me that he is only reluctantly saying what he is thinking. “And you shouldn’t let You-Know-Who change that.”

“Thanks, James. That’s really nice of you to say.” Since I sort of, accidentally, fell sobbing into Remus’s arms, the Marauders very graciously offered to let me come back to his house and hang out with them for a bit, presumably thinking it might be a distraction. The thought of spending time with the Marauders was indeed a distraction and I was quickly able to turn away from Taffy’s for the time being and go with them.

“Moony’s certainly taking his time ... Remus? Where are you? How long does it take to get a bloody drink?” Sirius yells, a little uncouthly.

“I’m coming,” Remus mutters, appearing in the door holding a tray of glasses and a large jug. Sirius begins to laugh.

“Here comes Moony the housewife,” he sniggers and James laughs too.

“There’s nothing funny about a tray of drinks,” I say in his defence, but he just shakes his head.

“Don’t listen to them, Marty, they’re just kidding around,” he says, avoiding my gaze.

“Well, that may be, but how long before it turns into something serious and you get permanent psychological scarring? Who knows how long you could be in therapy for, after something like this?” I say passionately, trying not to laugh at the worried look on James and Peter’s face. Sirius, however, has caught my eye and somehow seems to know that I’m not being altogether serious.

“You know what, Marty’s right,” he says, standing up. “It’s time we stopped this bullying nonsense. Remus John Lupin, remember that time when I dressed you up in a fairy costume for my own amusement?”

Remus glares at him, suspiciously. “I recall it,” he says warily.

“Well, I’m sorry. And remember that time I said that you’d be lucky if a monkey considered marrying you? I’m terribly sorry about that. And remember when I sort of, accidentally switched your toothpaste for green jelly? Well, it was a terrible thing for me to do and I hope you can forgive me.”

Now Remus is looking at Sirius sceptically, with one eyebrow raised. What sounds like five years worth of playful mockery is repeated to him and we spectators begin to laugh at the faux-sincerity of every single apology. Eventually, Sirius seems to be winding to a close.

“Oh and when I held your teddy bear ransom in first year and hung him out of the window? You have my word that it will never happen again. To be honest, Moony, I’m an all round disgraceful human being. But you’ve got to let it go! It was a joke! You can’t keep brooding over it in this way, you’ll only hurt yourself. It’s all about opening up, Moony and embracing your inner child. Can you do that Moony? Because it would make me so happy to see the child in you return.”

And then, without any warning, he flings his arms around a rather petrified Remus and doesn’t let go.

“Plus,” I say, grinning a little. “If you embrace your inner child, Remus, Sirius will find it much easier to steal your ice cream next time he gets hungry.”

And somehow �“ through divine providence, surely �“ the Marauders all begin to laugh along with me.

[Remus]

Somehow (I’m unsure exactly how it happened, to be honest) we ended up spending the day back at my place with Marty. We’d just been walking down Diagon Alley (not buying anything, as our letters haven’t arrived yet, just browsing and making our way towards the Quidditch Supplies shop, for James and Sirius’s benefit). Seeing Taffy’s closed like that, with all the flowers and bouquets out the front, brought a lump to my throat and even as we stared, transfixed for a moment, a woman with two young children knelt down and left her own wreath at the front of the blanket of flowers. Not wanting to linger, we hurried away into the Quidditch shop.

When we came out, with the mindset of finding the nearest bookshop (for my benefit, since us Marauders prize equality), I saw that someone else was now standing where we had been, staring at the poor, broken looking tea shop. And as I got closer, I realised it was Marty. Before I knew it, she was sobbing into my chest and James gallantly offered that she came back to mine. Which was a little upfront of him, come to think of it �“ it’s my house, after all �“ but I wasn’t going to complain and I thought it would be the perfect way to truly make amends for last year.

The thing is, I wasn’t expecting Marty to slot in so well with the rest of us. Soon after arriving, she was cracking jokes and laughing along with the others like they’d been friends forever. I am the only one who feels uncomfortable, or so it seems.

Currently, we’re in the garden again. No hide-and-seek, thankfully, but Marty is talking to the others about our various antics at school. She seems to be quite into the subject, despite not having taken any actual part in them herself. Although, I’ve noticed that sometimes she’ll go quiet and I guess that thoughts of her mother have crossed her mind, but then someone will say something and she brightens right up again.

Mostly, I’m just watching them. I’ve never entirely approved of some of the things they do, although I rarely say so and even though I see the humour, there is always a nagging conscience at the back of my mind about rule breaking.

“How do you remember so much about what we’ve done?” Peter asks her, a little unexpectedly. “You know more than I do!”

“Normally I’d make a hilarious jibe about your intelligence, Wormtail ... but I sort of agree,” James says, as Marty suddenly seems to be having some sort of internal conflict.

“Well ... I’ve always found you four really funny and interesting ... the idea came in third year, actually ...”

“What idea?” Sirius asks, suspiciously.

“Well. To write The Book. Your book.”

I look up. What did she just say? Write our book? We don’t have a book! Actually, that’s not true and I have a great many number of books, but why would Marty Price write one of those? They’re already written. That’s why I have them.

“Book?” repeats Sirius, sounding as confused as I am.

“Sort of like your life story. Only not your lives, your school years. You know ...” she looks a little helpless at our confusion. “Look at it this way. If there was a book of you four and what you get up to every day, what you do and say, wouldn’t it make fantastic reading?”

“Uh ... no. It would be pretty boring, actually,” James says.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it would be brilliant! So I’ve been taking observations.”

“Observations?” I ask, picturing a Muggle scientist watching rats running around a maze. “What kind of observations?”

She looks uncomfortable. “Just ... just the things you do. Or say. I just write down the interesting or funny things I notice. Eventually I’ll make some sort of ... uh ... character study from them all. You’ve probably seen me.”

“Wait. That notebook’s full of stuff about ... us?” I ask. “Can I see?”

She looks unsure. “Okay ... but I speak �“ well, write �“ as I find. I honestly really admire you guys.”

Okay, this is really unsettling. But I’m intrigued to know what sort of thing she’s “observed”. She hands me the notebook and starts playing with a strand of her hair, nervously. The others come up behind me and read over my shoulder. Some details about my house ... how I seem to be acting uncomfortable ... how the others all seem at ease ... she noticed all this? And wrote about it? This is possibly one of the strangest sensations of my life, reading about my house and myself from another person’s perspective. I feel my eyebrows go far, far up my forehead. Who would actually spend their time on this insanity?

“Wow. These are quite accurate.” Sirius sounds surprised. “So you take these sorts of notes all the time? Aren’t you busy with stuff? Petitions and whatever?” He seems more interested than disturbed, but he and James always have sported mildly inflated egos. He probably takes this obsessive stalking as some kind of twisted compliment. I’m not sure what I take it as.

“Well ... like I said earlier. It’s not like I have any real friends to take up my time.”

There she goes again. I wonder if she knows how awkward she can make people feel, or is she genuinely as naïve as she looks? No ... naïve’s not the word. Her Mum was just murdered for Merlin’s sake. Is there a word that can sum up Marty Price’s persona? I don’t think so.

“Well ... if you ever want to be distracted from any of your pastimes for a bit, you can always come to us. Right, guys?”

Peter nods enthusiastically. James looks unsure but agrees anyway. I have no choice but to smile and nod my head. Only ... I’m not sure I want her finding out about me. The truth, I mean. She’s nice enough, but to be honest, the less people that know my condition, the better.

“You mean to make observations?” Marty asks. You know, I think she really is as ... Marty-ish as she seems. I don’t think it is an act.

“Uh, yeah ...” James says, smiling a little. “Or as a mate. Or something.”

She blinks. “A mate? Your mate?”

Peter laughs, nervously. “I think that’s the general idea ... right?” he looks at James and Sirius, who nod. There is silence for a moment.

Then, Marty flings herself in between James and Sirius, dragging them into a hug which surprises (but I don’t think displeases) them. She lets go after barely a second and embraces Peter, too. Then she turns to me.

“Thank you,” she says and looks positively radiant at the thought of actually being considered someone’s mate (no matter how loosely the term was used). And suddenly, she has thrown herself at me too and I barely have time to hesitantly pat her on the back, before she is away again, diving into her bag. What’s she doing now? This is Marty Price, after all. She might and make us do an unbreakable vow or something scary like that. I wouldn’t exactly put it past her. Instead, she pulls out a quill and some ink, then holds out her hand towards me. I’m confused.

“What?” I ask, blinking.

“Would you mind? It’s just that I’ve taken so many mental notes this past hour, I should really turn them into real ones before I forget them again.”

I look down. Her notebook is still in my hands. “Oh. Right. Of course.”

And I hand the thing which contains such mystery back to its owner.

[Marty]

The day has shot by. So much has happened! They asked me �“ me �“ to be their mate. We had so much fun in Remus’s garden, although Remus himself remained a little distant. It was great to actually talk to them about whatever came to mind, because I kind of idolise them a little bit.

And now, as the sun begins to set, I wish that I never have to go back to Garfield’s place. What is there to do there, apart from brood over Mum? Even helping Aunt Tabby clean is a solitary pastime and I’ll be left with my thoughts. I’m still horribly upset about Mum, of course. Every time there was a silence, it would suddenly wash over me that she’s gone. But the thing is, there haven’t been many silences. In Garfield’s crumbling old cottage ... the place is drowning in them.

“We should be getting back,” says James when he reaches the living room and checks his watch. “Mum’ll have dinner ready soon, Padfoot.”

Sirius inhales deeply, as if he can smell it already. “Glad you’re okay after yesterday, Moony and that you survived the relatives, Wormtail. Marty ... you take care of yourself, yeah? It’s been fun talking to you.”

“Yes. You too. Although, I don’t really want to go back there ...” I told them where we are staying and they agreed at the time that it wouldn’t do much good to wallow there all summer. I take a deep breath and gather all my Gryffindor strength. I was sorted in there for a reason and by Merlin and I’m not going to let Godric down now. “Actually, Remus, I couldn’t ... um ... I couldn’t stay with you, could I? For a bit?”

“What, for dinner? I could always ask my Mum if you’d really like ...”

“Yeah, please, or ... or maybe for a few days?”

[Remus]

Wait a moment. Marty �“ Martina Price, Gryffindor’s resident nutter �“ just asked if she could what? Stay at my house for a few days? Blimey. It’s like a bizarre dream. One of those ones you know is a dream, but feels real? Only the opposite.

She must see the surprise and uncertainty on my face, because she turns away and mutters, “Of course not, I’m being stupid. Sorry, Remus.”

And, inexplicably, my heart breaks. She just looks so fragile ... I remember suddenly all that she’s been through in the last couple of days and I cannot stand to see the open heartbreak reflected in her face. What harm would a few days do?

“Of course you can stay. I’m sure my parents won’t mind, once they realise who you are. My Mum loves that café.”

She looks up towards me, eyes round and hopeful. “Really?”

I sigh, but all reason has been abandoned at the sight of those sad, pleading eyes. “Of course. They’ll love having someone in a worse off state even than me. Besides ... I wouldn’t want to think of you alone in that house at a time like this. Just a few days.”

“Oh, thank you, Remus. You’re so kind.”

Over her shoulder, my three friends look amazed, but shrug.

“We’ll leave you two to it, then,” James says, shrugging, before stepping into the fire and zooming away.

“Yeah, have fun,” Sirius says, following him.

Peter smiles and nods, then gives a little wave. “See ya.” And he, too, disappears home.

Sweet Merlin. What have I done?

*~*~*

AN: Aww ... sweet. Please leave a review! I’ll love you for it! Story’s starting to almost make sense, now, huh? A little? Maybe? No? Oh well ... =D Thanks for reading!

EXCLUSIVE interview with Marauder Remus Lupin

Interviewer (I): So, Remus, tell me how it feels to be a famous Marauder.
Remus (R): Um ... I wouldn’t call us famous, exactly ... I guess a couple of people know who we are, but ... um ... what was your question? How it feels? Uh ... same as it feels to be in any group of friends, I guess. Only better.
I: A couple of people ... so modest. Only the whole school!
R: Um, are you okay, Marty? You’re acting a little odd.
I: All right, I confess. This is an interview for The Book.
R: Why do you need to interview me for The Book?
I: Well ... it is sort of about you, after all. And your friends. I’ve done loads of interviews before. Even McGonagall. That was a fun one, I’ll have to show you it some time. What’s your most treasured memory of you and your friends?
R: I �“ it’s �“ McGonagall �“ interview �“ treasured memory?
I: That’s right. There must have been many, which one has stuck with you?
R: Marty, are you sure you’re okay? Has the grief gone to your head or something?
I: Of course not. Of all of your memories, which one stands out as the most cherished?
R: Well ... um ... I guess the fact that they accepted me for who I am. Is that right? Am I doing it right? Or would you like something else?
I: No, that’s wonderful. One final thing. If the naming off this book was up to you, what would it be?
R: Um ... This Book Contains An Interview With Remus Lupin by Marty Price? I don’t know, I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be about! You’ve been nothing but vague about the whole thing.
I: Don’t worry about it. That’s perfect. I’ll definitely consider that one.
R: No, Marty �“ Marty, I was kidding. Don’t call it that. Really.
I: Thank you for your time, this has been most enlightening!

Chapter Nine: The King of Diamonds

[Remus]

It has been an hour or two since my parents agreed to let Marty say and so far, I have to say ... I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my entire life. All right, maybe that’s not true. One time I had to attend a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson on werewolves and there were some rather ... uh ... opinionated people in the class. But this evening so far comes pretty close to that.

It wasn’t Mum and Dad’s reactions that worried me. Mum was a bit apprehensive about Marty being a girl and me being a boy and all sorts of inappropriate things that might happen if we were ever likely to realise that. But she went to Taffy’s for years and was soon persuaded, after Dad had laid down some “ground rules”. And dinner wasn’t too bad, I guess. Marty just talked to Mum for a lot of the time about the usual things parents talk to their kid’s friends about. School, career plans, me (okay, that part was uncomfortable too) and, of course, how sorry Mum is about what happened. They seemed to hit it off and Dad and I just spoke a little about his work.

It was after dinner that things started to get uncomfortable again. “We’ll leave you two to it,” Dad had said, dragging Mum away into the next room. “You guys chat.”

Only what does one “chat” about with Marty? Even she seems unsure what to do next. She stands up out of the armchair and walks slowly around the room, brushing her hand over various objects. She reaches one of the many bookshelves and begins reading some of the spines. There are normal household help and medical books, basic spellbooks from my earlier years at Hogwarts and many histories that my Dad has collected. He’s a historian, particularly if it concerns Muggle-Wizard relations; that’s how he met Mum, asking her about her life away from Hogwarts. All the time. In what she found to be a rather adorable manner, apparently, although I don’t really want to think of my parents as anything other than a married couple.

Marty is on her tiptoes, reading the spines of the second-from-top shelf. I realise with a jolt of panic that the top shelf books are all about lycanthropy. Curse my Mother’s meticulous organisation skills!

“There are much more interesting ones in my room, you know,” I say without thinking. She turns round, mercifully not noticing the, ah, theme of the top shelf. “There’s nothing in there that you wouldn’t find in any other modern wizarding family where the head of the household is a particularly well-read historian. The good ones are upstairs.”

“Depends what you consider to be good,” Marty says, smiling at the opening to a conversation. “Got any Baritov?”

Horatio Baritov wrote wizarding adventure stories in the 19th Century. He is quite possibly my favourite historical figure ever to grace the literary world and has been since I was a child. Marty singling him out has just about knocked me for six ... whatever that means. “You read Baritov?” I ask her, she grins wider.

“Do I? Jackro Flavvings was like my childhood friend!” Jackro Flavvings is, of course, the main character in Baritov’s most famous series, The King of Diamonds. I know exactly what she means.

“Which is your favourite book?” I ask.

“Hmm ... it’s a tough question ... but it’s gotta be The Manticore Cave. Classic.”

“Are you kidding? Manticore is so over-emotional, he was going through his dark phase when he wrote that. Clearly, it’s The Charmed Scymitar.”

“Well, sure, if you like men with too much to prove fighting epic battles and dying all the time. How can you call Manticore over-emotional? It’s so deep and beautifully written, with a spectacular plotline all the way through. Scymitar is just ... testosterone in a book.”

“Don’t give me that. Scymitar is amazing, it has all the adventure and action that Manticore is lacking. I mean, Manticore is good, yeah, but it just doesn’t keep you interested.”

“What about The Forest of Silver? That’s sort of like the in-between.”

“Yeah, Forest is good, but I think we’re forgetting The Mountain Quest. That one is just so perfectly balanced ...”

Before too long, we find ourselves in my bedroom, finding our favourite segments from the books and reading them aloud, discussing the theories and meanings that occur to us as we read. Our opinions often differ, but we’re both open to the other’s ideas and it’s a really interesting discussion. I’ve never really had the chance to talk about my books much and soon we’ve moved onto other series, other authors and find we’ve read a lot of the same stuff. It takes quite a while before it occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve had a real girl in my room before. I kept away from the Muggle children when I was a kid and although cousins and the children of my parents friends used to come over in those days, they didn’t really count as girls; just other children. When I grew up and left for Hogwarts, it was only ever me and the Marauders. I’ve had one or two girlfriends, but it was never serious enough to actually want to bring them home and meet my parents.

But Marty seems different. She’s not like normal girls. Every so often, if I say something she finds amusing, or deep, or intriguing, she’ll stop the conversation to record it in her notebook. It’s quite disconcerting, but in a way, it’s also ... it’s almost flattering.

The clock reaches nine, then half past nine and then ten. I am lying back on my bed and she is sitting comfortably on my floor, over half the contents of my bookcase emptied and strewn around the room, open at random pages and stacked in mismatched piles. There is a knock on the door and my Dad sticks his head around.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, guys, but your Mum was wondering whether Marty had any pyjamas or anything ... that’s if you still want to stay, of course. Also, Remus, it’s kind of late ... you were only ill last night, after all.”

It’s true and I suddenly notice that I am very tired.

“Oh, sorry, Mr Lupin ... I didn’t mean to keep your son awake. And, uh, I’m afraid I haven’t really got any pyjamas or anything ... you wouldn’t have something I could borrow, would you? Not you personally, of course, but, uh ... well ...”

Dad smiles. “I’m sure Joy has something somewhere for you, Marty. Follow me, I’m sure we can find a spare nightshirt ... and you can sleep in the guestroom down the hall.”

“Thank you so much,” Marty gabbles, looking incredibly relieved at the thought of a proper place to stay that isn’t that crumbling old cottage she was telling us about. “You don’t know how much this means to me,” she is saying now. “Thank you Remus, good night. Uh, see you tomorrow I guess. Mr Lupin, have I thanked you for your hospitality yet?”

Dad smiles. “Once or twice. Follow me, then ...”

They leave the room and I am completely baffled. I spent over two hours talking to Marty Price about books we both love. In my bedroom. For over two hours.

What just happened?

[Marty]

The next day, I wake up extremely early. As in, six o’clock in the morning. Cripes.

But I can’t get back to sleep, although I do try, so instead I get dressed in yesterday’s clothes and make a mental note to actually pick up some more today, like I was supposed to. Then I sit in the spare room and write some more notes for The Book. However, by the time it gets to seven, I realise that it is no use and I will have to go downstairs and get something to eat. But ... if I just take food, it will look as if I’ve already made myself at home, like I just presume I can flounce into their kitchen and take whatever I like. I can’t do that. La la la, thanks for putting me up, I’ll just take your food as if I belong here, don’t mind me, I’m such an arrogant brat that I automatically assume I can do what I like. Got any milk?

There’s no way. It’s rude and presumptuous and very bad behaviour for a guest. I’ll just stay here until someone finds me and actually offers me breakfast. For all I know, they could have presumed I’d be leaving. They might hate me. They might not want me to eat their food. After all, I’m not their daughter. I’m barely even their son’s friend. I’m just some random waif they pretty much found on the streets.

At half past nine, there is a tentative knock on the door. “Marty? Are you awake?” comes Mrs Lupin’s timid voice.

“Yes!” I say a little too quickly. She opens the door and seems surprised to find me fully dressed and cleaning the window.

“Oh,” she says. “You don’t have to do that. How long have you been up?”

“Um ... not long. I just thought I’d make myself useful, so I conjured that bucket and this cloth and decided to, uh ... well. Yes. Not that your window wasn’t clean, but ...”

“Well, never mind that. Come on, we’ll fix you up some breakfast. Remus won’t be down for a while, dear, he always sleeps in after he’s been ill. Is there anything you need? Do you need to pick up some clothes from home?”

“Actually, Mrs Lupin ... I kind of do. But the thing is, I really don’t think I can go back home, not on my own. Not after the attack ... I tried yesterday, but I couldn’t do it, that’s when Remus found me ...”

We have made our way to the kitchen and she is frying eggs like nobody’s business.

“Could you get your aunt to pick them up? Or maybe I could come with you? I certainly wouldn’t expect you to go back alone, that would be most upsetting for you ...”

“Well ... I could always ask my aunt to drop some things off, I guess. Uh ... could I use your floo powder?”

“Yes, of course. Breakfast will be about five minutes.”

As I leave the kitchen to find the fireplace, I consider Mrs Lupin. I know she was a Gryffindor, but she seems very timid, considering. Like she’s never quite at ease. I wonder what sort of thing could turn a strong person into a ... well, she’s not weak, but she just doesn’t seem to have the daring quality Gryffindors give off. If I had to place her, I’d say Hufflepuff.

But Mrs Lupin’s personality isn’t the issue right now. I really need some clothes.

There is floo powder in a pot on the mantle piece and I take a pinch and throw it in the fire, then stick my head in. I always feel a bit nervous doing that, but my face hasn’t burnt off just yet, so I should probably trust the years and years of proof that it works, instead of my own irrational misgivings.

When I open my eyes and look out of the fireplace, up into the cold, dusty sitting room of Garfield’s house, I feel really ... short, actually, but mostly a little weirded out. It’s such a lonely house and somehow it just reminds me all over again that my mother was killed. The place really does drench you with sadness.

“Aunt Tabby? Are you there? It’s me, Marty. I’m, uh, in the fire. I really hope you’re in, Aunt Tabby, because I don’t want to waste the Lupin family’s floo supply ...”

A door opens at the far side of the room and Aunt Tabby comes in. She looks rather dishevelled, not herself at all.

“Hello, dear. How are the Rupins?”

“Lupins,” I correct her. I told her I would be staying with them yesterday and she hadn’t really liked it �“ something about keeping the family together �“ but she hadn’t protested too much. “They’re fine. I was just wondering if, uh, you could maybe ... drop some clothes off? Here? Because I really, really don’t want to go back to the shop.”

She sighs. “You’ll have to go home at some point, Marty. Your mother wouldn’t want you discarding such a large part of your life, she spent so long building it up, after all.”

Darn. I had really hoped she wouldn’t start using sentences beginning with “Your mother wouldn’t want” this soon after it happened.

I sigh. “I know. I will. But I can’t right now, I really can’t ... but I do need something else to wear.”

Aunt Tabby nods. “Of course you do. I’ll drop it round later. Have a nice day, Marty.”

“Yeah, uh ... you too.”

She smiles half heartedly. Before she has a chance to say goodbye, I pull my head out of the fire and stand up. Seeing her brought on a lot of bad feelings that I don’t really want right now. Her, that house, it all reminded me so much of the giant hole in my heart. At least while I’m here there’s nothing to remind me of her. There’s so much distraction that I can forget about it, or at least partially and enjoy myself. I can’t stand being miserable and so over the years, I’ve learnt just to ignore my loneliness and get on with things. But with my mother’s sister standing in front of me, worry and concern in her eyes, surrounded by the backdrop of an ancient, miserable house it makes it so much harder.

“Marty! Would you like some breakfast?”

I smile, coming out of my thoughts and consider once again just how hungry I am.

[Remus]

It has been nearly a month since Marty came to stay for “a few days” but I have to say, I don’t really mind. I had doubts at first, but I’ve come to really enjoy the company of someone else my age; even if she isn’t your typical sixteen-year-old girl. We actually get on really well and now that I’m used to her daily “observations”, I find the whole Book thing rather amusing.

At first, Marty’s aunt dropped her things round in little chunks every two or three days, as and when Marty needed them. Then, after about a week, she just arrived one day with everything; the trunk, the clothes, the books, even her “files” of notes on us from the last three years. It was then that it was unofficially decided that Marty would just stay the whole summer. Like I said, it’s been fun. The Marauders come round a lot, of course, but it really is nice to have a friend around all the while. Not that we spend all our time together (I think I’d end up murdering her), but still, it’s good to know she’s there, even if we’re in different rooms.

My parents probably see her as a daughter by now. I know her and Mum are quite close, which just makes it all the more hard to keep my “wolfy secret” (as Sirius and James occasionally call it, along with “furry little problem”, “that thing that he does” and “his time of the month”, all of which disguise my lycanthropy in every day conversations, but also sound incredibly weird).

“You know we love having Marty around,” Mum said to me one day. “But we’re worried for her, Remus. She’s pushing her aunt away, you must see that and she needs her family. Surely you see that? It’s all very well trying to run from her feelings, but one day they’ll catch her up. I think you should talk to her, Remus, see if you convince her to try.”

And I did try, quoting what my mum had said, but all I could get her to say was, “Why be unhappy there, when I can enjoy myself here?” Which, I must admit, made perfect sense to me, whether Mum agreed or not.

Today, James and his parents are taking us to a Quidditch match; Wasps against the Harpies.

“Remus,” Marty says unsurely, over breakfast. I look up slowly, not really feeling very with it: tonight’s the full moon and I spent all last night worrying about what was to be done about Marty and how we can stop her hearing the sounds that usually come from the annexe outside. There’s a reason Mum and Dad moved somewhere so remote when I was attacked, after all.

“Yeah?” I grunt. Normally I would have better manners, but, well, like I said. It’s full moon.

“Um ... I don’t really know that much about Quidditch.”

Wait; I know I get groggy around now, but this is the first time I’ve started hearing things. “What do you mean you don’t know that much? Don’t you go to the games at school?”

“Well, yes, usually I do. But I don’t know how it works ... I just cheer when everyone else does. Roxie tried to explain it once, in first year, but it didn’t work out.”

“Well ... what is it you don’t understand? The rules?”

“Yes, mainly. And, um, everything else.”

I sigh. “Ask James or Sirius to explain it. I’m kind of tired.”

She smiles, sympathetically. “I noticed you looked ill again. I recorded it, actually, last night. You were a bit worse for wear when I first came a month ago, but you’ve been all right since then. I wonder what made it come on ... I’m not wearing you out am I?”

I gulp. “Of course not.”

See, this is why I had misgivings about those notes in the first place. It’ll be easier for her to see a pattern if she’s around me all the time. Sirius, James and Peter figured it out on their own. Why shouldn’t she?

Half an hour later, we step into the fire and direct ourselves to James’s house, where we stumble into the comfortable, inviting living room, to be greeted by Sirius with his head on fire, swearing loudly.

No. Really.

“Wait, I’ve got some water!” James comes streaking in through the door, holding out a large bowl in front of him, water slopping out of the sides. “Hi Moony, hi Marty,” he says, before tripping on a rug and the bowl flies out of his hands, all over Sirius. For a moment, I consider the scene in front of me. James on the floor. Sirius drenched and dripping, looking bemused, but relieved.

“Smooth,” he says, looking down at James.

“Ow.”

Marty coughs. “Uh ... are you all right, Sirius?”

James giggles from down on the floor. “‘Course he is. Stupid oaf.”

“Coming from the one who tripped over a rug while carrying a large bowl of water, Prongs, that hurts,” Sirius says. He shakes his head in a very dog-like manner and gives us a very refreshing shower, of the not-so-refreshing kind. He flicks his hair and somehow �“ impossibly �“ he still looks good. Lucky git.

Marty coughs again, clearly a little unsure how to follow up such a scene with mere words. “Um ... is Peter here, yet?”

Just as she says this, the fire roars and she jumps a mile in the air. Peter steps out.

“Hi, guys. You’re a bit wet, Padfoot,” he says, as if it would be something Sirius hadn’t noticed.

James’s parents now enter the room. James finally sits up properly.

“Oh, Sirius,” Mrs Potter sighs, lovingly. “Now what have you done? No, wait, don’t answer.” She takes out her wand and flicks it, drying him in a split second.

“Oooh, tingly,” Sirius says, laughing.

“Is everyone ready?” Mr Potter asks. We all nod. “Good, because I managed to pull a string or two at the Ministry to get us this Portkey, since I knew there would be a big group. But we don’t get to choose when it leaves, so we have roughly a minute.” He waves his wallet in the air.

“You made your wallet the Portkey?” Mrs Potter asks, placing a finger on it, a note of exasperation in her voice.

“Well, it’s one less thing to carry around when we get there, isn’t it?”

We all crowd round and touch the wallet, too. I find myself a little too close to Peter on one side and Marty on the other. She smiles up at me, then looks around at James.

“Oh, yes, I was going to ask you, James. How does Quidditch actually work?”

She grins, as James splutters with disbelief, just as the Portkey glows and we are tugged out of James’s living room and into the in-between-worlds that comes from Portkey travel.

I’ll give her one thing; her comic timing is impeccable.

[Marty]

“So ... the Seeker ... throws the Bludgers ... through the hoops at the end?”

A vein is throbbing at James’s temple. He doesn’t seem capable of speech. I try not to laugh.

“Not quite,” Sirius says, glancing worryingly at his best mate. “Uh, the Seeker is looking for the Snitch.”

“Oh, right, the big red one? Well, that seems rather an easy job. I think I’d make a great Seeker,” I say proudly. I catch Remus’s eye and wink. He looks as if he’s about to wet himself from trying not to laugh.

“The Snitch is the little gold one,” James says through gritted teeth.

“Where’s that?” I ask.

“It’s very, very small,” James replies. If there was more tension in his voice, it would be a tightrope.

I sigh, loudly. Who knew that driving someone insane could be so much fun? “I don’t get it,” I declare. One of the Chasers �“ Hammond, his name is, one of the Wasps �“ scores and we all cheer. “I mean, what in Merlin’s name just happened?”

Peter turns his laugh quite effectively into a cough.

“Hammond scored. He’s a wonderful player,” James says, a little calmer now.

“And he’s a Beater, right?”

The truth is, I understood the rules as soon as James explained them to me. All right, almost. I only had one question (“But what if someone gets hurt?”) and when I asked it, I noticed how irritated it made James to have to explain the answer. So I asked another question. And another.

Of course, if James wasn’t so distracted by the game, he would have noticed a long time ago that my questions have got more and more obvious as the game has gone on. Fortunately for me, the Wasps are his favourite team, although the way he and the other die-hard fans keep making loud buzzing noises does weird me out a little bit.

“Hammond is definitely not a Beater. He’s a Chaser. He’s like a god in the air, on that broom, no one can beat him.”

“When’s the wedding?” asks Peter, smirking a little. I catch his eye and raise my eyebrows very slightly, before turning back to James.

“So, who would beat him?” I ask, not letting the perfect opportunity pass. “The Beaters? You know, I think I’m starting to understand this whole Quidditch charade a lot better. You’re such a great teacher.”

This time, Peter can’t hold it in, which sets Remus off as well. I’m glad to see this, as he’d looked a little peaky this morning. Sirius notices their amusement.

“What are guys laughing ...” he trails off and looks over at me. I smile, far too innocently. “You vixen,” he says and then howls with laughter.

“What? What’s so funny?” James asks, finally tearing his eyes away from his boyfriend �“ sorry, from Hammond �“ long enough to notice the commotion.

“Sorry, James,” I giggle. “I couldn’t help myself. It was just so easy ...”

“What?” Bless him. He clearly has no idea what’s going on.

“The thing is ... I’ve understood the game pretty much since the first time you explained.”

“You mean, all this time ... it’s been one big lie?” he looks annoyed, but somehow �“ I wonder why this is �“ he also looks a little proud.

“Yes,” I say solemnly. “I’ve been lying to you.”

He feigns hurt. “Marty Price, I thought you loved me.” Before I can say anything in response, his hands whip out and begin tickling me mercilessly. I shriek in surprise.

“Aaah! James �“ get off! You �“ haa �“ you bully! Get off me! Gaah!”

He lets go and grins, then bursts into laughter himself. I have one last question.

“So the Harpies are all girls?” I ask. James is much more relaxed now.

“Yes. Always have been.”

“Wow,” I say. “I’m going to support them.“

And two minutes later, I get my chance. One of their Chasers scores and I cheer far too loudly for someone with a bunch of Wasp supporters. The Marauders are all looking a little embarrassed, so Mrs Potter joins in; lovely lady that she is, I’ve got on with her quite well the few times I’ve met her. In fact, Remus had teased me about how well I get on with people’s mothers.

“I’d like to see you make friends with mine,” Sirius had said, laughing darkly.

Anyway, it ends up being me, Mrs Potter, Mr Potter (who Mrs Potter makes join our team in an attempt to make things fairer) against The Marauders. When the Wasps score, they go crazy, when the Harpies score, we do. In fact, the seven of us quickly become some of the most enthusiastic supporters in the stands, as we keep trying to outdo each other. And that’s saying something.

Of course, when it comes down to it ... the girls win. Obviously. And it’s a lot of fun rubbing it in their faces, although I have to take a moment or two to record how Quidditch and competitiveness changes each of The Marauders (James the most, then Sirius, then Peter and Remus seemed generally similar to his usual self).

“Hey, uh, Marty. Do you want to come back to ours?” James asks and a look passes between him and Remus. Is he getting sick of having me around?

“Um ... why? I mean, yeah, if Remus and your parents don’t mind ... I mean ... why?”

“I feel a bit ill, that’s all,” Remus says. I don’t remember him mentioning it to James, but maybe it was while I was writing. After all, he hasn’t been looking himself.

“Oh, of course. Yeah, I’ll come with you guys, as long as that’s all right with you?” I look at James’s parents and they nod.

“Of course it is, you’re welcome anytime. I’m glad these have found themselves some female company to distract them from their very boyish behaviour,” Mrs Potter says, smiling.

“I think you mean manly,” Sirius suggests, while James nods.

“No ...” she says, smiling. “I don’t think I do.”

“All right then,” Mr Potter says, very business-like. “You might as well all stay for dinner. Now, wait while I just make us a Portkey ...”

“Sounds great!” Peter chirps, happily.

“Yeah ... as long as I’m back before it’s dark,” Remus says and another look passes between him and James. How infuriating.

“Obviously,” Sirius says, although I don’t know why it’s so obvious, myself. Remus and I have stayed at James’s past dark before. However, I decide not to say anything, as James’s dad is already holding out his wallet again and we all place a finger on it once more.

The last two weeks of the holiday seem to zoom by. We finally get our OWL results (I do well, better than I thought I would and I even manage an E in Transfiguration, so Professor McGonagall will be happy) and buy our things for school. I notice in Diagon Alley that Taffy’s is still not open, despite Aunt Tabby saying she would carry it on, in Mum’s memory. But thankfully, Remus hurries me past it, in a subtle but firm way and I have no chance to reflect on what happened at the start of the summer. I barely see Aunt Tabby at all, in fact and as awful as it sounds, I’m kind of happy with it that way. However, Mr and Mrs Lupin do force me to accept an evening with her and Garfield at that house, as the holidays draw to a close.

“She’s the closest thing you have, Marty and I’m afraid I can’t just let you push her away ...”

And, although I clear the air a little bit with my Aunt (not that there was much air to clear, unless you count the air of me not being around for the whole summer and avoiding spending time around her and that house as much as I can), I am still overwhelmingly grateful to return to the comfort of the Lupin’s sitting room later on that night.

And, before I know it, I am being shaken awake by Mrs Lupin on September the first.

*~*~*

AN: Whew, long chapter, eh? Didn’t I tell you things would look up? Let me know what you think! Oh and thank you to my brother for the “Charmed Scymitar” thing. I was trying really hard to think of a mysterious sounding object that could be charmed and he came up with that. It’s a curvy sword, apparently ... anyway, I basically think of the series they were talking about as like the Wizarding equivalent to Lord of the Rings or something ... So yeah.

Sitting in the same compartment with the Marauders is like being on display in a zoo. People �“ girls, that is �“ naturally glance in when they walk by (probably to see if anything amusing, or in some cases adorable, is happening that they can squeal with their friends about). I expected this, since if anyone was guilty of it in the past, it’s been me. Although my reasons were more scientific observations for this book, rather than something to have kittens over back in my own compartment, with my many like-minded girlfriends. But then these girls realise that there are five people sitting there, not four. And the extra one is me. Could it be some sort of twisted jealousy that is causing these girls to give me the dirtiest looks you could imagine? I suppose it’s another example of the remarkable influence the Marauders have on people in this school. The boys don’t look at me with jealousy when they see me in here. They just look confused. They can’t all be top of the year, after all.

Chapter Ten: Hapless Slytherins

[Remus]

Marty puts her notebook and quill in her pocket and bites her lip for a moment, her eyes glancing around at me and my friends, worriedly. Occasionally, they flick towards the compartment door and back again.

“What’s up, Marty?” I ask, extracting myself from the conversation with the others about the highs and lows of being a sea creature (and no, I don’t know how we got onto that particular topic either).

“Oh, uh, I was just thinking ... I should probably leave.”

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. I had mentally prepared myself for some strange, unfathomable female worry or for her to say something sentimental about her Mum, or maybe ask me to do a fun fact-file for her book, answering questions about my favourite colour and whether I prefer blondes to brunettes. Although I’m immensely glad it wasn’t any of those things, it was just as awkward and confusing.

“Um ... why?” I ask. Might as well see if there’s a reason.

“Well, you see those girls in the doorway?” she says. I begin to turn my head, but she hisses viciously, “Don’t turn around to look!”

“You just asked if I could see them,” I point out. Maybe it would have been easier if I’d gone back to talking about whether or not I’d rather be a fish, squid or whale with the others.

“You can’t just turn round like that. Look subtly at them.”

Feeling like some sort of spy on a secret mission, I slide my eyes slowly over to the door. There are indeed some girls outside, who seem to be having a perfectly normal conversation. When I turn back to Marty, I notice that she has no problem with staring at them openly herself. Apparently it’s only me who they can’t know is watching them.

“Damn,” she mutters. “You weren’t subtle enough, they realised you were looking.” She narrows her eyes at them, but she doesn’t have a very convincing evil glare.

Trying desperately to understand what is going on, I ask, “Why are you allowed to look, but not me?”

“They already know I know their game. They want me to know, so I’m letting them know I know. They can’t afford to have you realising you’re onto them as well, though.”

“What game? What are you talking about? I’m really confused.”

“Their game is one of jealousy and trying to victimise me because of it, I’m talking about the evil looks they sneak me as soon as you look away and you’re confused because you’re not a woman.”

I blink. “And I thank Merlin for that every day.”

She looks back at me for a second and smiles. “I suppose you do. Lucky.” And then she goes back to giving the girls outside suspicious stares (although once again, they’re more funny than suspicious). I turn to look at the girls again and they seem to be talking normally to me, but according to her, that’s because I’ve turned to look at them again.

“So why are they jealous of you?” I ask, desperate to understand why Marty started the conversation with ‘I should probably leave.’

“Because I’m sitting with you, Sirius, James and Peter.”

“Why would that make them jealous?”

“Because you’re you, Sirius, James and Peter.”

“But why can’t they be happy you’ve found some friends?”

“Because they’re girls and they want it to be them sitting here. Also, they probably don’t think I deserve to be your friend, because I’m weird and as far as they know, I’ve managed to worm my way into your inner circle over the summer. They probably want to find out what trickery I used to do it, but they won’t ask outright because then I’d know that they’ve noticed and that they’re clearly jealous and they don’t want that, because then that would show that they have a weakness and if they have a weakness then people can hurt them. What they really want is to see me slipping you a potion or something.”

“How do you understand how their minds work like this? I thought you didn’t have anything to do with all that ... that girl politics stuff.” After all, she’s the one who keeps mentioning that she’s never had real friends before, in that uncomfortable and blunt way of hers.

“I haven’t directly, not until now. But that means I’ve had plenty of time to study how it works over the years as an impartial observer. No one could understand better than me. For the others it’s all instinctive, they probably don’t realise why they’re doing it. Not completely anyway.”

I try to get to grips with her explanation. “Wait ... why would they want us to be being poisoned if they like us enough to be jealous when you share our compartment?”

“Because if I was slipping you a potion, then it wouldn’t be down to your free will that I’m sitting here. If I’m clouding your judgement then the only thing I have that they don’t is a means of getting you to take it. However, if I’m here because you want me to be, then I have a quality that you like and they don’t have. And if they don’t have it, then it’s much less likely that one of you will ask them out.”

She takes a deep breath and continues.

“Also, by being one of the most unpopular girls in the school, I have absolutely no right to be here, since you four are, so to speak, the royalty and I am, hypothetically, a tramp off the streets. If the royalty preferred a random tramp to the high born ladies they should be trying to marry, then those ladies would be very upset and put out and would have just cause to hate the tramp for taking what is rightfully theirs. So what they’re really hoping is that I’m an evil tramp with a large potion supply and I am bewitching you into liking me. They’re hoping that once I’ve been exposed and put a stop to, that you will four will come back to your senses and realise that you’re actually in love with them.

“If only I hadn’t been poisoning you, you would have proposed to them long ago. They’re hoping that you’ll fall to your knees in front of them and grovel for forgiveness, which they will only give once you start to cry and produce an expensive ring. Preferably in the rain. While wearing an open white shirt, which gets absolutely drenched and becomes see-through and sticks to your chest, to really show off your amazing body. Anyway, it would really be better for everyone if I just left, because then they would realise that my mission failed and you are not under the influence of anything at all, so should be proposing marriage to them any day now.”

I say nothing. The sea creature conversation has come to a halt. We are all staring at Marty in complete and utter confusion.

“Let me get something straight,” Sirius says carefully. “Are you bewitching us into liking you?”

Marty looks appalled at the very thought. “Of course I’m not! How could you even think that?”

“Right. Okay.” He stands up and walks over to the compartment door, before pulling it open. “Ladies,” he says smoothly. They look surprised, but pleased and a little deliberately flustered. “Do you have a problem with our friend, Marty?”

“Us?” the leader asks. She’s a fifth-year Hufflepuff, I think. “Of course not. Why would we care about her?” Her eyes flick dangerously over to Marty and I see for the first time that it’s true; that is a look of death.

“Good,” Sirius says. “Then would you mind moving along? You’re blocking the corridor with your inflated heads.”

The girls look angry and king of hurt and bitter. Now is probably not the best time to mention that if it’s a competition between whose head is the most inflated, Sirius would wipe the floor with all of them, so I say nothing and feel some satisfaction as they saunter away irritably.

Sirius sits back down and smiles at Marty. “There we go. Now tell us, Marty ... would you rather have fins or tentacles?”

She bursts into tears. “I love you all so much,” she cries between sobs.

Sweet Merlin. I will never understand what happens in the mind of a teenage girl.

[Marty]

“Boy, these Sortings take longer each time,” Sirius mumbles. He receives a couple of icy glares, but ignores them.

“We need to make them more interesting one year,” James comments, barely bothering to keep his voice down. Remus sneaks him a disapproving glance, but says nothing.

“Lamb, Jemima,” McGonagall calls. Personally, I rather enjoy the Sorting. Everything is just thrown out there; your hopes, your fears, your pride and your insecurities. As an observer of people and personalities, I find it fascinating.

“There is no way we could ever make this interesting,” Sirius says, which kind of contradicts my thoughts.

“I dunno,” James muses, as Jemima is made Ravenclaw. “We could always do some sort of charm ...”

“Gee,” Sirius mutters. “Some sort of charm. Yeah, good plan, Prongs. I like it. That’ll knock ‘em dead, that one. Wormtail, quick, start researching how best to perform some sort of charm, it sounds tricky to me.”

“You just don’t have any imagination,” James says. Sirius’s eyes light up, as a short kid called ‘Rockster, Damien’ sits confidently on the stool and winks at McGonagall saucily before the hat covers his eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks. Remus looks rather pained and gives them another subtle glare. He is, once again, ignored completely.

I take out my notebook and quill. “Do you mind?” I ask under my breath, quill poised, hoping to catch some of their ideas for improvements on paper for The Book.

“Go ahead,” James says. Meanwhile, Damien Rockster, the one who winked at McGonagall, is still sitting on the stool proudly. His legs are crossed in a very manly way, his hands are on his hips and somehow thrusting forwards, despite the fact that he is sitting down. If I could see his face, I would imagine a very smarmy grin. At a guess, I would say he will be a Gryffindor. Which other house would dare to attempt flirting with the Deputy seconds before the biggest decision of their time at this school is made?

“Hufflepuff!” The hat announces. Well, that showed me.

“We could release Hippogriffs on every single Slytherin that gets sorted,” suggests Sirius.

Release hippogriffs on hapless Slytherins, I write.

“We could release Moony on every single Slytherin that gets sorted!” laughs James. Remus glares at them a little more viciously so that I feel I am missing something.

Release Remus on hapless Slytherins �“ but why would they do that? What could he possibly do to harm them? He’s hardly a savage monster. My hand is flying across my notebook as they speak. It’s a good job I’ve gotten so quick at taking notes over the years.

“Better yet, set up some kind of time portal, so that every time the new Slytherins try to sit at the table, they get transported to sixteenth century Mexico or something ...”

Transport hapless Slytherins to Mexico �“ unusual but creative.

“What about the other Houses?” Peter asks.

“We could always ...” James begins.

“Do some sort of charm?” Sirius suggests, cutting across him and snorting with laughter.

Tensions are running high, I write and cannot help chucking to myself quietly.

“Mr Potter, Mr Black, I’ll be charming your mouths shut if you’re not careful,” McGonagall suddenly says tritely, her voice carrying across the hall towards us. Remus tries not to look too pleased until heads start turning towards us. Then he looks uncomfortable.

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Sirius calls back. “Carry on!”

Despite his cheekiness, they do stay quiet for the rest of the Sorting. I can’t take any more notes, which is a shame, but at least I get to enjoy watching the kids be Sorted. I try and guess the Houses and sometimes I get it right, but often I don’t. Maybe I’m a bad guesser, but I think part of the magic of Sorting is that outward appearances don’t seem to matter any more. Look at Sirius ... he was a dead cert for Slytherin because of his name, but that didn’t affect the hat’s decision in the least.

And I was so sure I would be in Ravenclaw (not for intelligence, but because of how hard I am willing to work), but no. “You have more to give than you’re giving,” the hat said, a little too enigmatically for my taste. And then placed me in Gryffindor. I never did work out what it meant, so I just carried on as I was, but I’ve never forgotten those words.

Eventually, however, the last young girl is sorted into Gryffindor and we cheer loudly for her.

“Thank Merlin’s toenails that’s over!” James says as loudly as he can. “No offence,” he assures the girl, who is now four or five seats away from us. “But it was bloody boring.”

She looks terrified to have been addressed by a scary sixth year and a little unsettled at his rather uncouth choice of words.

“Thank you, Potter,” McGonagall says from the front of the hall, once again. “And I’ll see you in detention tomorrow evening.”

There is a low, “Oooh ...” from the surrounding students and James basks in his, uh, ‘shame’.

“What would you say that was, Peter, twenty minutes into the start of term? I think we broke a record!” Sirius says, still not troubling to be discreet. Peter grins but doesn’t dare say anything in reply just yet.

“Actually,” I mutter to them. “The record is minus three-and-a-half hours.”

Dumbledore has moved to the front and gives a rather amused warning glance in our direction but thankfully decides not to comment. “I’m sure you are all absolutely desperate to eat our delicious feast, so I will not hold you up too long ... however, I would just like to welcome you back, second years and above and welcome you here for those newly sorted. And before your minds are so addled by good food that you forget everything I say, may I just give a few words of caution. You may have noticed the rather unsettling incidents over the summer, older students particularly, and I want to stress that while you are safe within these walls, it is never a bad thing to be on your guard. Now, I will keep you no longer or Sirius Black and James Potter might deem it upon themselves to tie me up and gag me ... so do enjoy your most wonderful meal.”

He gives a smile and a small bow, before returning to his seat and clapping his hands. Delicious smelling food appears all along the tables.

“He’s too good to us,” Sirius says, smiling. “He knows us too well ...”

“Nah,” James says, shaking his head and waving his hand. “We’d never do something so crude.” He discreetly checks to see whether the young first year girl heard him say it and smiles at her when he catches her looking. “Honestly,” he says to her warmly. “We’re not all that bad.”

“Yeah, you’d never tie someone up unless you’d taken their clothes off first, right?” Remus jokes, happy to contribute now that there are no first years being sorted or speeches being made.

“Okay, those are images that I just don’t need,” I say and laugh. I reach for the mashed potato and start piling it on my plate in a miniature mountain. You can never have too much mash, after all.

I notice that rather more looks than usual are being thrown in the direction of the Marauders ... and I should know, after all, how many looks are usually given in their direction. Except ... it’s not the Marauders they’re looking at. I think it might ... I think it’s me.

Come to think of it ... almost every girl in the vicinity, from third to seventh year, has given me a hostile look in the last minute or so. All except Lily, who seems to be more interested in that Snape guy and his friends over at Slytherin, with a sad, rather hopeless look on her face.

It’s just possible that this is going to be a long year.

[Remus]

“Moony, give over a minute. I need to hang up these posters.”

I move out of James’s way and look in mild surprise at the dorm, which is already half-plastered with Quidditch prints and other merchandise. Most are of the Wasps, but there are lots of other teams too, whizzing around about our walls. I feel a little dizzy at all the zooming figures and bright colours.

“What would be really cool,” James says, not to anyone in particular, “would be to attach some brooms to the wall ... kind of retro and garage-like. It would be great ... really underline the point about Quidditch.” He suddenly stops and turns around. “Ooh,” he says, shivering a little with a disturbing pleasure. “Ooh. I like it. And while I’m at it ... we could make some of the balls ... hover them from the ceiling ... ooh. That would be awesome. Ooh.”

“Stop ‘ooh’ing!” Sirius snaps at him.

“Ooh,” says James, much more dramatically than before.

“Are you really going to waste Quidditch equipment on decoration?” asks Peter.

“Hmm ... it’s a good point ... Moony, give me your lamp.”

“No,” I say defensively. Who knows what twisted plan he could have in mind for the poor thing?

“Accio lamp,” James says casually and it shoots towards him. He catches it with ease and begins transfiguring it into a large round ball, which he then colours the exact red of a Quaffle. He levitates it up towards the ceiling and leaves it hanging there, before moving onto Peter’s alarm clock and ‘ooh’ing to himself, under his breath.

“You know,” I say lightly, “We might actually need this stuff you’re transfiguring into dormitory accessories.” No on else is about to challenge him over it, after all.

“Nah, you’ll be fine. Besides, it will look bloody fantastic.”

I exchange a look with Sirius.

“Why do you seem to have taken such an interest in interior design, Prongs?” he asks.

It’s true, actually. When we ‘decorated’ Sirius’s old bedroom at the start of the summer, it was James who got most of the stuff together and enjoyed himself the most.

“I dunno. I just like it. Besides, you’re all slobs. Someone has to make this place look good.”

“You’re the biggest slob of all!” points out Sirius, once again quite truthfully.

James looks offended. Whether he is pretending or not is hard to tell. Time to change the subject; just in case.

“So, guys, how do you feel about Marty?” I ask. Wait ... where did that come from? The others are staring at me a little sceptically.

“You already know how we feel, Moony, she’s okay and she’s our friend now. We all like her. Why do you keep bringing her up?”

“I do not keep bringing her up!” At least, I don’t think I do. At least, I try not to. At least ... well, it’s been on my mind a lot lately!

“What are we going to tell her about, you know. Me. If she’s sticking with us now, she’ll notice when I disappear every month. And you guys will follow me, so she’ll notice even more.”

“She’ll find out eventually,” Sirius shrugs. “And she probably won’t care. But ... maybe we should keep it, sort of ... to ourselves for now. She’d never intentionally give anything away, but she’d probably write it in The Book and what if she left that lying around? We’ll keep it to ourselves for now.”

I sigh. It makes sense, of course, but we’d gotten so close over the summer ... it’s sort of like she’s my sister, or my mother, or my wife, or my daughter all rolled into one big ball of Marty-ness. Or something. It’s weird keeping something so huge from her.

“I agree with Padfoot,” James says solemnly. “You don’t want to risk it, mate. Not yet. Wait until we’re sure we can trust her.”

I nod. “Yeah. Okay. Fine. But ... it’s just so awkward. Especially with that book of hers, taking those notes, asking questions ...”

“Maybe we should do a test,” Peter says out of the blue. We look at him.

“What?” asks Sirius.

“A test. You know, we could tell her something no one else knows ... but that isn’t Remus being a werewolf. And see if she keeps it.”

It’s kind of deceitful. And a little mistrustful really. I should trust her simply because she’s my friend, not because we’ve put her through a test. But at the minute ... it’s probably the best I can get away with.

All right then. A test it is.

[Marty]

After a summer away, the dorm hasn’t changed much. Back when we were first and second years, we would barely speak on the first night, we were so sleepy, but now we’re sixteen we have a little more endurance. Surprisingly, I’m not only included in the conversation, but kind of central to it.

“Martina Price, you dark horse, how did you do it?” Phyll asks outright. I presume she is talking about the Marauders.

“Do what?” I ask, deciding feigning innocence for the time being.

“Don’t give us that,” Mary says, rolling her eyes. “You know what. How did you make friends with James Potter?”

“Who cares about that idiot?” Phyll shoots back at her. “How did you get in with Sirius, Marty? And don’t pretend you don’t know what we mean. The whole school saw you sitting with them at the Feast; not to mention the train.”

Never mind that my Mum died over the holiday or anything. What’s really important is that I made friends with Sirius Black.

“I bumped into them and we got talking,” I say, shrugging. And then I lived with one of them for the remaining summer. But that really would send them over the edge with jealousy. “That’s all.”

Mary snorts with disbelief. “Whatever. That is clearly not all. I mean, I’ve spoken to them before and I’m not their new best buddy.”

Lily looks up from the slow, methodical unpacking of her things. She says nothing, but raises an eyebrow. Roxie hasn’t said anything yet either, but that’s because she hardly ever does. I wonder why Lily is keeping out of it? Probably because she doesn’t like the Marauders all that much.

“I don’t know why they accepted me, Mary, maybe they just liked me,” I suggest, not really thinking it through but realising from the look on her face that maybe I should have done.

“Are you trying to say that they didn’t like me?” Oops. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.

“Geez, Marty, you make some friends for the first time in your life and suddenly you’re better than us?” Phyll asks, sounding incredulous.

“Of course not, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I was feeling a little shaky �“”

“So you thought, hey, I know what’ll make me feel better. Tricking the most popular boys in school into thinking that I’m actually worth knowing!” Phyll asks, flaring up. Mary looks quite shocked at the outburst on her behalf, but says nothing.

“No, it wasn’t like that! They were the ones who invited me ...” I insist, feeling a weird urge to defend myself over it.

“You didn’t turn them down though, did you?” she asks, nastily.

“Why would I? I just told you, I was feeling really low. Look, I don’t know if you realised, but over the holidays �“”

“What? Something earth shattering, I suppose? Did one of your lunatic petitions get ignored?”

“Phyll,” Lily says softly. “Leave it.”

“No! What could possibly be so bad, that �“”

“Her Mum was killed,” Lily says. She tries to catch my eye, but I turn away and won’t let her. Hearing it said so bluntly was like a stab in the chest.

“Yeah ... well ...” Phyll suddenly sounds uncomfortable. “Still doesn’t give her the right to ... to ...”

“What?” I snap, whipping around. “Make something good come out of it? Distract myself from thoughts of losing the person who I thought would always be there for me? Yeah, Phyllis, I see what you mean. I’m such a bitch.”

I climb into bed and draw the curtains shut. There is a loud silence. Eventually, I hear the others go to their own beds and go to sleep. Or so I thought, until much later, when I hear, oddly enough, Roxie’s voice speak up softly.

“Marty?”

“Yes?” I reply, more intrigued than anything. It’s not often Roxie says something without being asked or it being a necessity. She’s not shy, it’s just not her way.

“I’m really sorry about what happened to your Mum.”

I pause for a moment without saying anything. I can’t really think of anything to say. But I suppose I can’t just leave something like that hanging. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, me too,” Mary says from the darkness. “I was on holiday so I missed a lot of the news. Otherwise I would never have been so insensitive.”

“That’s okay,” I reply. “You couldn’t have known.”

Now, Lily speaks up, too. Blimey. Is anyone actually asleep? “It must have been horrible,” she says.

“It was,” I reply, not wanting to go into detail. “But I’m okay.”

There is another long silence, this one much more comfortable.

“I’m sorry, too,” Phyll eventually tells me. It takes me rather by surprise and now I really can’t think of anything to say.

Eventually, I settle for the only thing that occurs to me. I take a deep breath. See, while the others were sorry that my mum was killed, I think Phyll is sorry for something else.

“It’s okay,” I say, thinking of the harsh, mocking words she had said and trying not to think on them for too long. “I forgive you.”

*~*~*

AN: Hmm ... so, things going well? How are you liking it? Please review!

EXCLUSIVE interview with Marauder James Potter

Interviewer (I): Hey there, James, thanks for letting me do this.
James (J): Oh, er ... that’s all right.
I: Tell me, what do you like best about being a Marauder?
J: Well ... mostly it’s just the fun of it. Also, everyone really likes you. Well, everyone that actually counts as a person.
I: Do you ever feel pressure to be liked? Does it ever influence you in any way, to keep up that image?
J: Nah, people like me for who I am ... I can’t help it if that’s just naturally fantastic.
Lily Evans, who happens to be walking by (L): You’re such a dandelion, James Potter.
J: Dandelion? What does that even mean?
L: It means I hate you.
I: So ... everyone likes you, huh? I can see that. Tell me, what’s your most treasured memory as a Marauder?
J: Well, it has to be every minute I spend with that little firecracker, for sure.
I: Yes, but we all know your true feelings about her, don’t we?
J: Me? Feelings? I don’t have them, Marty. Only lots and lots of pride.
I: All right, then ... one last thing. If the naming of this book was up to you, what would you call it?
J: Good question ... but the only title even worth considering, is The Marauder Bonanza Extravaganza!
I (Laughing): Great, I like it!
J: I’m glad. Will you use it?
I: No.

Chapter Eleven: The Trust Test

[Remus]

We spend the next few days discussing various secrets to tell Marty for the Trust Test. It’s harder than you would think; if she tells, it can’t be something too incriminating. But it has to be something worth keeping too, otherwise she probably wouldn’t think there would be too much of a problem with telling it. But we’re mostly pretty open people anyway, apart from the werewolf and the Animagi thing. It’s hard enough to keep that one secret, so we’re mostly honest about everything else ... and apart from me, none of us are naturally secretive (and I only am because I have to be). So there isn’t anything much that people don’t already know ... especially people who take daily observations of us. After lots of hushed discussions the few times Marty isn’t around, we begin to get frustrated.

“For goodness sake,” Sirius groans at the back of one of our Transfiguration classes, just as the bell goes and we all scrape our chairs back and begin to leave. “This is getting stupid now. Don’t wait for me.”

Marty catches us up from the front of the room, where she had been partnering Lily.

“Hi, guys!” she chirps. “Whatcha talking about?”

“Oh the usual,” I say, glancing at Sirius for a second. “Death, destruction, dramatics. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

She laughs. “Nice alliteration. Can I write that down?”

“Uh ... sure. But during lunch, yeah? I’m starved.”

I guide her out of the classroom, James and Peter following behind. I turn at the last second and look at Sirius, who nods and holds up two fingers. Two minutes.

We sit down at the Gryffindor table and I pick up one of the sandwiches.

“Where’s Sirius?” asks Marty.

“Oh, he’s probably fine,” James says a tad too quickly. “Probably got his head stuck in a door or something. He’ll be along soon.”

Marty says nothing, but instead takes out her notebook and starts writing. It’s always a little uncomfortable when she does this, so James diverts the attention to his adopted first year.

You see, when he accidentally terrified that small first year girl at the sorting feast, he felt so guilty that he’s been trying to make it up to her ever since. I’m not sure if it’s working, because she always seems permanently afraid when he talks to her, like she’s worried he’s about to laugh at her or something ... I suppose she’s heard all about our reputation by now. But the more scared she gets, the more determined James is to stop her being afraid of him.

“How are you doing today?” he asks her. It’s not a coincidence that she’s always nearby at mealtimes ... James makes sure of that.

“Um ... fine.”

“Yeah? Great! You know, I don’t even know your name yet. Which is a shame, since you’re basically my daughter now.”

Her large eyes widen even further and are magnified by her glasses a little. “Luanne Yearnings,” she says. “Um ... why am I your daughter?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” James says, looking thoughtful. “It just feels like we have a connection, doesn’t it?”

She gulps and says, as if trying out what it’s like to be sassy, “Actually ... no.” Then goes bright red.

He laughs. “Did you hear that, Wormtail? This girl’s awesome! She’s got snap!”

“What exactly is snap?” I ask, smirking. Honestly, the harder he tries to be cool, the more he embarrasses himself. Maybe he really IS her father.

She giggles. I think it’s the first time she’s shown anything other than fright in front of us. James looks proud.

We are so distracted by this milestone in their father-daughter relationship, that it comes as a surprise when Sirius plonks himself down with us, looking shifty.

“Hi, guys. Hey kid,” he nods at Luanne.

“Her name ...” James says over-protectively, “is Louise.”

“No it’s not.” She looks offended that her, um, ‘father’ already forgot her name. “It’s Luanne.”

James coughs. “Her name ...” he begins again, just as threateningly, “is Luanne.”

“Uh ... yeah. Anyway. Do any of you guys know who has McGonagall next?”

I shake my head. “Beats me. Uh ... Hufflepuff, maybe?”

“What year?”

“I don’t know, could be any of them. Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, no reason ... I need an accomplice, that’s all.”

Luanne coughs. We turn and look at her. She really is getting braver. “I don’t have her next lesson ... but I do have her after that. I mean, if that would work ...”

Sirius nods. “Excellent idea. Thanks, uh ... Lu ... Lu ... Lu-Lu. Do you mind if I call you Lu-Lu?”

She shrugs.

“Well, Lu-Lu, you will be our eyes and our ears in that lesson ... but not our noses, because I don’t think that will make much difference to the overall outcome. Still, if you notice anything substantially different ... anyway. Watch McGonagall like a hawk. Agreed? Yes? Excellent.”

We all want to know what exactly Sirius has done and why he has enlisted the help of little Luanne, whose name we only learnt mere minutes ago. But it must be something to do with the Trust Test, so we say nothing and carry on the day normally. Two lessons later, we retire to the Common Room to get in a bit of extra studying before dinner. Or in my case it’s studying. James and Sirius are playing chess, while Peter commentates in his most irritating voice and Marty plots her next action plan for her current Cause.

She has moved on from Pixies and is now trying to preserve our wizarding heritage, in the form of some old building the Ministry wants to pull down, where apparently some elderly important person once lived. Occasionally she stops to take some notes on the chess game and how the strategies they use give away aspects of their personalities or something crazy like that. Mostly, I am concentrating on this Arithmancy problem that’s making my brain claustrophobic.

After fifteen minutes of this excitement, I am considering casting myself off the Astronomy Tower, so am eternally thankful that Luanne provides a distraction.

“Uh ... hi,” she says nervously.

“Hi, sweetie,” James says in a worryingly parent-like manner. “How was your lesson?”

She looks thoroughly weirded-out at being called ‘sweetie’ by a mentally disturbed sixth year, so just shrugs. “It was okay. I did what you asked,” she says to Sirius.

Sirius looks down at the chess board on the table and sees that he is losing. In one swift movement, the board and it’s pieces are shoved onto the floor and he indicates for her to sit on the little table.

“Tell all,” he says complacently.

Unsurely, she perches on the edge of the table. “Well, mostly she seemed normal, though maybe a bit more stressed than usual.”

James takes the pet Snitch that he nicked from the store cupboards last year and begins playing with it subconsciously. He often does this when trying to concentrate on what someone is saying. Marty notices this and scribbles it down.

“And the lesson was a bit different to normal. Usually, she talks for a bit and we take notes and then she does a demonstration, which is often quite impressive and then next we �“”

“Lu-Lu, we’re sixth years, we know her basic lesson structure. What was different?”

“I dunno, she just handed out these books and made us takes notes from them. It wasn’t even really relevant to the topic we’re supposed to be doing. And when we asked why we weren’t doing practical, she sort of snapped at us but didn’t really answer the question.” She pulls a face. “It was dead boring, actually.”

Sirius grins. “Lu-Lu, you are a gem among children.”

She frowns. “I kind of changed my mind ... please don’t call me Lu-Lu. And I’m not a child.”

James chuckles. “Ah, they grow up so fast ...”

[Marty]

After talking to James’s newest addition to his family, in the form of a first year he ‘adopted’, we go down to dinner.

“See you later!” James calls to her. “Wrap up warm!”

“Where do you think this natural parenting instinct has materialised from?” I ask him, taking out my notebook. It’s a good thing that writing and walking is a skill I’ve developed over the years.

“I dunno, I just feel this strange need to keep her safe ... she’s kind of innocent and timid. She needs a father figure I think.”

“So do lots of first years.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t personally terrify them, the way I did her. So I don’t really owe them anything.”

Marauder James Potter has apparently got an overwhelmingly strong moral and fatherly instinct, I write. It will be interesting to see how this relationship develops.

The others chat for a while and I am left with my thoughts until we reach the Great Hall and start putting the food onto our plates. Halfway through the meal, Professor McGonagall comes storming in through the doors and stands at the front of the room.

“May I have your attention,” she calls. The lines on her brow seem a little deeper than usual and her mouth is a little thinner.

Okay, a lot thinner.

“Today, sometime in between your lunch hour and the lesson afterwards, something was stolen from my desk drawers. I am not going to tell you what, because the culprit already knows. However, it is an item that is essential to the education of many of the students in this school and not something that the offender could perceivably find useful, indicating that this is nothing put a petty joke. Can I just ask now that the culprit return the item, anonymously or otherwise. If they come forwards before the end of the day, they will not be punished. Act now or it will be worse for you later.”

There is an interested murmur as she walks around the table and takes her seat, before leaning in closer to Professor Dumbledore and talking hurriedly with him.

I look over at Sirius. “Okay,” I say, putting down my fork and folding my arms. “What did you take?”

“What did I ... take?” he asks innocently, as if ‘take’ isn’t even in his vocabulary and he had never heard such a strange arrangement of letters before.

“You heard,” I say sharply. “I’m not stupid. No one does petty jokes like you four and you were acting extremely shifty after our lesson with her. I don’t observe things for nothing, you know. Now what is it?”

“It was nothing, really ... only one or two things ... only her lesson plans for the next month ...”

“Sirius! What use could you possibly have for that?”

“More than you think?” he suggests hopefully. James smirks and, as often happens, I feel as if there is something I’m missing.

“Don’t tell anyone,” James says hurriedly, as Lily comes over our way. I sigh and nod.

“Can you believe that?” Lily asks, sitting next to us. “What do you think was taken?”

“Maybe ... her wand?” suggests Peter. Sometimes it scares me how well all four of them can act.

Lily looks amazed. “Do you think that might be it? Sweet Merlin, that would be awful! And so unbelievably ... well, like she said. Petty. Marty, do you know what it is?”

All the dorm girls have been being nicer to me lately. Lily was always okay anyway, but she tries to include me even more. It must be my Mum ... they probably feel sorry for me. I don’t want them to, but it’s better than them hating me, I suppose.

Now ... is it me or did all of the Marauders lean in a little closer when Lily asked me that? Because it’s not often just me.

“I haven’t a clue,” I say, throwing them a defiant look. Who do they think I am, anyway? Someone who can’t keep a secret? They should know by now that they can trust me ... I only spent pretty much the whole summer with them, after all.

Even so, they still look a lot happier when I say that, so maybe they didn’t quite trust me as much as I thought. Well, I’ll show them. Just as soon as I get Sirius to return the lesson plans. Honestly, how stupid can you get? I thought he had a little more tact than that, at least, but obviously not.

[Remus]

When we have eaten our dinner and left without Lily, Marty stops pretending and turns to Sirius angrily.

“Right, mister, are you listening? I want you to return those lesson plans with a note apologising for being so foolish. You heard Luanne, it was boring doing a cover lesson. Do you really want to bore the students to death? Would you like that, if you were in first year and you had to suffer for some idiot’s actions?”

James laughs loudly. “That told you, Padfoot! You got told off! It’s the naughty corner for you, my friend! Now go along and do what Mummy-Marty says, why don’t you? You should know by now that stealing is wrong ...”

Sirius glares at him. Marty looks as if she is trying not to smile to herself as she looks over at James.

“That reminds me,” she says. “You can take back that Snitch you stole too. You’re no better than he is.”

His face falls and Peter and I begin snorting with laughter. “Not fair!” he protests.

“Go on, both of you! Hop to it! Sirius, Transfiguration classroom. James, Quidditch store cupboard. Go on, what are you waiting for? Chop, chop!”

They both slouch off in different directions. She looks pleased with herself.

“I can’t believe they actually listened to you,” I tell her. She shakes her head.

“Neither can I ... still, we wouldn’t want James to be a bad influence on Luanne, would we?”

“Not if it’s so funny watching him get yelled at,” Peter says, laughing. She grins.

The next three weeks pass by all too quickly for my liking; especially because I know what’s at the end of it. Unfortunately, however, the full moon soon rolls around. I am ill all day, as usual (something that hasn’t escaped Marty’s notice).

“I, uh, think I’m going to go and see Madam Pomfrey,” I announce. I know she won’t question this, as she’s been pestering me about it all day anyway.

“Right ... yeah, good idea,” Sirius says, nodding. I have to admit, it does feel weird lying to Marty. We’ve tested her trust a couple more times over the last few weeks and she’s always come up trumps. So why do I feel so uncomfortable about telling her? Now that it’s come to the next transformation and I think about what I’ll be going through soon, the idea of anyone knowing, anyone at all, makes me feel sick and ashamed. What was I thinking? Why did I even consider inflicting this on someone else? Sirius, James and Peter are different. They found out for themselves. Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell her. She doesn’t need that hanging over her all the time, making her worry. No, sir.

I make my way out into the Grounds and over to the Whomping Willow. I use a stick to keep it still and crawl through. I could have sworn this passage used to be wider ...

Half an hour later, my friends arrive.

“Hey, Moony,” James says kindly. He looks outside at the sun as it sets. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

[Marty]

The Marauders have left. Remus was ill and went to see Madam Pomfrey and the other three soon followed. They claimed that they hadn’t been exploring in a while and wanted to do that for a bit. I asked if they were going to wait for Remus to get back, but they said he probably wouldn’t. It seems a bit mean to go without him, but who knows how their minds work? I’m just a lowly people-watcher.

I put down my quill and sigh. I used to spend hours and hours alone. It’s funny how quickly you get used to company ... and how horrible it feels to be on your own when that company leaves again.

It’s one of those really dead evenings. No one is doing anything interesting. Everyone is either studying, or having lazy conversations, or just sitting in a chair looking bored. Normally around now, the Marauders would liven things up a bit, but ... well. Who knows where they are?

I should write to Aunt Tabby. She’s not heard from me in ages, even though I got a letter telling me that she’s reopened Taffy’s �“ finally �“ and things are going well and she sends her love. I feel sort of guilty that I haven’t bothered to reply to that letter and yet I have written to Mrs Lupin twice now.

When I have drafted something passably cheery, I copy it out again in neat and decide to take the walk up to the Owlery. If I go now, I should be back before Curfew easily ...

As I walk along the corridors, I am not even thinking about anything to do with where the Marauders might be during their exploring. I pass by one of the windows and movement outside catches my eye. I stop and look out.

A wolf comes streaking out of the forest, followed closely by a large black dog. They begin to wrestle ... it looks quite violent. A large male deer then comes charging at them, head down. It hits them both with its strong looking antlers and they separate and go flying. The stag herds the wolf back inside the forest, as the dog pulls itself up and follows not far behind.

My eyes slowly look upwards. A large full moon fills the sky. Did I just see a real werewolf?

I turn around and run back to the Common Room, my heart racing. How did a werewolf get into the forest? And what did those other animals have to do with it? What poor soul has been cursed and forced to live in the forest? And why did my friends choose tonight to go wandering ... of all nights! How stupid are they? Didn’t they realise?

I wait in an armchair for them all night. Tomorrow is Thursday and we will have lessons, but I am not worried about going to sleep. This is more important ... I’ll just have to do shoddy work tomorrow. So be it.

Curfew comes and goes. Midnight comes and goes. Not one of them returns. I am positively sick with terror, yet somehow fall into a fitful sleep, to be woken much later by someone shaking my arm. I open my eyes.

It is Sirius. He a small scar on his cheek and looks tired around his eyes, but he seems cheerful enough.

“Come on, Sleepyhead,” he tells me. “We have to go to Charms.”

“What are you doing? Where were you last night? Why didn’t you come back from your �“ your �“ your investigations, or whatever they were?”

“Of course we did,” he says. “I’m here, aren’t I? You must have gone to sleep. I thought we told you not to wait for us?”

I would laugh, but I’m too sleepy. “Yeah, ’cause I was going to listen to that. Where are the others?”

“James and Peter are stealing as much breakfast as they can, we’ll have to have it at the back in Charms. We all overslept a bit.”

I am waking up now. The story just isn’t convincing. “What about Remus? And Sirius, were you aware that last night was the full �“”

“Come on,” he grabs my arm and drags me out of the armchair. “No time for chat. I’m afraid you won’t be able to shower or anything until break, we’re really late. Honestly, Marty, I thought you were more responsible than this ...”

I don’t appreciate being dragged around the school like this and I keep trying to interrogate him about the werewolf, but I can’t get a word in edgeways. Either they’re rambling on about nothing in particular, or they’re having their own loud conversations and ignoring me if I try and steer the talk to something a little more useful. Somehow they manage to keep it up all through the first two lessons and when it gets to break, they shove me in the direction of the Common Room (and showers) and leave without me.

Well. That’s not what I would call very polite, if you ask me. Normally I would go and visit Remus (who is apparently still in the Hospital Wing, but for some reason I’m just not buying it. They’re trying way too hard to avoid the subject and way too hard to be casual). But the truth is, I would like to make myself more presentable ... I’ve not had a chance to look in a mirror, but I can see that yesterday’s uniform is all wrinkled and to be honest, I probably smell pretty bad. I don’t even want to think about my hair.

So I storm back to the Common Room and then up to the dormitory. It’s eerily quiet in there during the day ... no one is yelling at each other or anything. It just doesn’t seem right.

After a quick shower, I take my wand and flick my hair dry, then put on a fresh pair of robes �“ ah, bliss! �“ and am satisfied that I no longer look like a banshee. Not that I’m really a vain person, but still, a girl has to have pride. I go downstairs, just as someone climbs through the portrait hole and into the Common Room.

It is Remus. Like Sirius, there is a scar down his cheek and a couple of other nicks and cuts, although they are mostly healed. What’s most shocking is that he looks absolutely shattered �“ even more than usual, I mean. After worrying about him all day, I go from complete and utter relief, to a fierce and terrifying anger.

“Where the hell do you think you’ve been?” I screech, striding up to him and staring him right in the face. Unlike the others, he doesn’t try to stop me or make up some excuse and change the subject. Thank Merlin. I might just have had to murder him myself. “Do you not know how dangerous it is? There was a werewolf in the forest! A real live werewolf, Remus! And how did you get those injuries? Sweet Merlin, did you meet it? Are you okay? I swear I’m going to murder you, do you even know how scared I was? Hospital Wing my arse. Anything could have happened to you!”

“Marty,” he says tiredly. “Marty, calm down.”

“I will NOT bloody calm down, Remus, and don’t expect me to after something like this! Where the hell did you go? And don’t lie to me, because I’m not an idiot. And did you not hear the part about the WEREWOLF in the forest? Who do you think it was? Someone from the village? How stupid are you to go out wandering on full moon? In this day and age!” I don’t care that I’m overreacting. I can’t believe how scared it made me, not knowing where he was after what I’d seen last night. The other three are capable of looking after themselves but Remus is so vulnerable sometimes that I can’t help but worry over him.

“Marty,” he says again. “Marty, the thing is ...”

“WHAT?” I screech, practically pulling my hair out in fury �“ but at least I manage not to pull his. It’s pretty difficult.

“It’s just ...” he looks so sad, so tired, so pathetic. My anger dissolves. I just want to grab hold and hug him until he gets some life back, but I don’t think I could risk snapping him in half.

“What?” I ask, much more softly.

“The thing is ...” he seems to be gathering all his strength. “The werewolf was me.”

Wait a second ... what did he just say?

*~*~*

AN: =O That’s right, guys ... the chapter ends there! Because I am evil. So, what do you think? How will Marty react to THAT little bombshell? Only I know the truth ...

AN: If you don’t remember what happened last time, you might want to re-read the last paragraph or two of Chapter Eleven, because this one picks up right where we left off.


The Marauders are some of the most loyal friends you could meet. Not necessarily to me, but to each other. Even though they spend half their time mocking one another, they still never hesitate to help each other out if it’s needed. Like when that Snape guy was starting to pick a fight with Remus and the other three weren’t even nearby, but somehow they just seemed to know what was happening, dropped everything and were by his side to help out if a duel started. And the way, in turn for that sort of thing, Remus always checks over their homework (James and Sirius may be brilliant, but they can’t always write things down perfectly and tend to rush it so they can have more time for what they really want to be doing, which is often hilarious and always illegal). I can’t imagine one of them ever doing anything to betray the others ... they all trust each other too much. They’d do anything for each other. Probably more than most people realise. Even I, their main observer, didn’t realise the true fierceness of their loyalty until they accepted me as a friend.

Chapter Twelve: Asparagus

[Marty]

For a moment, it as if all air has left the room. My lips are slightly parted and I am staring straight into Remus’s eyes, waiting for them to look away or crease with laughter and it all be a big joke. I close my mouth and swallow. I still can’t look away. It’s as if I can’t process anything that’s happening. It can’t be real ... it can’t be true. He’s my friend. Things like that don’t happen to people I know. They happen to other people.

Except ... they don’t. Look at my Mum. That didn’t happen to other people ... that happened to me.

As my Mum crosses my mind, I remember something she once said to me. She said that we should never, under any circumstances, think badly of someone because of something outside their control.

Finally, the spell seems to be broken and Remus turns away; but he’s not laughing. And I didn’t really expect him to be. You don’t joke about something like that.

“I understand, of course,” he mutters, his hand reaching round the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t expect you to want to stay friends. Not many would, not knowing what I am. It’s been nice knowing you of course, but ... well ... can’t really expect ...”

I clear my throat and say in what I hope is a cheery and positive voice, “What are you talking about? Why would I not be friends with you? Hey, I know �“ why don’t I start a new campaign? I could raise werewolf awareness. You could be our spokesperson!”

He stares back at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more surprised looking. I smile at him widely. All right, I don’t really feel all that cheerful. At all. He’s my friend. I want to throw my arms around him and burst into tears, it hurts so much knowing what has happened to him. The cheerfulness is a complete act. I don’t want to think about him going through that every month. But he certainly doesn’t need me making an issue about it either.

“Are you serious?” he asks. He looks as if he’s trying not to be too hopeful.

“Of course,” I chirp, though I’m still fighting down my emotions. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

To be honest, if he hadn’t have seemed so worried about it, I don’t think it would have occurred to me that I should stop being friends with him over this. I’m just devastated that he’s been cursed so horribly; when he’s such a nice guy, too. No one as nice and friendly as him deserves something like that ... he’s just too ... too ... well, nice.

The bell rings. “Bugger,” he says.

“Bugger,” I agree. “I have to go to Transfiguration.”

“What do you mean, you have to go? So do I,” he says, turning to face the portrait hole.

“Aren’t you too tired?” I ask.

“I’ve felt worse. Come on!” He grabs my hand and we break into a run.

[Remus]

Marty’s reaction surprises me quite a bit. Okay, a whole bloody lot. I honestly hadn’t planned on telling her. I was going to confirm my friends’ assurances that I was in the Hospital Wing and say no more about it. But she was so angry and concerned and ... I don’t know. Clean. Fresh. Her eyes were so big and full of emotion that I just couldn’t help but tell her the truth. Even though I was so sure she would recoil away, or worse, suddenly go cold on me. But I couldn’t lie.

And I guess honesty pays off. Because I could tell she was shocked ... but she just sort of ... it was weird. She was just asking if she could start a campaign about me for The Cause, it didn’t seem to affect her at all ... I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d said, ”is that all?”

I wasn’t actually planning on going to Transfiguration, you know. But I was so relieved and knowing that she knew left me feeling so free. I didn’t feel so exhausted anymore. I just got this insane urge to spend time with her and what more fitting way than in class? We might even learn something ... even though we’re horribly late.

“McGonagall’s going to kill us!” Marty hisses, as we hover outside the closed doors to the classroom.

“No she won’t. Don’t worry, being a Marauder has its perks,” I assure her, then cough as loudly as I can. Marty grabs my arm.

“What are you doing?” she whispers urgently. I pull her to the side so that if someone opens the door and looks forward, they won’t see us ... as long as they don’t look to the left, of course.

But I needn’t have worried, because after waiting only a second, there is a large crash from inside and several people scream.

“What the �“”

“Shush, come on.” I grab her wrist and open the door a fraction. Inside, I see that the chandelier behind McGonagall’s desk has fallen and several people are crowding around it, coughing at the dust. I open the door a fraction more and slip in, pulling Marty with me. Bent over �“ as if that will somehow make us invisible �“ we hurry across to the empty desks near the rest of the Marauders, who have mercifully sat at the back.

“Hey, Moony,” James says casually. “Hey, Marty.”

“Thanks, guys,” I say, putting my bag on the desk and taking out my things as fast as I can, while McGonagall tries to get the girls at the front to go and sit back down so she can levitate the chandelier back up without risking hitting any of them. Marty looks shocked.

“Did you guys do that?” she asks. Sirius looks at her like she’s insane.

“Well, yes.”

Her shocked face turns into a grin. “That’s brilliant! And the coughing, that was a signal we were outside?”

“Yes ...” Peter says slowly, as if she’s dense. “I’d have thought you would already have known about the Late Drill. We’ve done it often enough.”

She shakes her head. “I guess I never made the connection. You guys are good.”

She sits down next to me and takes out her own things, including her notebook, which she immediately starts scribbling in. Even though it’s still weird when she does this, even I’ve managed to get used to it and it was me who hated it so much in the first place. Actually, I kind of find it quite funny now. All that’s left is for me to get used to that weird thing she has against pumpkin juice (although we can’t ask for miracles).

Eventually, McGonagall somehow manages to restore normality, meaning that the girls at the front finally accept that they aren’t all going to die and sit back down.

Lily turns around in her seat in front of us. “Nice one,” she says.

“Why thank you,” James replies, pleasantly surprised. I think he missed the sarcasm in her voice somehow. She just smiles ... only in an I-don’t-actually-mean-this-smile-I-was-being-sarcastic-you-dolt kind of way. Although James misses that part too. Hey probably thinks it’s a smile which is beaming down her omni-benevolent love on his well-deserving face. Or at least, that’s what he probably thinks.

“Right,” McGonagall says, looking a little flustered, but the chandelier is repaired and attached to the ceiling. “Do any of you happen to know how that happened?”

“You know,” James says loudly. “The same thing happened in Arithmancy the other day. And Defence Against the Dark Arts. Maybe Peeves has figured out how to become invisible.”

Lily turns around in her seat again, looking incredulous, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Oh! Yes, Professor, it’s true,” Mary MacDonald says. “I was there!”

Well. No need to ask why she said that. Especially when she glances over at James and smiles in what she obviously thinks is a completely irresistible fashion.

McGonagall looks unsure, but she probably doesn’t want to waste any more time. “All right then. Now, I want you all to get into pairs while I hand out the asparagus ...”

I look over at Marty. She is about to say something to Lily, probably thinking I will go with Peter, but I stop her.

“I’ll go with you,” I say. She looks surprised, but smiles and nods.

“Hey!” Peter protests. “Who will I go with?”

James looks over at him. He has that look in his eyes that he gets when he thinks he has a really good idea. Which means it’s a very, very bad idea.

“You go with Padfoot, Wormtail. Hey, Lily! Lily! Wanna go with the best Transfiguration student in the room?”

She turns around. “Oh, is Remus free then?” she asks, smirking. James barely bats an eyelid.

“Not today, my love. You can come with me though. How about it? Asparagus won’t be the same without you.”

She looks �“ amazingly �“ like she might actually be considering it, no matter how reluctantly.

“If you promise not to be an idiot,” she says carefully.

James looks offended. “I’m never an idiot.”

“Okay, then if you promise not to be a totally and completely insufferable prat.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s a deal.”

He stands up and sits on the desk in front of him, then swings his legs over and hops off the other side so that he can take the seat next to Lily.

“Suave,” she comments dryly.

“You can count on it,” he replies. Even she cannot help but smiling a little.

“So,” I say breezily to Marty. “Asparagus, eh? What do you think we’re supposed �“”

“So that’s why there were all those books on lycanthropy in your house?” Marty asks suddenly.

“Um. Yes.” Damn. I thought I had hidden those quite well. I guess some things you just can’t keep from her.

“Since when? I mean ... how old were you?”

Okay, this is uncomfortable. “I was just a kid. Not very old at all. I don’t really remember it.”

“How old?” she repeats fiercely. I swallow.

“Four.”

She goes pale. Maybe she isn’t as okay with it as I thought.

“Really,” I assure her. “It was a long time ago.”

“So yesterday, in the forest ... that was you? What if you’d hurt someone?”

I sigh and lean back in my seat, while James and Lily bicker about who should be the first to try the spell. I imagine James is having the time of his life. “I wouldn’t have hurt anyone, Marty. I worry that I might, but I know I wouldn’t. James, Sirius and Peter wouldn’t let me.”

There is a pause. “But what can they do? Surely they can’t get too close?”

“No, you’re right. They can’t. They’re human beings. They would get eaten.”

She doesn’t seem to understand, but I want her to figure out for herself. “Well that’s what I’m saying,” she insists. “So how will you not hurt them?”

“They can’t get too close as humans,” I say meaningfully. “But the wolf has no problem with anything that isn’t human.”

“Which is too bad,” she says slowly. “Since they are.”

I sigh. Maybe I should have gone to bed, after all. “What else did you see last night? When you saw me?”

She shrugs. “There was a big dog and a deer with you, too.”

Uh oh. “Ssssh!” I put my finger to my lips. “Don’t let James hear you calling him a deer!”

“The deer was James?”

“No,” I say hurriedly, glancing over at him. He REALLY doesn’t like being called a deer. REALLY. “The stag was James.”

“A stag is just a male deer,” Marty points out. Which is true.

“You know what?” I say. “Let’s try and Transfigure this asparagus ...”

[Marty]

So, it seems that not only is Remus a werewolf (I don’t know how I managed to miss that little bit of information) but his friends became illegal Animagi to help him. Illegally. I always knew they were loyal ... but still. I didn’t think they would have done something illegally.

“So you’d be interested in my current Cause, then, wouldn’t you?” I ask Remus a little later in Transfiguration, when we have moved on from asparaguses to pineapples. He looks unsure.

“Isn’t it about some ... house in Hogsmeade ... or something?”

“Yes. Which the Ministry seems to want to destroy, despite its deep political heritage, what with it being the birth and death place of Eugene Cardrac.”

“Right. Yes. What does that have to do with me?”

Honestly. Sometimes I think that those four don’t even listen to me when I’m telling them about my campaigns. “Because he was one of the first supporters of werewolf rights ... ever.”

Remus looks up. “Really?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, really. He tried very hard to stop the prosecution of innocent victims, he was way ahead of his time in that thinking and a lot of people still haven’t caught up with him, even though it was in the mid nineteenth century. He was laughed out of the Wizengamot, but he still carried on trying to raise awareness for what he thought was right.”

Remus looks fascinated. “You never mentioned that,” he says.

“Of course I did. I told you he was a strong moral supporter of the rights of the oppressed underdogs of Wizarding Society.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make any sense, how was I supposed to know you were talking about werewolves?”

“And also goblins and centaurs and vampires and many other of the oppressed underdogs of Wizarding Society.”

“Vampires? Why do they deserve rights?”

I stare at him. That is exactly the kind of intolerance which has meant he himself has to hide what he really is for fear of being ... well, I don’t want to say lynched but ... well. Lynched.

“So, anyway,” I continue, deciding that that can be dealt with later. “Are you going to help me stop Cardrac House from being pulled down to be replaced by more shops? After all, the Ministry isn’t going to care about Cardrac’s heritage. He was just some crazy member of the Wizengamot who they decided had gone batty, when really he was trying to make the world a better place for those who had no power to change their own situation. We need to do something to stop it.”

Remus gulps. “Right. Uh. Yeah. Good plan. So, about these pineapples ...”

I smile. Now that I’ve been able to get used to the idea of Remus being a werewolf, it doesn’t really bother me much at all. I’m just happy they felt I could be trusted and that I can finally fill in the gaps. I mean, this pretty much explains everything, doesn’t it? So I stop quizzing poor Remus about it (after all, he is quite tired) and just have a good time with him instead. Even James and Lily seem to be enjoying themselves ... well, almost. So much so that later on in the Common Room, when I am sitting on my own in a corner (the Marauders are off exploring again), Lily comes over and sits with me, instead of Mary, Roxie and Phyll like she usually does.

“Hi, Marty,” she says. “Are you busy?”

I shake my head. “No, not really. Not at all.” Hastily, I shove my notes for The Book out of the way; after all, I have a lot to update, but I can’t risk anyone finding out about Remus. What kind of way would that be to repay his trust?

“So ...” she looks uncomfortable. “You’re friends with the Marauders now, right?”

I nod. “Sure. They’re good guys, Lily. You know that.”

She looks unsure. “But ... after what they did to Sev all those times ... I mean, Severus.”

Ah, of course. The true reason Lily has never fully trusted them. Her friendship �“ or former friendship �“ with that Snape guy.

“But, come on, Lily. See it from their point of view.” After all, I know they can bully him and believe me I don’t approve, but he’s hardly an innocent victim.

“They’re too egotistical to understand that just because people don’t worship them, it doesn’t make those people evil scum?”

“Uh. Not quite. More like ... more like they see things as very black and white and not much is really grey to them. You know. That Snape guy �“ I mean, Severus �“ kind of falls into the grey area, doesn’t he? And the Marauders can choose whether to see him as good or bad. So they see him as bad. Things are simpler for them that way.”

Lily looks like she understands, even if she’s not very happy with it. “So what am I? Good or bad?”

I smile. “Do you have to ask?”

“Even though I’m friends with �“ or used to be, anyway �“ the greyest of the grey?”

“Believe me,” I say. “James never saw you as a bad person for that.”

“We weren’t talking about James, we were talking about all four of them,” she points out. I raise my eyebrows.

“With you, Lily, it’s the same thing.”

She smiles. She can’t help it. I feel a rush of warmth for Lily Evans and I hope that this won’t be the last time she comes to sit with me. I’m grateful that I managed to make friends with the Marauders, I really am, but you can never have too many friends, right? Especially if you didn’t have any at all for a long time.

“So where are they now, those simple beings?” she asks, much more casually (which can only mean she has accepted my explanation).

I shrug. “Exploring. They do that sometimes. They’re trying to make a map of Hogwarts.”

“Don’t you want to help?”

I shake my head. “I have my own projects to be getting on with. Have you ever heard of Eugene Cardrac?”

It is Lily’s turn to shake her head. “No. What about him?”

I grin. Marty Price, you are becoming a master of making friends. If you carry on this way, you might just be Minister of Magic.

Merlin’s beard. What a good idea!

[Remus]

We come back from our highly unsuccessful explorations to find Snape waiting outside our Common Room. None of us are feeling particularly friendly, what with the utter waste of time our exploring was tonight, since it mostly involved hiding from Filch and Mrs Norris in a very small and very uncomfortable broom cupboard for two hours straight.

“Look what the Thestral dragged in,” says Sirius, under his breath.

“What are you doing here, Snivellus?” James asks. I’ll admit, he sounds forceful, but not sneering. More ... authoritative. Like a headmaster who caught a student out of bounds. Only not Dumbledore, who would probably just pretend he had gone temporarily blind and then make vaguely encouraging statements about curiosity and daring being the most important lessons of all, before wandering mysteriously away and leaving you to your trespassing. No, James sounds more like Professor McGonagall, if she were headmaster. I mean, mistress.

“Never you mind,” replies Snape. Ah, now there’s the sneering I was waiting for.

“Are you waiting for Lily?” Peter asks. James looks over at him and back at Snape. Snape says nothing.

“Well?” James barks. I sigh. Big fight, here we come. And all I really want to do is sit by the fire and finish off my Charms essay. And possibly try and get rid of the cramps in my muscles being squashed in between Sirius and Peter in that broom cupboard caused.

“I’m not,” Snape says. “I was just passing.”

“What, with a bunch of flowers just randomly, Snivelly? Why is that so hard to believe?” Sirius asks, stepping forwards. He actually makes a rather good point.

Snape reaches for his wand. We’re quicker.

Using the Levicorpus spell, James suspends Snape in the air with worrying speed. Anyone would think he’d been practising (and what’s more, they would be right, if our wake up calls for the last few weeks are any testament. One day, it would be nice to wake up because of a cockerel crowing or birds singing, but no. We get woken up by our deranged friend hanging us from the ceiling).

“Let’s get one thing straight,” James says. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the portrait hole opening, but I ignore it. “Lily ... Evans ... is ... out ... of ... bounds!” he growls, jabbing Snape in the chest with each word.

“And why are you the judge of that, Potter?” Lily asks, striding up to him. “Who made you my keeper?”

James goes pale. And �“ as I look past them and see Marty standing there, watching us threaten Snape with a horribly disappointed look on her face �“ so do I.

Bloody hell. Not again.

*~*~*

AN: Heh heh. Oops. Well, this should be good, shouldn’t it? Please leave a review ... I look forward to hearing what you think!

I would be deluded if I said the Marauders were perfect. Let’s face it. They’re sixteen year old boys. I would have to be pretty naïve to say they were never big dumb idiots. But, like most big dumb idiots, they don’t always realise it. Not really. Right? Right. They think they’re being funny. So even though they can sometimes say and do things that people wouldn’t generally think were good, it’s not like they do it out of meanness. Right? Right. And a lot of the time, they aren’t big dumb idiots at all, but are genuine human beings completely in control of their situation, who are very loyal and very funny and very good friends. Right? Right. And when they torture that Snape guy, they don’t really mean to cause harm. They just don’t know any better. Because they are big dumb idiots. Right?

Right?

Anybody?

Chapter Thirteen: Paginate

[Marty]

I survey the scene. That Snape guy is hanging in the air by his ankles. James is standing very close to him. In a threatening way, not a secret-passion-that-they’ve-been-trying-to-hide way. Because, uh ... that would be pretty disturbing. Anyway, Sirius is flanking James with his wand out. Peter and Remus are flanking Sirius, with their wands out. If I was that Snape guy (though thankfully I have slightly better personal hygiene. And I’m a girl, too, oddly enough) I would be pretty threatened. I would be quaking in my boots. I would be�“

Anyway. I had just come out of the Portrait Hole to see this little arrangement, accompanied by Lily, who was being very nice to me up until this point and who I was considering becoming best friends with, in a girly, gossiping, hair-and-make-up-experimenting, boy-discussing, friendship bracelet way. That is, I would have been if we were both eight. Fortunately, we aren’t and I was just hoping to talk to her a bit more than I used to at dinnertimes and in the dorm.

However maybe that, too, is out of the question. Because she looks angry. Very angry. Also, like she isn’t sure who she is more angry at: the Marauders for being big dumb idiots, or that Snape guy for the bunch of flowers he is clutching rather pathetically in his hands. After all ... there is no question who they had been intended for.

I decide to try and avert the mass murder that is about to happen by a nice little reminder of why we should all be friends. “Look, guys,” I begin. “I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding.”

Whew, I’m like a whirlwind of wisdom. Who knows what I could say next? It will be life changing, that’s for sure. It will bring people to their knees. A big misunderstanding! Of course! Why didn’t they think of that before?

The above sentences can be thoroughly ignored and put down to sarcasm and bitterness and self-doubt.

“Sure,” James says, sounding almost as disgusted as I am with what just came out my mouth. “I’m sure I just misunderstood when Snivellus ... when Snivellus ...”

“What?” Lily barks. “What did he do now, Potter? Enter your territory?”

“Actually ...” Sirius muses. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” almost everyone present says. Only Lily calls him ‘Black’ and James and Peter call him ‘Padfoot’. It’s only actually Remus and I who call him ‘Sirius’. That Snape guy says nothing. He just watches Lily with an unreadable expression on his face (and believe me, I’m good at reading expressions).

“It was more complicated than that,” James says (ah, now I could read his expression. I would call it his “defensive-angry-incredulous-guilty-in-love” face). “He was ... it was ... look, it was just more complicated, okay?”

“It wasn’t,” that Snape guy says. “I just came by to apologise, Lily, and �“”

“Shut up, I’m mad at you too!” Lily yells (you can probably guess the expression on her face for yourself, but just in case you can’t: very, very angry. And exasperated. But mostly angry). “What were you even doing here? You already apologised! I told you it was too late. I mean, I might have listened eventually if you properly did something to change your behaviour, but I come out for a stroll to find you in the middle of a ... a ... a brawl!”

“This isn’t really a brawl, it’s more of a confrontation,” Sirius points out unwisely (expression: thoughtful. Also slightly smug).

“I’d say more of an intimidation,” James replies, perhaps even more unwisely.

I decide it’s time for more action. As long as I don’t use the words ‘misunderstanding’, ‘big mistake’ or ‘why can’t we all just be friends?’ Or the word ‘paginate’ because that wouldn’t be relevant. At all. I can’t possible think of a word less relevant than ‘to give numbers to pages in a book or journal’.

“Come on, I’m sure we can work this out,” I say. Uh oh. I’m teetering dangerously on the edge of the one ending in ‘all just be friends’. “You know, there is something to be said for inter-house unity. It’s entirely possible that all this is stemming from deep psychological prejudices pertaining to the colour of your ties. What did a tie ever do to us? Wouldn’t it all be a lot easier if we �“” could all just be friends “�“ uh, got along like normal human beings for a change and started working on what’s important. Like. Um. Eugene Cardrac’s house not being demolished.”

“I vote that one,” Remus says quickly (expression: desperate). How nice of him.

“I vote Marty gets off the pedestal balancing on her high horse, which is galloping across her moral high ground and learns to know what she’s talking about and/or how to keep out of other people’s business,” Sirius says.

Okay. That was harsh. And eloquent.

Not knowing how I could possibly follow that up in a way which won’t lead directly or indirectly back to mass murder, I leave. Quickly. My expression ... hurt.

[Remus]

I stare after Marty in a state of shock. I can’t quite believe that I’m watching her walk away so simply, without even a word.

“You complete assholes,” Lily says almost incredulously. She begins to follow Marty, but then turns around. “All of you,” she adds, for good measure, just in case any of us presumed she was talking to someone else.

“I can’t believe I just said that,” Sirius mutters.

“Idiots,” Snape jeers. “Who do you think you are, talking to girls that way?”

It really comes to something when you’re being given lessons on social decorum from Severus Snape, hanging by his ankles in mid-air. Sirius and James seem to realise this too, because they say nothing in response.

“I should go after her,” Sirius says. “Apologise. I didn’t mean it, after all. I just said it. It didn’t mean anything ...”

I shake my head. “No. Let her cool off for a bit. Both of them,” I add, when James opens his mouth. “Let’s go and wait for them in the Common Room. They’ll be bound to come back.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Marty wouldn’t just stop being friends with us over one little thing ... would she?”

“No,” Sirius shakes his head. “Of course she wouldn’t. She needs us!”

“Yeah,” James agrees. “Yeah, without us, she’s just ... she’s just ... she’s nothing. Right, guys?”

We stand around hopelessly, looking at one another. I think we all know it’s not true. In reality, she’d be fine without us. But we’ve kind gotten used to her. A lot. Actually ... we’re the ones who need her. Even if she does have that weird thing about pumpkins.

And we need her a lot more than we realised, I think.

“I didn’t mean it,” Sirius insists pathetically.

“Personally, I think you deserve this,” Snape says. James looks at him thoughtfully, then takes out his wand and flicks it. Snape falls to the ground with a thud.

[Marty]

“I can’t believe he would say that!” I rant to Lily. “After everything, I thought I had taught them something ... about how to act, how to not be ... not be ...”

“Tosspots?” Lily supplies.

“Well, yes, although I was going to say big dumb idiots myself.”

Lily shrugs. “Same thing, really. All Marauders are the same. There’s nothing you can do about that, Marty. They are all evil and they all think they’re better than everybody else and can just stamp on other people’s feelings. It’s completely normal.”

“So you think I should just forget about it?” I ask hopefully. It does sound appealing. I could be the better person, take it in my stride, hold my head up high and start all over again, with some new training courses for them in how to be decent human beings. In fact, I could make a business out of it. I could be employed to teach idiots how to be useful and polite and give talks in schools and prisons and get awarded medals for converting the nation �“ no, the world! �“ into one that is loving and peaceful and good.

“Hell no,” Lily scoffs. “Just forget about them. Leave them to waste their lives in peace. They’re not worth the bother.”

“But they are,” I insist. “They’re misunderstood ...”

Lily shakes her head. “No way. Evil.”

“Misun �“”

“Evil.”

“Mis �“”

“EVIL. That’s final. No exceptions. Just like every other member of the male species.”

“That’s not exactly true,” I say. “I mean, I never knew my Dad, but is yours in the same league as the Marau �“ uh, as these evil men?”

Lily looks thoughtful. “That’s a good point. Every male until they are ... is thirty still too young?”

“You can’t really put an age on it,” I say. She nods.

“I suppose not. Every male up until they have children, is a completely evil waste of space and is basically just a thief of valuable oxygen. Agreed?”

“Not really.”

“Good, so we’re agreed. Now, I know you’re used to spending time with them, but how about you come round with me now instead? I know I’m friends with Roxie and Phyll and Mary, but I’ve never fit in completely, after Sev �“ Snape �“ I’m more used to a twosome. You and me, yeah Marty? How about it?”

As appealing as being Lily’s best friend sounds, I’m just not sure I can give up on the Marauders so fast. “But, Lily, you don’t understand them like I do. It’s different. Sirius wouldn’t have meant it. He’ll be sorry by now ...”

Lily sighs. “He still said it, didn’t he?”

She’s right. I know she is. But still. I observed them for so long, I took all those notes ... I was going to write their biography. An in depth, analytical study of their psychology.

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” Lily says. “Just show them what they’re missing, teach them what guilt feels like. Come on, Marty, they’ll never understand how to face up to the consequences of their mistakes if everyone forgives them all the time. It’ll be like training them to be better people.”

This gets me. Didn’t I just have a fantasy about doing that? I did? I knew it! The method might be different ... but the end is more important than the means, right? Or something like that?

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

Lily smiles assuredly. “Excellent. Now, first, you’re going to need some lessons of your own. First up, no matter how much they beg, I want you to ignore them.”

I nod. Ignore. Right. Only ... “Wouldn’t it be better if I gave them an evil look or something?” I ask. Lily considers this.

“Show me your best evil look,” she says eventually.

“What, now?”

She sighs. “We’ll have to assess whether it’s better that way or not, based on the quality of the evil.”

I take a deep breath and gather my strength. Narrowing my eyes and pursing my lips, I glare at Lily as if she’s one of the Marauders themselves. Only the thing is, I actually really like the Marauders and as soon as the corners of her mouth twitch, we both burst into peals of laughter.

“Oh, Marty,” she gasps after a minute. “You’re a terrible actress!” Which only sets us off again.

Eventually we calm down and I say, “Maybe just ignore them, then?”

She nods, still chuckling. “It would probably be best if you avoid them altogether. We can’t risk you giggling whenever you meet their eyes ... that will hardly make them learn how to feel guilt. Complete indifference, that ought to do it.”

I look at Lily. Her morning violin playing has picked up recently, gone from mournful to something a bit more cheery. Personally, I think it’s her separation from that Snape guy, who only ever seemed to bring her trouble. At least, that’s all I ever saw. Maybe they were great friends when they were alone, but when other people were around, the whole friendship seemed to be based on him trying to look like he cared less than he did and her making excuses for him to other people (though not seeming utterly convinced herself). Ever since she was �“ well, freed �“ she seems to be enjoying herself so much more. She no longer has the constant worry lines that you only notice if you look closely and she joins in the late night discussions with the other girls. She’s even being nicer to James.

“What?” she asks, when she notices me looking.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just glad we’re friends.”

Her green eyes crease into a smile. “Me too. You’re a lot more normal than you used to be ... I mean, you’ve still got that ... uniqueness, but you’re not so uptight about The Cause, you’re more willing to have a laugh every now and then. But don’t lose that Marty-ness, all right? It’s why we love you.”

I smile and say nothing. But I can’t help but think that when I wasn’t so ‘normal’, less than a year ago, they didn’t love me. And I’ve only been more willing to have a laugh because other people have been more willing to let me.

Still. Maybe she’s right. I have changed since becoming friends with the Marauders and I think it has been for the better. I’m going to vow here and now that I won’t change myself too much; not solely to fit in better with other people, anyway. I know if she could see me now, my Mum would be happy, thrilled that I was fitting in so much better, able to enjoy life so much more and not be so lonely (because, although I know I said I wasn’t, I really was, to be honest). But she would never want me to lose myself because of it. Being a bit wiser doesn’t mean I can’t still be me.

When we return to the Common Room, all four Marauders are being restrained from about killing each other by several students each.

[Remus]

When we settle back inside the Common Room to wait, after letting Snape go crawling off back to his Hovel (sorry, I meant House), the four of us are sitting round the fire, not talking. Strange, actually, how quickly we had gotten used to five. Strange too, how we’d never had trouble having fun before Marty, so why is it that after her, now she’s gone, not one of us can start a conversation?

“She’ll forgive us,” Sirius eventually says. Funny how his mistake now includes all of us. She won’t forgive him, she’ll forgive us. As if we made him say it.

“Of course she will,” Peter reassures him.

“If you think about it, we didn’t even do anything,” Sirius continues. “She can’t blame us. There’s no reason for her to hold a grudge or for us to even feel guilty. If anything, she should be apologising to us.”

“How’d you work that one out?” asks James, looking unconvinced.

“Well, she left, didn’t she? Didn’t give us a chance to explain ourselves.”

I am slowly getting more annoyed. Where did all this ‘us’ and ‘ourselves’ come from? We didn’t even do anything! It was him!

“I guess,” Peter shrugs. He doesn’t look so sure either.

“What do you think, Moony?” Sirius asks. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Just say yes. It will be easier for everyone if you say yes. Say yes, Remus ... yes ... yes ... “No.”

James and Peter, who had both been slumped in their chairs, sit bolt upright, able to sniff an argument a mile off.

“What Remus means, of course,” James says, laughing nervously, “is yes.”

“No,” I say. “It’s not. It wasn’t me who offended her, or you or Peter either. So I don’t see why she won’t forgive us. But as for Sirius ... that’s another thing entirely.”

“Moony,” Peter warns quietly, trying to avert another fight.

“What? Do you mind being tarnished with his brush, Wormtail? Do you think it’s fair that we suffer for his mistakes? Do you think he would stick by us if he didn’t have to?”

“Of course I would,” Sirius scoffs. “I do it every day.”

“Oh, do you? When was the last time you suffered for one of our mistakes and didn’t try to worm your way out of it or pin the blame on somebody else?”

“Every bloody day!” Sirius says much louder, so that people start to look over.

I say nothing, I just sit there and look at them, anger bubbling up beneath my skin.

“Guys, come on,” James says. “Let’s not do this now.”

“You’re not so innocent either,” I snap at him. “If you hadn’t started that fight with Snivellus ...”

James looks angry. “I can’t help it if the snake sets off some fighting reflex in me, Remus, I couldn’t just let him harass Lily again.”

“Why not?” Sirius asks. “It’s not like she’s ever going to fall in love with you because of it.”

“I’m not doing it to make her fall in love with me, I’m doing it to stop her getting hurt!”

“And, of course, the benefit to being all manly and protective of her is that she might bat her eyelids in gratitude one day, right?” Sirius asks.

“James, don’t you start fighting, too,” Peter begs. “I don’t want to be left to maintain peace on my own ...”

“Sorry, Peter,” James growls. “You’re on your own this time.”

Peter sighs. “I thought as much. Can’t we just concentrate on what we’re going to do about �“”

“Shut up, Wormtail, leave it to the mature ones,” Sirius says nastily.

“Don’t talk to him like that, just because you know I’m right,” I say. Sirius whirls around to face me and draws back his fist. “Going to hit me, Padfoot?” I ask. “Go on then. See if you’re man enough ... or is it all just an act to entice the ladies?”

He leaps at me. I’m ready. I feel James and Peter start to grab at us too, whether to join in or break it up, I don’t really know. There’s not much time to find out, because soon, we are being pulled apart by several seventh and fifth years each (every male sixth year is, after all, involved in the fight). The Head Boy is yelling over the top for everyone to calm down.

“I’ll calm down when Remus doesn’t have a face left,” Sirius hisses.

“I’ll stop having a face when you’re daring enough to try it,” I spit at him. “You’d beat someone up who was weaker than you, would you?”

“You’re not so weak, Remus,” James says pointedly. And not like he’s trying to make me feel better. More like he’s trying to accuse me of pretending to be.

I jolt suddenly to try and be released from the grasp of the lads holding me back, but they hold on tighter.

The portrait hole opens. Marty and Lily come in.

Lily looks disgusted. “Come on, Marty,” she sneers. “I told you they weren’t worth it.”

Marty looks at us for a second, then looks away. For a moment, I am sure she is about to laugh, but it must be wishful thinking on my part. Head bent, she hurries after Lily and up to the dormitories, completely avoiding eye contact with any of us.

Each of our shoulders slump. “Well done,” Peter sighs. “Now we’ve really blown it.”

I consider yelling at him that it was probably all his fault, but to be honest, I can’t quite bring myself to. I was the one who started the fight this time, after all.

“Yeah,” I say. “We did.”

The seventh and fifth years (and even a couple of brave fourth years) who had been restraining us seem to sense that we’ve lost our drive. They let us go and we collapse back into our armchairs.

“I feel awful,” Sirius mutters. “Like this big empty hole, clawing at my insides. I don’t recognise it. What is it?”

“Guilt,” James grunts. “We feel guilt.”

Well. I can’t argue with that.

*~*~*

AN: Nope, he certainly can’t. I love teenage boys. They’re so hilarious. *Pets Marauders* I think they probably had felt guilt before that, by the way, a little, but never at quite that same intensity. Or maybe not. Maybe this really IS the first time they’ve been truly sorry for hurting someone’s feelings, or even realised they HAD hurt someone’s feelings. What do you think? Leave a review, let me know!

(Interview with Lily Evans, official Disapprover of the Marauders)

Interviewer (I): So, Lily, what is it that you disapprove of so much about the Marauders?
Lily (L): Well, they just don’t consider people’s feelings, you know? I mean, yeah they’re funny and stuff, but that doesn’t mean they’re automatically good people. They need to learn to respect others’ emotions.
I: I see. And you think they can learn this ...
L: Well, by someone doing what we’re doing now. By making them feel guilt for the consequences of their actions. We can’t just go around cutting everybody slack, or people will think they can get away with whatever they want. Plus, they’re all evil.
I: Right. And how long will Operation Guilt Trip continue for?
L: ... Operation ... Guilt Trip?
I: Yeah, I decided if we give it a name, it will seem less like we’re playing mind games and more like we’re actually teaching them something.
L: Okay. Well, you can’t put a timer on these, things, so we’ll just have to wait until they seem to be truly sorry for what they did and fully understand the consequences. It would be best if they come to the point where they think you’ll never forgive them first, before you go around forgiving them all over the place.
I: Okay. If you say so. Now, what would you say is your most treasured ... actually, maybe that’s not the best question. Which memory of the Marauders has left the deepest impression on you, would you say?
L: I think it has to be the time Sirius was dared to run naked through the Great Hall, during the Hallowe’en feast. That particular memory has never quite left me, I’m sad to say.
I: (Laughing) That was a funny day. He had a banner streaking along behind him that said “Trick or Treat: You Decide”. Final question. If the naming of this book was up to you, what would you call it?
L: Hmm ... “Secrets, Lies and Deceit: The True Story of Four Hypocritical and Scum-filled Tyrants and How Their Black Hearts of Evil Lead Eventually to Their Celebrated and Timely Demise”.
I: Uh ... that’s certainly a special one. You know, the book hasn’t ended yet, I don’t remember them all dying.
L: Well, in that case, one can only live in hope.

Chapter Fourteen: Very Bohemian

[Remus]

“Okay, guys, what have you got?” I ask.

James clears his throat. “I think mine’s pretty good.”

I take the parchment from him and read it hopefully.

Marty we’re as sorry
As a big Muggle lorry
That crashed in the middle of a road

Marty we’re so stupid
Peter looks a bit like Cupid
And Sirius has a romance with a toad

Marty you must forgive us
We don’t mean to shout and cuss
But our brains evaporate by the load

Marty it wasn’t our fault
Except each of us is a dolt
And occasionally speak only in code

Marty we need your time
Just to help me find a rhyme
Because poems make my head explode.

I sigh. James looks hopeful, but not very convinced. “It’s creative,” I say to try and find a positive.

“Forget it,” James sighs. “Maybe a poem won’t cut it after all.”

It has been two days since Marty stopped speaking to us. At first we were consumed like fire by our own guilt, but then we decided that the best thing to do would be to win back her friendship. Only it’s hard, when she keeps ignoring everything we do. She’s friends with Lily and they’re working on her Cause; on Eugene Cardrac. The werewolf sympathiser guy. That was the Cause I was supposed to be helping her with. I had actually started to believe in this one, unlike the others, where we just sort of humoured her.

“Maybe we should express our feelings in some sort of play,” Sirius suggests.

“Or a musical!” Peter proclaims. “We could call it ‘Marty!’ with an exclamation mark. All musicals are best if the titles are one word and an exclamation mark, right?”

“I don’t think we have time to compose and choreograph an entire musical,” I point out.

“Maybe just a song taken from the musical,” James considers. “Sirius can play the part of Marty. I will play the part of Sirius. Remus can double as me and Peter and Peter can play Remus.”

“Why don’t we all just play ourselves?” Sirius asks.

“Well who would play Marty?” Peter looks confused. It’s a testament to our desperation that we can seriously sit here and discuss playing ourselves in a scene from a made up musical about how sorry we are.

“No one plays Marty,” James explains. “It will be a song to express our feelings of anguish in a dramatic and metaphorical way. We can wear chains to symbolise how we have tied ourselves to guilt and whip ourselves on stage to show our remorse. We can also writhe around in emotional agony as we sing the deep, mournful tenor lyrics of self-loathing and sorrow. It will be very bohemian.”

There is a pause. “It will be downright mentally scarring,” Sirius says after a moment of consideration. “She might think we’re not taking it seriously.”

“Are you kidding? Did you not hear the part about the self-flagellation?” James sounds appalled at his best friend’s ignorance.

“Maybe it is a bit over the top,” I reason. “What if we wrote a letter? Or ... an essay? Like, a mock essay about how sorry we are. We can give it a title like ‘Explain fully, in 500 words, how four boys can go from happy to grief-stricken in one easy step and the horrible feelings they are left with afterwards’ and then we can give it to her to mark out of a hundred and grade and stuff. I think she’ll appreciate the humour.”

“Remus, only you would seriously consider solving all of life’s problems with an essay for someone to mark,” James snickers. I sulk.

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Actually I do. We will stage the scene from the musical during lunchtime to amplify the dramatic desolation of our deeds and �“”

“No musicals,” Sirius says firmly. “The best way to do it is simply, I think. A simple, sincere apology and an offer to give her all of our pudding for the next month.”

“What if she doesn’t buy it?” Peter asks.

“She will,” Sirius assures us. “Believe me. I know girls better than anyone here and they’re always persuaded by the simple yet elegantly tasteful cliché.”

“Well ...” James sounds reluctant to give up his epic self-flagellation ideas. “I suppose you are the closest thing we have to an expert ...”

“Exactly,” Sirius confirms, confidently. “Are we agreed?”

We nod. Let the simple apology strategy commence ...

[Marty]

It really is quite difficult pretending not to care about the Marauders. I can’t be around them without wanting to laugh at how pathetic they’re being. It’s all so touching. So me and Lily have been busying ourselves campaigning against the destruction of Eugene Cardrac’s house. We’re planning a protest outside it this weekend, which is a Hogsmeade one. Everything we do is carefully planned to try and get the Marauders to think hope is lost and I’ve moved on. I’m going to give a talk about the protest in the grounds at lunch this afternoon, because we know they’ll be outside. Not only that, but we have a trick up our sleeves that should really send them loopy.

Lily says we can’t stop until they truly think I won’t forgive them, because only then will they realise the consequences of their actions. At the moment, they still think I’ll come round with time and apparently the only way they will learn is if they honestly do think all hope is lost. I suppose I do agree with her and it is funny to watch them try to win me back. I’ve already received two poems and a public apology, but I ignored both (I didn’t even read the poems until they weren’t looking. They weren’t exactly a literary stroke of genius is all I’ll say, but they were rather amusing).

As we predicted, they are outside during lunch and perk up when they see me heading towards them (apparently Lily and all the megaphones don’t bother them). They nod at each other and stand up, walking towards me. But before we meet, I stop, turn around to face the school and pick up the megaphone, shouting down it about injustices, heritage and taking a stand, while Lily hovers posters and banners in the air behind me, obscuring them from view with a simpering look of pleasure on her face.

They walk around the posters and wait for me to take a breath before jumping in.

“Marty! We need to talk to you!” Sirius says boldly.

“Are you hear to support my tireless work against the demolition of the house of Eugene Cardrac?” I ask down the megaphone, even though they are right in front of me.

“Not exactly,” James says.

“Then move along. Serious protestors only please,” I say, smiling as if they are people I’ve never met before.

“Marty,” Lily says, unable to completely hide the malice from her smile. “Our spokespeople are here.”

“Excellent,” I say, waving to the Maraudering Four (a group of wannabe Marauders three years below us from Hufflepuff. There are one or two groups of boys who want to be as famous and popular as the Marauders, but the Maraudering Four are the most annoying. They just try too hard, like desperate tributes to their heroes. Asking them to be our spokespeople is the secret weapon which we hope will send the real Marauders to insanity).

“You’re getting those idiots to represent you?” Remus asks, horrified. “But you asked us! We’re much more influential!” Oh and another thing they hate about the Maraudering Four: the real Marauders didn’t give themselves a name, it just sort of happened over time, until eventually everyone knew them as the Marauders. The Maraudering Four gave themselves that name and then insisted everyone call them it.

“No, no,” I insist, putting all of my efforts into not falling into hysterical laughter. “It was definitely these guys all along. They have a real charisma, don’t you think?”

We all turn and look at the four Hufflepuffs as they make farting noises and laugh stupidly to each other. I’ve never been so repulsed in my life.

“Yes, it’s definitely the right move, asking them. Their sparkling originality is what does it. It makes people hang on to their every word,” Lily says brightly. “Come on, Marty, we have to let people know about the protest on Saturday. Will you four be coming?”

“No,” James says impatiently. “Marty, you have to stop it. We know you don’t really hate us ... you can’t. We’re really sorry we offended you, okay?”

“We’ll give you all of our pudding for a month,” Peter says hopefully.

“And best of all, I’ve written this really dramatic scene for a musical to express our everlasting �“”

James is cut off by Sirius stamping on his foot without much subtlety.

“Come on, Marty,” Remus says. “We miss you.”

I try not to look them in the eye, but instead put the megaphone to my mouth and shout, “Please move back so others can see the posters, thank you. Now, the protest will be held outside the house in question at one o’clock this Saturday ... For those of you who don’t know where it is ...”

[Remus]

We sit in our usual seats by the fire dejectedly. James calls over his adopted first year, Luanne, whom he apparently still feels a strong paternal instinct for.

“Hey, Luanne, you’re a girl,” he says when she comes to sit with us, nervously.

“If you’re going to propose, then please spare me. It would just feel wrong to be asked out by a surrogate father,” she says. She’s really learnt some sass, that girl.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t propose to my own daughter, no matter how surrogate. No, I just need your knowledge of the female mind ...”

Luanne looks doubtful. “What have you done?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Sirius cuts in, before James starts telling her the whole story. “But say we had hypothetically lost ourselves a friend we cared much more about than we knew, of the female persuasion ...”

“That Marty girl?” Luanne asks.

“Yes. Just say hypothetically, that’s what happened and then she turned into a psycho who wouldn’t forgive us, what would you say has taken place?”

Luanne sighs. “I’d say she’s come to her senses. I only talk to you because I don’t want to be sent to my room.”

“We’ll have less of that lip,” James says, frowning. Luanne rolls her eyes.

“Have you tried apologising?”

“Of course we have. We’re not complete Neanderthals. We even apologised in poem format and I wrote this really enigmatic scene from a musical, but the others refuse to perform it outside of the dormitory.”

“You’ve been practising scenes from a musical in your dormitory?” Luanne asks, horrified.

“Anyway, moving on ...” Sirius says hurriedly. “We don’t know how to make her forgive us.”

“You guys are so embarrassing,” she mutters. “Just leave her to come round herself, all right? There’s nothing you can do now.”

If only it was that easy. But I really like Marty, apart from that thing she has about pumpkin juice and I miss having her around. She was a welcome relief from the occasional idiocy of my friends. If she was around, she wouldn’t let such nonsense as musical writing take place. Or if she did, we’d be so paranoid about how she was interpreting it in her notebook that we would stop and do something normal instead.

“We’ll give it one last try,” I decide. “And then we’ll forget it. We’ll apologise at dinner, tonight and if she still ignores us, then we’ll wait for her to make the next move, all right?”

The others nod. “Good plan,” Peter says.

Luanne claps sarcastically. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, run along,” James says, smiling and shaking his head. “Little scamp.”

[Marty]

They apologise again at lunch, but I just smile and say, “How nice,” because Lily is glaring at me and I’ve started to get better at the cold shoulder thing. It’s for their own good after all, right?

They walk dejectedly away. Okay, I lied, I still feel bad about it.

“Just look at them,” I plead. “Look at the crestfallen way they’re walking away. They’ve lost all the bounce in their step.”

“Excellent, then our mission is almost complete.”

I consider her for a moment. “Lily, are you sure this isn’t just some scheme of yours to break their hearts because of your own personal grudge? Am I just a pawn in your game of evil temptress chess?”

She laughs. “Of course not. Oh, look, you have visitors.”

I turn to see some second years nervously behind me. “Hello,” I say brightly. “Can I help you?”

The bravest one, a girl with a very high pink ponytail, takes a deep breath. “It’s about the protest in Hogsmeade. We’re not allowed to go, but we want to show our support. I’ve always been interested in Eugene Cardrac and I don’t want them to destroy his house ...”

I smile brightly. It really does warm my heart to have people I don’t even know interested in making the world a better place. Now that I have more influence, people are actually paying attention to me! Why didn’t I think of befriending the Marauders before? This would never have happened without them.

I look over to where they are sitting, miserably pushing mashed potato around their plates. Hopefully this charade of Lily’s will be over before too long.

“Have you signed the petition?” I asked the pink-haired girl. She nods and her hair wobbles dangerously on top of her head. “Super. All right ... well, there are some other things you could do to help this noble Cause too. How would you feel about raising awareness in your peer group?”

She blinks. “What does that mean?”

“Well ...”

“Marty!” Lily hisses.

“Lily,” I say patiently. “I’m a little busy right now. These lovely young ladies are interested in �“”

“Come on, we need to spy on the Marauders! They’re leaving!”

Well. That’s something else entirely. “Tell your friends about it!” I gabble quickly to the girls. “We’ll rendezvous here tomorrow! The future of wizard-kind is in your hands!”

I hurry off after Lily. We reach the doors out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall and sneak out slowly. The Marauders haven’t seen us, but are standing around listlessly.

“What are we going to do?” Peter asks.

Lily puts her finger to her lips and beckons around the corner of a corridor, where we are less easily seen.

“What can we do? It’s over,” Sirius sighs.

“Luanne said to let her come to us,” James says without much hope. “She would know. I raised her to be truthful, didn’t I?”

So he’d been asking his adopted first year about me, had he? No wonder she kept throwing me evil looks (not that she’s any more capable of evil looks than I am, but I’d give her full marks for effort). That’s one loyal daughter of his, despite her feigned attitude.

“Oh, great,” Remus says, looking at something Lily and I can’t see from our vantage point. “Just what we need.”

Some Slytherins come into view, but they don’t acknowledge the Marauders just yet.

“Do you think we should bother making a scene?” Peter asks. “It might make us feel better.”

“I dunno,” James mutters. “Marty wouldn’t want us to.”

Lily and I look at each other ecstatically and give silent high-fives.

“So? It’s not like she’s coming back. We blew it. It’s over. She’ll never speak to us again. She doesn’t need us anymore, she has Lily for company. She doesn’t even want us to be her spokespeople. She wants those twits who copy everything we do. She wouldn’t care anymore whether we started a fight or not, so why bother keeping to the rules?” I never thought I’d hear the day Remus Lupin was encouraging fighting with Slytherins. Is this what I’ve driven them to? The world has gone mad!

“Maybe we should let that be a lesson,” Sirius suggests. “We should stop picking fights for no reason. We lost a friend over it. We should just keep to ourselves ...”

They trudge up the marble staircase to the Common Room. I stare at Lily. She stares back. I think we’re both in shock. Sirius had been identified as the main culprit of stupidity. If he was the one suggesting they leave some Slytherins alone ...

“Mission accomplished,” Lily says as if she doesn’t quite believe it. “Wow. I never thought we’d actually pull it off.”

“Does this mean I can be friends with them again?” I ask, delighted at the idea. Lily nods.

“I think it does.”

A thought occurs to me and I suddenly get worried. “Will YOU still be my friend if I forgive them officially?”

She laughs. I guess she’s over the shock. “Of course I will! I always knew you’d forgive them in the end, Marty, wasn’t that the whole point?”

I grin. I can’t help it. “Can I go now?”

She smiles. “Go get ‘em, tiger. The world is your oyster.”

*~*~*

AN: This chapter was so much fun, it was unbelievable. I hope you enjoyed it too, please leave a review!

After the little lesson in responsibility given to the Marauders by one Lily Evans and myself, it is nice to be back in the fold of these four, really very loving boys. They do not know the true reasons behind my sudden decision to forgive them, because that might risk the progress being undone. However, they are perfectly grateful and happy to be friends again and it certainly seems that our main objective has been achieved. There have been so far, a total of 0 conflicts involving any of them, which is extremely preferable to how it used to be ... although I only re-made friends with them yesterday. I only hope that their newfound self-restraint lasts long enough to become like second nature to them. In the meantime, I have never felt so appreciated in my life, just another example of the truly swell guys these four have turned out to be �“ despite what some people say.

Chapter Fifteen: Intolerable Apathy

[Marty]

I am waiting outside the Transfiguration classroom for Remus, who is having a word with McGonagall about his next transformation in a couple of weeks time. Sirius is waiting with me, while James and Peter have gone on ahead to save us seats in the Great Hall for lunch (as if we need it �“ no one would ever sit in the Marauders’ places anyway �“ all James and Peter really wanted was an excuse to stuff their faces earlier than the rest of us).

“It’s despicable, really,” Sirius is saying, “that they can’t wait just five minutes for the poor lad to speak to his teacher. Moony has faced indescribable hardships and all they can think about is food. I’m not even joking.”

He clearly is, but I say, hoping to lighten the mood, “I guess you could say you’re pretty serious ... right, Sirius?”

He stares at me. Now he really does look appalled, as opposed to pretending to look appalled. “Look, Marty, I appreciate that you’re trying to be humorous and I’m absolutely ecstatic that we are on speaking terms again. But please never use my name in that way again. It’s like me calling you Farty. Would you like that?”

I swallow. “Not particularly.”

“I mean,” Sirius muses. “If you think about it, they don’t even sound that similar. Sirius. Serious. Completely different.”

“Absolutely,” I agree, wishing I’d just kept my mouth shut (but also trying not to laugh).

“I don’t see why people have to bring it up every time they meet me for the first time. It’s not like I couldn’t make fun of their names, as I proved with the whole Farty thing.”

“Yes,” I nod, backing up fast. “You’re completely right. Forget I said anything.”

“The only similarity, really,” he continues, ignoring me completely, “is that they both begin with the letter ‘S’ and end in ‘U-S’.”

“And they have three syllables and the intonation only has one subtle difference,” I fill in. Oh, damn it. Way to keep my mouth shut.

“Look.” Sirius is frowning. “It’s not my fault, okay? It was my parents. It’s a family name! There have been Siriuses-es-es,” he deliberately stumbles over the pronunciation of the plural, but carries on regardless, “for centuries. Really, if you mock my name, you’re mocking my heritage.”

“Right,” I say, trying very hard not to laugh. “Sorry, Sirius. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“And like I said. They’re basically completely different words. Sure, if a kid under the age of three mixes them up, that’s understandable, but for mature people ages four and up, it’s completely unnaccep�“”

“Is Sirius giving the Sirius vs Serious talk again?” asks Remus, appearing at my side out of the classroom doors. “Just tell him he’s seriously messed up for having such serious issues over something as simple and un-serious as a name and should have some serious therapy if he feels so seriously upset about it. That usually leaves him spluttering for long enough to make your getaway.”

Sirius looks disgruntled. “Says the one named after a twin raised by wolves. Nice little coincidence that was, wasn’t it?”

Remus and Sirius begin bickering and start to walk away from me in the direction of the Great Hall, seemingly forgetting I exist as they fight over whose name is more stupid.

I take out my notebook and write, At least 50% of the Marauder population have unresolved issues surrounding their birth names. I shall be doing research into the other 50% shortly, although surely James and Peter sound relatively normal? But perhaps it is in the normality that their insecurities lie. And then I follow them to dinner.

Ah, it’s good to be back.

[Remus]

I never would have expected how great it is to have Marty back with us. I don’t know why she hated us for all that time and then randomly changed her mind and I don’t really care; it’s just great to have her around. She subtly told those dunderheads ‘The Maraudering Four’ that she felt their talents lay somewhere outside of sponsorship-and-spokesperson-ism and officially reinstated us into our original roles. On Saturday, in just two days, she is holding a protest outside Eugene Cardrac’s house and we will be there to bring in the crowds (in her words, at least. Personally, I don’t see why anyone would come because of us, especially since she seems to be doing fine by herself, but she keeps insisting that every little thing helps. I don’t want to argue. Like I said, I’m just happy she’s back with us).

And if the whole experience of her randomly hating us has taught us anything, it’s not to get into conflicts too easily. In fact, we’ve shown an awful lot of self-restraint recently. Seeing how hurt she got over what happened really seemed to show us the consequences of our actions and even Sirius doesn’t seem to be as sharp tongued as he used to be (so far, at least). I guess we never realised before that sometimes people might actually be offended by things we say. And we certainly never realised how bad we would feel if someone got so offended that they never spoke to us again. I’m telling you, that was a close call. All in all, I think we’ve learned our lesson ... well, mostly. Some of us will never fully learn our lesson, but there you go.

It’s a Thursday evening, so it’s pretty quiet. We are planning the final, uh, plan, for the protest on Saturday. Apparently that’s when a load of Ministry officials are coming to assess ... something. Marty seems to know the details and keeps explaining them (and why they are such an injustice) at great length, while we sit here bemusedly and try to keep up. As far as I know, we’re just going to turn up on Saturday and hold some signs and possibly do some chanting or something.

Marty leans back for a moment thoughtfully. “So if the protest starts at one o’clock ... we’ll have to get there at about half past twelve to organise anybody who decides to come early and to hand out signs and figure out how many people are going to be there ... but what do we do before that?”

Sirius shrugs. “I dunno. Normal Hogsmeade stuff, I guess.”

“I hear Zonko’s has a sale on,” Peter informs us. I inwardly groan.

“Really?” James perks up, happy to finally be able to understand what’s going on. “You know, I am running low on supplies. And we should really start planning what we’re going to do for Hallowe’en.”

“Yeah, good point. It will be harmless, of course,” Sirius says, surreptitiously glancing at Marty. At least, he probably thinks he’s being surreptitious.

“You know,” I say, thinking that Sirius, James and Peter probably want some time away from Marty to plan their next act of trouble making. “You could always come with me, Marty, rather than trailing round after these guys in a Zonko’s sale.”

Marty looks over at me. “Don’t you want to go trailing around in a Zonko’s sale?”

She must be crazy. And watch those three idiots have kittens over every new product that’s been released? I’d be glad to keep her away for a while, even if it means having to answer questions on weird things like what my favourite kind of breakfast is.

“I’ll be okay to miss it just this once,” I say out loud. “I can give you the Marauder’s tour of Hogsmeade. It’ll be very exciting.”

“As long as you don’t go giving her something else, as well,” Sirius mutters, while James and Peter snigger into their hands.

“What else would he give me?” asks Marty and I genuinely don’t think she knows.

“Nothing,” I say. “They’re just being immature. It’ll be fine, we’ll have fun.”

“I bet you will,” James says and they start sniggering again. For goodness sake, just how old are they?

“Yeah. Well. Is Luanne coming to the protest on Saturday, James?” I ask, to change the subject. He nods.

“Of course. I’m always trying to take her to new places, to enrich her education. Not all learning is from books, you know. I’m planning on taking her fishing one of these days, but for now we’ll have to settle with some nice, peaceful picketing and voicing of our opinions, insufferable youths that we are, with nothing better to do than harass Ministry officials.”

“We won’t be harassing them,” Marty points out. “We’ll just be telling them that we think their decisions are completely atrocious and that by destroying our heritage, they are destroying are history and if we can’t learn from our history ...”

She is off again. There is a collective sigh as we settle back in our seats, now that a conversation we can actually understand and take part in is over.

Ah, it’s good to have her back.

[Marty]

I spend Friday evening sitting with Lily in the dorm. She is reorganising her sock drawer, for reasons I can’t quite fathom, but I have decided to keep her company, while I paint some signs for tomorrow. She’s still my friend, after all, even though I did patch things up with the Marauders.

“So you’re all set for Saturday, then?” I ask.

“Yes, Marty, for the last time. I’ll be there, don’t worry. I’ll even bring Mary and Roxie and maybe even Phyll with me, okay? It’ll be great. One o’clock, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. Though you might want to get there a little earlier, because I’ll need to hand signs out and things. Me and Remus are going to turn up at about half past twelve, but you won’t have to be that early.”

Lily looks round for a moment. “You and Remus? What about the others?”

I shrug, as I carefully paint the third ‘a’ in ‘intolerable apathy’. “Well, there’s a sale at Zonko’s so we’re meeting them outside the house later on. They’re supposed to get there at half past as well, but let’s be honest. They’ll probably be late. I’ll make sure me and Remus are there on time, though.”

“So you’re spending your Hogsmeade trip just you and Remus Lupin?” she asks, in a weird voice. Like she knows something I don’t. Or like she’s implying something I don’t understand.

“No,” I say. “I’m spending my Hogsmeade morning just me and Remus Lupin. Why?”

“I didn’t know you guys were close,” she says in what I can only describe as a sing-song voice. Why is she speaking like that? What’s so special about two friends going to visit Hogsmeade together?

“Yes you did,” I point out. “I spent the summer at his house, remember?”

“Uh huh,” Lily says, folding socks with a look on her face which suggests she is merely humouring me. But why would she do that? Remus and I are just friends. It’s not like anyone would ever think we’re more than that, is it? Why would any boy ever like me in that way? I’m Marty Price. I know what they think of me. How many times did I try and speak to a boy, even just to explain a Cause to him, or get him to sign a petition, only to have him pretend he doesn’t understand English, or suddenly remember that he left his phoenix on fire? If Lily thinks we’re anything more than good friends she’s kidding herself.

“What?” I demand. “I hope you don’t think Remus’s intentions are anything more than they actually are.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “What are his intentions?”

“To show me round Hogsmeade so that the other three can buy the preparations for their Hallowe’en prank without me there to try to stop them!” I cry. After all, I’m not stupid. I know exactly what they’re planning to do when I’m not around.

Unless ... what if Remus asked me on a date yesterday and I never even realised? What if he really does want to get me on his own so he can ... so he can have his way with me or something? So he can make his move? What if it’s all a horribly elaborate plot to trick me into a false sense of security with this ‘just friends’ thing and then woo me or something? Not that there’s anything wrong with Remus. It’s not like I would hold his being a werewolf against him. I wouldn’t want to be wooed by ANY of the Marauders. I’m just not that kind of girl. I have nothing to do with romance and romance has nothing to do with me. It’s a little arrangement we set up over the years, romance and I. We avoid each other like the plague. That’s just the way things are. Surely Remus knows that, right? Surely he knows I’m not the kind of girl you take on a date? What was he thinking, asking me out like that? No wonder the other three kept sniggering! I thought they were just being themselves, when really they were making innuendos that I only just figured out this minute!

I can’t believe I got asked out on �“ and accepted �“ a date without even realising it. This is so typical of me. And now I can’t even get out of it. I can’t randomly change my plans, or have a family commitment I can’t get out of or anything, because I already agreed I’d go with him.

“Marty?” Lily asks. “Are you okay? You know I was kidding, right? I know you’re just friends. I was messing with you.”

“I don’t feel too well,” I croak out. And I don’t. I haven’t been feeling 100% healthy all day, actually, but I was putting it off until now. Until I realised what an idiot I am. Now it’s all catching up with me.

“Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing? Not too well, how? A lot of the first years have been ill lately, could you have what they have? Marty, I was joking with the Remus thing, don’t look so terrified!”

But it’s okay for her to say that now! She’s not the one who accidentally accepted a marriage proposal without even realising it. Okay, not exactly. But kind of. She may only have been joking, but her humour and satire achieved only to uncover the truth! This is horrible!

And my head hurts. I really don’t feel so good.

[Remus]

Somehow �“ even though I know there’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s only Marty, after all �“ I manage to make myself nervous about spending Hogsmeade morning alone with her. I don’t even know why I’m this nervous. I’ve been alone with her plenty of times before. She lived at my house for the majority of the summer, after all. But then it was like living with a sister I never knew I had. Now, I don’t know what it’s like. Those stupid comments the others kept making when I first suggested it keep coming back to haunt me. Not that I’d ‘give her’ something. Not we’d ‘have fun’. I’m not that immature. Just the idea of us being anything more than friends ... it could happen, of course. I mean, why not? We’re two teenagers of the opposite sex, good friends and walking round a picturesque little village together. The odds are that anything could happen.

Only ... Marty? Marty Price? It’s crazy. The very idea. It’s just not the done thing. And even if it was, we can’t exactly get past the fact that I become a raving bloodthirsty dangerous monster once a month. That alone would kind of hold back any relationship I would hope to form in the future. It’s madness. Pure madness. Not only that, but she has this thing about pumpkin juice, where she refuses to drink it because of some forgotten campaign her mother was part of. She even protests about using pumpkins during Hallowe’en. Why would I feel something about someone like that?

But for some reason, the idea won’t leave me alone.

“You all right, Moony?” Peter asks over breakfast. “You look a little uneasy.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one,” Marty mutters. “I swear I’m ill somehow. Ever since I realised ... I mean, ever since I spoke to Lily about ... ever since I spoke to Lily yesterday and before that, I’ve just not felt right. I blame first years.” She is drinking water, not pumpkin juice. For some reason this bothers me a lot more than usual. Why did I never notice how weird that thing with the pumpkin juice was before now?

“You’re not going to be sick on me, are you?” Sirius asks worriedly, since he is sitting opposite her. Now that she mentions it, she doesn’t look too great. It’s probably all those pumpkin vitamins she’s been missing out on. How is water supposed to be any good for you?

“I don’t think so,” she says. “But I’ll warn you if I am.”

Sirius doesn’t look comforted.

“Come on,” I say, standing up. “If neither of us are eating anything, we might as well go now.”

“Okay. Just wait here, though, I left some stuff in the dorm ...” she stands and leaves quickly, occasionally putting her hand out to steady herself.

“Poor love,” James says as he shakes his head. “Remind me not to let Luanne too near, I don’t want her catching something.”

“James!” I reprimand him. “That’s your friend you’re talking about, not a disease bank.”

“So? I have to look out for my own. Lighten up, Moony.”

“Yeah, why are you so nervous today, Moony?” Peter asks. “You aren’t worried you’re going to catch something, too, are you?”

“Of course not,” I say. “And I’m not nervous, either.”

“Yeah, right,” Sirius chuckles. “And I’m not Merlin’s gift to women.”

“Exactly,” I say. “You’re more like ... Merlin’s gift to sea creatures. Just like I’m not nervous, I’m ... apprehensive.”

“Apprehensive about what? You’re afraid Marty’s going to jump out and eat you while you’re showing her a romantic secluded corner of Hogsmeade that’s conveniently deserted?” James suggests.

Sirius grins wickedly. “Of course not, she’s far too polite. What Moony is afraid of, chaps, is that he will jump out and eat her while he’s showing her a romantic secluded corner of Hogsmeade that’s conveniently deserted.”

“No I’m not,” I insist, whilst making a mental note to avoid any deserted corners that could be interpreted as romantic and/or secluded. “I have a remarkable amount of self-control, thank you very much. No one will be eating anybody. Also, well done for being graphically weird and cannibalistic, guys. If that’s what you do while you’re on a date with a girl, then I’m very glad I’m missing out on it all.”

“A remarkable amount of self-control, eh?” Sirius grins, perfectly happy to be winding me up this way. “Interesting. So you won’t be jumping out and eating her, you’ll just be thinking about it. I see how it is.”

“I’m not eating anybody!” I practically yell. “We’re just two friends, having a nice walk around Hogsmeade. To save you guys from having to be careful about what you buy from Zonko’s, may I remind you. I don’t appreciate your level of gratitude.”

“Oooh,” James teases. “He doesn’t appreciate your level of gratitude, Padfoot. Well, you must be scared. I’d apologise good and quick, if I were you, or he might try and eat you. You know what weird fantasies these cannibals have when they get angry or ... frustrated.” He waggles his eyebrows and then joins Sirius and Peter in their howling laughter.

“Shut up,” I tell them, but even I cannot help but laugh a little. I consider trying to prove my innocence by pointing out how weird I find the pumpkin juice thing all of a sudden, but they wouldn’t understand. A couple of minutes later, Marty arrives back, carrying three or four wooden signs with messages that no one but she understands, such as “The Youth of Today Protect the Generation of Yesterday!” and “Listen to the Past, You Might Learn About the Future!”

Whatever that’s supposed to mean. I offer to carry them for her.

“Thanks,” she says. “We can duplicate them later, when we hand them out.”

“Good idea,” I say, nodding. “Are you sure you’re okay to go? You’re not going to pass out in the middle of the chanting or anything?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. See you later, guys,” she says to the other three. “Half past twelve, remember?”

They nod. “How could we forget?” Peter says and smiles.

We make our way out towards Hogsmeade and I talk to Marty about various things. Nothing particularly important. I don’t think I’m the only one who is nervous about this thing. She’s trying not to show it, but it seems like Marty is a little uncomfortable, too. Though maybe she’s just ill. Still, every time there is a lull in the conversation, the silences seem so much more awkward now that the thought has crossed my mind the she may be more than just a friend. Despite the pumpkin juice thing. Even if it was only the thought. Because as much as I make excuses about her beverage preferences, the thought is still there, which it never was before.

But I manage to quash those thoughts and take her around Hogsmeade perfectly normally, showing her various places where things of note have happened to us over the years.

Like the spot where Madam Rosmerta kicked us out of The Three Broomsticks when it turned out James had forgotten to bring any money and we all thought he was paying (we settled our debt the next time we were there, however and have been on very good terms with the landlady ever since).

And the place outside Madam Puddifoots, where we once pelted the Head Boy and Girl with snowballs under James’s invisibility cloak, because they had given us detention one time when we walked in on them, uh ... not doing their duties.

And the spot near the Shrieking Shack where we once had a four-on-four duel with Snape and three of his stupid friends and then Lily found out and single-handedly incapacitated all eight of us with just three carefully placed spells.

And so on.

All of this, Marty records in her notebook, asking questions, laughing and scribbling down notes. It’s fun, despite the occasional moments of awkwardness between us here and there. And I make doubly sure we’re never in any secluded corners. Not that I don’t trust my self-control, or think I’m going to eat her or anything, because that would be insane. But just to be sure. You can never be too sure, after all.

With just fifteen minutes to go, I take her to the stile right at the end of the village. There are only one or two other people around, but I decide it will be safe enough. A stile doesn’t count as romantic and secluded, does it? Romantic, maybe. Weren’t they nicknamed kissing stiles or something? But not secluded. Much.

I’ll just make sure we don’t stay long.

“So what’s here?” she asks as she sits on the fence. “What trouble did you get into here?”

“No trouble,” I say shrugging. “But see that cottage? There’s a really nice lady who lives there. We help her out sometimes with odd jobs and she gives us cookies that she baked herself. Yeah, we like it there.”

She laughs. “I bet you do. So, what, you just went round one day and she offered to pay you in cookies if you put some shelves up?”

I shrug. “Pretty much, yeah. She might be in now, if you want to say hello.”

She looks at her watch. “Another time, maybe. We need to get to Eugene Cardrac’s house, now, for the protest. Have you got the signs?”

I nod and pick them up. “Right here. Come on, then, you campaigner for a better world, you.”

I kind of feel a little disappointed that our time is up, even despite the nervousness and the slight awkwardness. The truth is, friend, sister, or something more, no matter how I consider Marty, I just can’t help but enjoy her company. We just click. I can’t help it.

“Uh,” I pause. “Uh, where is Eugene Cardrac’s house, exactly?”

Marty smiles. “This way. Follow me.”

I sigh, not really knowing what to expect out of this protest, no matter how many times she’s explained it to us. Because I don’t think she was ever talking English those times.

Still. It will be fun. As long as I’m with Marty, it will be fun.

And I try not to think about what that actually means.

*~*~*

AN: I’ll continue the rest of their Hogsmeade trip, next chapter. I think I’ve been spending too much time with sixteen year old boys, because there was a bit more innuendo that I would usually do in that chapter ... but at least it’s accurate for boys their age, right? Don’t forget to leave a review!

The Protest outside the house of Eugene Cardrac went rather well. It brought a tear to my eye �“ figuratively, at least �“ to see everyone coming together for the greater good. And the Marauders were wonderful as my spokespeople, even though they were too modest to admit it. They really captured people’s attention and made my Cause seem much more worthwhile than previous others. No longer was one of my Causes just another crazy rambling of Marty Price. This time, it really meant something. People saw the Marauders and came over to see what was going on. And more than that ... they stayed afterwards! Some of them even learned a bit about what was going on and why. And some of those people agreed that we couldn’t let the Ministry destroy such an important piece of History. In fact, it’s probably through the influence of the Marauders that the Ministry officials who had come to assess the amount of work that would be needed to demolish the house went back again, without even looking around, thanks to our peaceful protest! And all because of those four boys. I knew I was right. I knew they were brilliant for more than just their looks, even when no one else believed me. And I proved them wrong! It was a great day for The Cause and a great day for my research for this book.

Chapter Sixteen: Fainty McPassOut

[Marty]

After the Ministry officials went home, grumpily (I don’t think they expected to find a large crowd of angry teenagers when they went out to do their job and probably didn’t think it was worth the hassle; a success all round, then), someone decided we should celebrate in the Three Broomsticks. Naturally, everyone else agreed.

So now we are all standing around in the pub, holding butterbeers and talking very loudly. Or, everyone else is. I’m sitting in the corner at a table, watching them. Every now and then, Lily or one of the Marauders comes and sits with me. Once, even Roxie came, which surprised me. She didn’t say much, of course, because she never does. But I appreciated the gesture.

I’m not being miserable. I’m really happy it went so brilliantly. No one could be more pleased than I am at how things went. I’m just not that very well. That’s all. In fact, it was Lily who did a lot of the organising and things earlier, since she was a large part of it while I was pretending to hate the Marauders. And she’s a girl so she does at least know HOW to organise things, unlike my male friends who �“ if it was up to them �“ would have stood around holding some signs for five minutes, then got bored and gone for a drink in the pub. Which they ended up doing anyway, but we held the signs for a lot longer than five minutes and had lots of inspirational chanting and things, thanks to Lily.

I even gave a speech, explaining why we couldn’t let the memory of Eugene Cardrac be besmirched, because of his tireless work on behalf of Werewolves, Goblins, Centaurs, Vampires and the Other Underdogs of Wizarding Society. I explained that, even though the Ministry still thinks of him a crazy old man who was laughed out of the Wizengamot for his unorthodox views, we had to show them that now, in this day and age, we realise that what he was saying was true, not just the demented ramblings of an old fool who had passed his time. I said that we should give Eugene Cardrac �“ and the house where he was born and died �“ some respect now we know he was right, since he certainly didn’t get any when he was alive.

I’m not sure if people really cared about the issue, or if they were just swept away in the excitement of a real live protest during their Hogsmeade weekend. But I like to think they were at least a little bit inspired. Although I have now lost my voice after all that chanting and speech giving. But it might be the bug of course. Apparently it’s hit the first years like a Hungarian Horntail, but trust me to be the only person over twelve to catch it. Mark my words, if I wasn’t feeling so ill, I would join in the celebrations. As it is, I’m concentrating on not throwing up or getting dizzy at the minute.

From where I am sitting, I can see James talking to Luanne about something passionately (he obviously found a way to get her out of school, even though she’s not technically old enough yet. Still, she does look older than she is, ever since James and his antics brought her out of her shell. I’m glad she’s one of the few first years to have escaped this darned bug). She has that look on her face, the one she �“ and others �“ gets when she is humouring him. Actually, that happens quite a lot when they’re together, but James will never admit he is anything more than a beacon of inspiration to her. At the bar, Sirius is leaning across as far as he can, his elbows propping up his head as he talks to Madam Rosmerta, probably trying to sweet talk her into giving him a free drink, or overlooking the age restrictions on some of her more potent stuff. Peter is talking to Roxie and Mary, although Mary seems to be more interested in watching James and is probably wondering who Luanne is and whether she is a threat (little does she know the truth). Lily is talking and laughing with Phyll over a couple of drinks. I look around for Remus, but I don’t see him straight away.

Where is he, anyway?

“Hey, Marty.”

I shriek at the sound of his voice and slop my drink down my front.

“Woah, careful,” he sits down next to me. I glare at him, in between drying my robes with my wand.

“Where did you come from?” I croak out, hating how pathetic my voice sounds. Illness doesn’t agree with me at all.

He shrugs and luckily seems to decide not to mention my voice, although I know he must have noticed it. “Nowhere. I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

Okay, now I’m just embarrassed. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m still not quite with it.”

He smiles sympathetically. “Are you feeling any better at all?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Not really. It’s better sitting down, though. I must have caught whatever has half of the first years in the Hospital Wing. I’ll be fine, honestly.”

He looks concerned. “Do you want me to take you back to see Madam Pomfrey? I’m sure she can find something to give you ...”

“No. It’s okay. You have fun.”

He looks suspicious. “Marty Price, are you being a martyr?”

“Of course not,” I scoff. “I want to stay here. I’m glad everyone’s celebrating. Hooray!”

He looks unsure, probably not at all convinced by my forced cheerfulness.. “Okay. Well, do you want me to get you anything?”

I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”

So he stands and goes to join Sirius over at the bar, who has apparently been rejected �“ once again �“ by Madam Rosmerta.

Okay. I didn’t exactly tell Remus the entire truth. And it’s not just the first year bug, either. The truth is, this impromptu party celebration thing reminds me of others I’ve been to in the past when Causes have gone particularly well. Only at those ones, it wasn’t me who organised it all and gave the inspirational speeches. It was my mother.

I’ve tried not to dwell on all that. I have. And consequently, I haven’t. Dwelled, that is. Not much. Only she would have loved today! She would have been so proud! If she’d have been alive, she and Aunt Tabby would have turned up, their similarly Cause driven friends in tow, to give me support. She’d be over the moon that we managed to stop those officials, even if they probably will come back when there are no obstructing and opinionated youths in the way. She would, right now, be telling every person in the room �“ quite loudly and excitedly, I’m guessing �“ that it was her daughter behind it all. I can almost see her beaming over at me. Only she’s not.

This, coupled with my growing feelings of illness, is hardly leaving me in the most celebratory of moods, no matter how happy I am that we won this round in our battle for justice.

Actually, the more that I think about my mother ...

The more I think I’m going to be sick.

[Remus]

“Yes, Padfoot,” I say firmly. “I do think it’s perfectly fine the way it is.”

“But don’t you feel left out? Cheated, even. Think of all the fun we could be having, you and I, if only society wasn’t so prejudiced against people like us.”

“I’m sorry to have to hurt you this way, Sirius, but I seriously think they have made the right decision in this case. Besides, a little thing like that isn’t going to stop you, is it? Not the Sirius Black I know, that’s for sure.”

“It’s just so hard,” Sirius moaned, not without some passion. “All these months of waiting this way ...”

“Two months, Sirius, two.”

“Two eternal months. Stretching on into nothingness. Will I ever be free from this torment? Probably not.”

“You shouldn’t even be drinking Firewhisky anyway, age limit or not. You know what happens when you drink too much. Need I remind you of the incident with the goats? And the scarf? And the cottage cheese?”

“Moony, how could you bring that up now? All four of us promised never to speak of it again.”

“Only to stop you whining.”

As Sirius mutters about the nightmares that still haunt him, I look up at some sudden movement in the corner of my eye to see Marty flee the pub, her hand over her mouth.

“Hang on,” I say, grabbing my coat. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When I get outside, she is leaning on the wall by the door.

“I was sick,” she says.

“Yeah, I thought you might have been,” I reply, pulling a handkerchief out of my pocket and handing it to her. She wipes her mouth, then scrunches it up in her hand and holds on to it. I know it’s kind of old fashioned of me to carry around a handkerchief and if my friends knew, they would probably add it to the list of things to make fun of me about (I don’t mind though. Because, after all, I have just as much ammo to throw back at them, such as the goat story). But it comes in handy in situations like this, doesn’t it?

“Sorry,” Marty mutters. “You can go back in. I’m okay.”

If she wasn’t so pathetic looking standing there, I would roll my eyes, but I think this requires a little more sensitivity.

“Marty,” I say sternly. “You’re very clearly not. Are you sure there’s nothing else wrong?”

And somehow, without any warning, it all comes out. Mostly things about her Mum, of course, but other little things as well. I know I carry a lot of weight around with me, one of the many downsides to my condition. But it still amazes me how girls can even have all this stuff on their minds and not go completely mad. Seriously. How do they manage to keep going with their everyday lives if they feel all this stuff? No guy I know thinks as deeply as girls seem to. And that includes me and my tragically broody lycanthropy.

“Maybe,” I say when she’s done, “you should let me take you to Madam Pomfrey now?”

“Maybe,” she replies, “that would be a good idea.” She steps forwards and promptly collapses. It’s a good job I have such quick reactions and am able to catch her in my arms before she hits the ground.

Maybe it’s the overly dramatic circumstances, what with the sadness confession and the frailty of the way she was leaning on the wall and fainting and all. But as she opens her eyes, I feel the weirdest urge to swoop down and kiss her.

[Marty]

I didn’t mean to tell him all that about my Mum. But he gave me that handkerchief and the fact that he even had something as old-fashioned and practical as a handkerchief (despite what his friends would say) just made me want to tell him everything.

I feel pretty stupid, however, that I actually fainted, even if it was only for a second or two. After all ... how embarrassing! I know I’m not very well and everything, but really. That doesn’t give me an excuse to go around fainting into the arms of sensitive, handkerchief carrying boys. It’s so tacky. It’s just not like me. Did my mother faint when she was holding that march for the rights of merpeople? Did she faint when she was arrested for demonstrating her opinions on the enslavement of magical creatures? Did she faint when she had Death Eaters blasting the door off her beloved café?

No. So I am, really, completely disgusted with myself when I open my eyes and see Remus’s staring down into mine and a whole lot of sky above him as I am being held upwards.

Still. It does feel rather safe down here. At least, it does until Remus tentatively leans in a little closer.

I stand up quickly, almost lose my balance and have to put my hand on the wall to steady myself.

“Let’s go,” I say. “I think I need a really long sleep.”

“Right,” Remus says, looking flustered. “Of course. Yeah. Absolutely. Let’s go. Oh and here,” he passes his cloak, “put this on. For warmth.”

“I’m not an invalid, Remus,” I insist, but I take the cloak anyway. Even if it is horribly clichéd. But not because I’ve fallen in love with him and I want his cloak to feel close to him and to have something that has his scent on it to keep after he’s gone or anything. That would be far too ridiculous and romantic of me. That’s just not the kind of thing I do, or have ever done, or ever will do. I just take it because it’s cold.

And linking arms with him as we walk out of Hogsmeade, into the grounds and up to the school? I only do that because otherwise I might lose my balance again, which I don’t want to do. All right, maybe for a while there, I thought he had tricked me onto coming on a date with him. In fact, I worried about it ever since I first realised and it was horribly awkward being alone with him at times. But it doesn’t matter. If the handkerchief proved anything, it was that Remus just isn’t that kind of guy. He’s just not the type to trick girls into going on dates with him.

When we eventually reach the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey does not look surprised to see us.

“Another one?” she asks, seemingly without expecting an answer. “I can’t say I’m surprised. If we’re not careful, I’ll have the whole school in here with this bug ... oh, hello, Remus and how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Remus says and I wonder how they know each other so well that she doesn’t call him ‘Lupin’. Then I remember the werewolf thing. “I’m here for Marty. She fainted just now and she’s not been well for over a day, but she had ... uh. Commitments today.”

“That conference in Hogsmeade, or rally, or whatever it was?” she asks.

“Protest,” I say. “Against the destruction of �“”

“Yes, dear, that’s lovely. Just leave her with me, Remus. If I keep her overnight with all the others, she should be right as rain in time for lessons on Monday.”

“Lucky you,” Remus says to me, smiling. “Now, feel better soon, okay? I’ll come and visit you later, to check you’re okay.”

“Tomorrow would be more suitable,” Madam Pomfrey says briskly. Remus continues to smile. How is he not terrified of that woman?

“Or maybe tomorrow,” he says. “And I’ll let everyone know you’re okay.”

Does that mean ... people can’t know I fainted! That would be horrible! I’d never hear the end of it! People would snicker in the halls and laugh at me behind my back. Which they do anyway, but that’s because of my beliefs, not because I’m such a loser I fainted when I got ill. Or, it used to be. There hasn’t been as much snickering in the halls lately, I’ve noticed, for which I can only be grateful. But that’s just even more of a reason not to let them find out about this whole fainting debacle! “Marty Price?” They’ll say if someone asks them if they know me. “Oh, yes, that’s the girl who fainted on Remus Lupin when she caught a slight cold. We call her Fainty McPassOut, it’s a jolly good laugh.”

I refuse to let people call me Fainty McPassOut. Refuse. At least when I was laughed at for believing in The Cause I was proud of the reason for my unpopularity.

“But I won’t tell them you fainted if you don’t want me to,” Remus adds kindly.

Okay. That was slightly scary. How did he realise what I was thinking that way?

And why do I feel so lonely when he leaves?

[Remus]

“Oh, look who it is!” Sirius says loudly when he enters the Common Room. “‘I’ll be back in a minute’ my ...” he glances at Luanne, who is with them, along with some of her first year friends. “... Brass.”

“Watch it,” James says, glaring at him for almost using a bad word in front of his adopted daughter.

“So where did you go?” Peter asks. I put down my quill and push away the Arithmancy essay I had been working on. Or not working on, technically, because I kept thinking about ... something else.

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “I noticed Marty wasn’t around, either. Interesting, eh? Moony, you’ve shocked me. Kidnapping innocent girls and taking them to your lair is much more my thing than yours. And after all the warnings we gave you about controlling your cannibalistic urges. I’m disgusted, really.”

“You were with Marty?” James asks. “You’re right, Padfoot, that is interesting. All that chanting get you in the mood for some lovin’, did it? I suppose some people find that kind of thing quite �“”

“I had to take Marty to the Hospital Wing,” I say quickly, to avoid ever having to hear what comes next. “And why is it okay for you to make innuendos like that, but it’s not okay for Sirius to say the word ‘a�“”

“Shush, Moony, where are your manners? I expected more of you. So what happened with Marty?”

I shrug. “Well, she’s been feeling ill for a while now and �“”

“We know that,” James interrupts me for the second time. “But what changed her mind?”

I think about how relieved Marty was when I told her I wouldn’t mention the fainting. I don’t know why it would bother her, but I guess she’s too proud or something. She is a Gryffindor.

“Nothing. I just offered to walk her back.”

Sirius looks sceptical. “Yeah, so did we all, but she insisted there was nothing even wrong anyway, which was clearly a blatant lie. What makes you so special?”

“Maybe it’s because she thinks he’s special,” Peter suggests, lightly, but he is grinning too maliciously for me to believe that he’s not winding me up.

“Get lost, Wormtail.”

“No, no, Wormtail’s on to something!” Sirius declares. “Maybe she does think you’re special, Moony. After all, a big strong, manly man like yourself ...”

I nearly gag. “I don’t ever want you to use the phrase ‘manly man’ in my presence ever again!” I splutter at him.

“It’s okay,” James says. “I’ve heard about this. He’s trying to put himself down to avoid heartbreak in the future, because if he never expects to love, he won’t be disappointed. Kind of like how if you aim low, you’ll only ever be pleased with your result, but if you aim high, then you might end up not achieving your goals. By not owning up to his manliness, Moony here is actually merely trying to suppress a fiery and all consuming need to be loved.”

“How tragic!” Sirius exclaims, sitting on the arm of my chair and throwing his own arm around my shoulders. I glare at him. “Don’t worry, Moony sweetums, any girl would have to be blind not to find you attractive. I, myself, have often �“”

“OKAY,” I say, standing up. “I think I’m going to the Library on my own now, to catch up with some work. Are you guys coming with me to visit her tomorrow?”

Sirius looks disappointed that he didn’t get to finish whatever heinous thing he had been about to say, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, of course. That is, unless you want to be alone with her ...”

“Goodbye,” I say firmly. “And I’ll see you later.”

But once I am away from them, I can’t help but smile at their remarks, which I’ll admit (though never to their faces) were actually quite humorous. And maybe a little truer than they realised. Maybe James had only been joking during his highly scientific analysis of my character, but in a way he was also right.

Not about the fiery and all consuming need to be loved �“ that was just James being his usually over-dramatic self. But about aiming low so that I don’t get hurt. Because that’s what I’ve always done. I presume no one will ever love me because of my curse and in that way, I don’t get upset when they don’t. Lonely, occasionally, but who isn’t? Never disappointed.

Trust Marty to come along and accidentally shake up my nicely ordered life without even realising it, until I’m questioning everything about myself and my psychology. Trust her to do all this without even noticing. Not that I’m falling for her or anything. I mean, it would never work. I’m too dangerous. And she’s just crazy. Plus, she has that weird thing about the pumpkin juice. My thinking I was going to kiss her was just a reaction to her looking so helpless, that’s all, causing me to want to protect her or something. I’m quite happy never to have to think about it again. Satisfied with this thought, I am able to continue my evening in quiet solitude and not panic too much about falling in love with Marty. After all, it’s ridiculous.

The next morning, we all sleep in a little later than maybe we should, because it’s Sunday after all and by the time we make it to the Great Hall they have stopped serving breakfast altogether and moved onto an early lunch. So we don’t actually manage to visit Marty until just gone noon, where we find her sitting up in her bed, chatting to the first years in the beds opposite her about Ghost Rights.

I wasn’t aware that ghosts had, or wanted, any rights, but none of us decide to question this, for fear that she is delusional with fever, or perhaps suffering from a bad side effect to whatever healing potion she has been given. Madam Pomfrey had, after all, warned us that she might come across a little light-headed.

“My friends!” she cries when she sees us. We are already a little worried, but then she continues. “How lovely for you to come and meet me! Did you know that ghosts do not have the right to vote in political issues, despite the fact that, through their age and experience, they have seen much more governmental history than many of us mortals have and are therefore far more qualified to have a say in important parliament decisions?”

“How is that relevant?” asks Sirius but I glare at him.

“No, Marty,” I say loudly over the top of him. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

She takes this as a sign to continue. “Because, if you asked a normal person whether it was a good idea to give decisions of council laws to, say, fairies and you asked a ghost who had seen the chaos this caused when trying to find the thin line between beasts and beings, which one would be more likely to tell you that fairies were not capable of making important decisions, because they’re too worried about being pretty and ornamental? Because I’m willing to bet it would be the ghost. So why aren’t they allowed more of a say in current issues where their first hand experience of the past could help predict possible outcomes of the future? And why has no one realised this complete injustice until now?”

“But Marty,” Peter says, sounding confused. “The ghosts don’t want to have anything to do with �“”

I stamp on his foot. “You know what, Marty, you’re right. This is terrible. We should really do something about it when you’re feeling better.” I make sure I emphasise the last point, about the timing of our actions, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Au contraire, mon frère,” she says. “I have already spoken at length about this to one Nearly Headless Nick of Gryffindor House.”

“Oh Merlin,” Sirius mutters.

“Moony isn’t your brother,” James points out.

“No, he’s something else entirely,” Peter says and snickers, but luckily Marty either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

“That’s great!” I say to her, glaring at them all. Can’t they see she’s in a delicate state without all their negativity? Don’t they know it’s best to just agree with whatever ill people say and then deny it later when they’re better and put it down to the medication? Sometimes I wonder how they ever got this far blundering through life without any knowledge of the delicate and intricate rules of behaviour towards sick people. Or any kind of behaviour at all.

“It’s so nice of you guys to visit me,” she continues happily as though she was never interrupted. “No one else has. Except Lily. And the other girls from the dorm. Who have been a lot nicer to me recently. Oh and Luanne came at one point. And some first years I found who signed the Cardrac Petition. That was nice of them. Oh and Professor McGonagall came to check I was okay. But apart from those, not one single person other than you four has visited me. It’s because you four are so gentlemanly and civil and honourable and chivalrous.”

I exchange looks with the other three.

“It’s the medication,” James whispers sombrely. “Making her say crazy things.” He pats her hand, tentatively. “Maybe I’ll go and speak to Madam Pomfrey about increasing your dosage.”

“It’s not the medication!” she insists. “I mean it! You’re all so lovely ... not everyone would accept me the way you four did ... I love you all so much ... you’re my best friends ... so lovely ...” She has become inexplicably close to tears.

“Thank you, Marty,” I say, smiling to try and diffuse the situation before she starts uncontrollably sobbing and signing over her worldly possessions to us. “That’s very nice of you to say. About those ghosts ...”

“Ah, yes, the ghosts, I forgot,” she says, sitting up a little, suddenly businesslike again. I think it really is the potions she’s taken that are causing her slightly odd behaviour. But then ... it is Marty. She could be 100% aware of everything she’s saying and we’d never know it. “Yes, Sir Nick was fascinating in his beliefs and opinions ... the whole interview really opened my eyes to the truth ...”

We are able to sit with her for fifteen more minutes before Madam Pomfrey shoos us out again and I leave in an extremely good mood, looking forward to the next visit �“ and the next, until she can be properly discharged in a day or two.

Something about Marty on flu potion made her even more likable than usual.

*~*~*

AN: Heh heh heh. Whether it was Marty being Marty, or slight side effects of her potion making her a little odd is a good question ... the answer is probably both. Please review!

EXCLUSIVE interview with Marauder Sirius Black.

Interviewer (I): Hi Sirius, thanks for joining us.
Sirius (S): Us? Marty, there’s just you. Are you sure you’re better after all that flu potion you took? Because I’m telling you, you went a little crazy for a while. Uh ... more than you are already, of course.
I: I’m fine. Would you say your concern for me was a reflection of your deeply sensitive inner being, desperate to shine through?
S: No. The words “deeply sensitive” and “Sirius Black” are not words which should legally be mixed.
I: Whatever you say. What is your most treasured memory of the Marauders?
S: Treasured memory? I don’t know. I prefer living memories to remembering them. I guess ... well. There was the time we got a little drunk for Moony’s birthday last year and then we found ourselves hanging out of the window of Dumbledore’s office, because we were trying to sneak in, until it occurred to us that he might notice our less than sobriety and then we had to wait for someone to see us, only there was this phoenix, right and ... yeah, that was one fun night.
I: Ah, the Window Incident of ’75. You’re right, that was quite amusing.
S: You knew about that?
I: I know about everything. If the naming of this book was up to you, what would it be?
S: Hmm ... definitely something along the lines of ... um ... “Marauder Madness” ... no, that’s rubbish ... “Monkey Madness” ... no, “Monkey Marauder” ... no ... “Sirius Black and his Amazing Flying Cardigan”!
I: Wow. Uh. Thanks. I’ll definitely consider it.
S: I bet you will, you little minx.

Chapter Seventeen: Most Indubitably

[Remus]

“Moony, Moony, Moony, we need your help!”

I turn around to find James pelting towards me and Marty in full Quidditch uniform. We are on our way to the match now, planning on meeting Sirius and Peter in the stands, since they had gone ahead to get good seats.

“No way, Prongs,” I say, suspecting what this is about. “I’ve told you, not in a million years. You’ll just have to find someone else. I don’t care how bad your player’s hangover is, you know I can’t play Quidditch. I’m only a reserve because you bullied me into it, despite my assurances that I will never, ever play a game publicly. You do remember that conversation, don’t you? The one where I agreed to be a reserve, but only if you promised never to make me actually play because I can’t?”

“Of course you can, it’s easy. Anyway, this isn’t about reserves, although one day I will get you on that pitch. Actually, it sort of is about reserves, but not for the team. We need you to commentate.”

Oh Merlin. It’s worse than I thought.

“You need me to do what? No way! I can’t! What happened to McJacks?”

“What do you think happened to McJacks?” James asks, rolling his eyes. “What always happens to McJacks. Hangover the size of Timbuktu. Wherever that is. Come on, it’ll be just this once.”

“Do you mean Greg McJacks?” Marty asks. “The seventh year who did that naked cancan last year after a bit too much Firewhiskey? He’s the commentator? Why did anyone think he would be reliable?”

“They didn’t,” James explains, grabbing each of us by an arm and dragging us with him towards the pitch. “Only no one thought to get a replacement, because he always makes it to the games. Only it was his best mate’s birthday last night and apparently things got a bit more wild than usual, something about a toucan. So McGonagall came to me just now in the changing rooms and asked me to recommend someone.”

“What about Sirius?” I ask, desperately. The thought of all those people listening to my voice trying to sound expertise fills me with horror. Especially since it’s the full moon next week, so I don’t really feel that much up to anything at all. Which James well knows.

“Well, obviously that was my first choice,” he admits. “Only she said something along the lines of ‘under no circumstances are you turning this game into a totally uncouth ravage of biased expletives and dirty innuendo, James Potter.’ Which is fair enough, although a little bit harsh.”

“True though,” I admit begrudgingly.

“So I tried to think of the least uncouth person I know and came up with you. She nearly wet herself with excitement, about how it would be good for you to get involved in things. You can’t really get out of it now, mate.”

I groan. “Thanks a lot, James. You’re a true pal.” If by ‘pal’, I mean ‘total and utter idiotic nuisance who should stick his stupid broomstick up his backside, along with his helpful ideas about who should be reserves for people who don’t know when too much liqueur is enough’. Which I do.

“I think it’s a great idea!” Marty says as we near the teacher’s stand, where the scoreboard and commentator’s seat is. “Can I do it, too? We could be like a duo!”

“Or,” I say quickly, seeing my opportunity. “We could be like a duo ... but with only one person actually commentating. Meaning you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know enough about the rules. I need you to help me.”

“Come on, Moony, you do it for us when we play socially ... this is just like that, only on a larger scale. Besides, I already told McGonagall you’d agree.”

“Oh, thanks. Don’t I get any say?” I ask, although I am already resigning myself to the answer.

“I’ll do it with you,” Marty insists. “It will be fun.”

“Well, whatever happens, I have to go,” James says, running his hand through his hair and checking his watch. “Just make sure one of you does it. And wish us luck!”

“Damn you to hell, James Potter!”

He runs off towards the changing rooms, probably so that he can give his team an absurdly overdramatic pep talk. I know, because Phyllis Goodman, one of the Beaters, told me and Sirius about them once. Mostly she was flirting with Sirius. But also telling us about how James is insanely overambitious and power hungry. Which I can believe.

I sigh. Marty looks up at me, pleadingly, eyes wide, desperate for me to agree to the duo idea. I guess it’s better than doing it on my own.

“Fine,” I say.

“Goodie!” she’s squeals, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. “Let’s go!”

[Marty]

Commentating the Quidditch match with Remus is the most fun I have since I come out of the Hospital Wing.

We perform the Sonorus charms on ourselves and then he says reluctantly, “Hello and welcome to this Gryffindor Vs Ravenclaw match, on October 28th, 1975!”

“We’re Marty Price and Remus Lupin,” I say. “Commentating today instead of Greg McJacks, who I hear had a bit too much fun last night, if you know what I mean. But don’t worry, because even though I know nothing about Quidditch, I am able to tell you almost everything there is to know about protest marches.”

“Which, as I’m sure you will all agree,” Remus says sarcastically to the audience, “is extremely useful when commentating such a prestigious sporting event as this.” There is a ripple of laughter from the friendlier houses and McGonagall smiles at us approvingly and nods her head. For someone who was desperate not to have to do this, Remus sure seems to be enjoying it.

“So, tell me then, Remus, where are we with scores and things?” I ask, since McJacks always does a quick overview of where the teams are in the overall scheme of things and what rides on the match ahead. When he’s not too drunk to care, that is. Only I haven’t got a clue, because I tend to switch off when James starts explaining those things and before I met the Marauders I just sat in the crowd and cheered.

“Well, Marty, as we know ...”

Even now I can’t help but let my mind wander as Remus begins churning out numbers and odds that apparently have some kind of significance. Instead, I watch as the referee begins preparing the balls and look over to the entrance of the changing rooms, waiting for James, his team and the Ravenclaws to walk onto the pitch.

“... And that’s why it’s pivotal for Gryffindor to win this match if they want to have a good chance of getting to the final,” Remus concludes.

“And Ravenclaw,” I add, so as not to be biased.

“Well, them too, I suppose,” Remus says. “Only kidding, Ravenclaws. Let’s hope it’s a good match, I’m sure Potter has been whipping his team into shape and I hear those ’Claw’s are wanting to put up a good fight, so ...” he trails off and looks a little panicked, as if he doesn’t know what to say next.

McGonagall leans over and whispers in my ear, “You can call the teams now.”

“So let’s get this show on the road!” I cry and then cringe at the terrible figure of speech. “Here’s the Gryffindors now, captained, of course, by James Potter of sixth year. Excellent gent, so I’ve heard, shame about the size of his head.”

James looks up at the commentator stand from the pitch and I give him a waggle of my fingers and laugh.

“All right, all right, no flirting, Miss Price,” Remus says and the crowd laughs again. This is brilliant. I’m having the time of my life. Who knew commentating could be such fun?

“And there’s Ravenclaw!” I say, grinning over at Remus. He smiles.

“Captained by fifth year Isabella Staunt, this will be her first game as Captain, so she’s got a lot to prove, let’s hope James will go easy on her.”

“The Captains shake hands,” I say, as James looks determined and Isabella looks faintly scared. “They mount their brooms,” I continue, into the near silence. The referee blows his whistle. “And they’re off!” I cry, as James kicks from the ground and shoots after the Quaffle.

“James �“ I mean, Potter is already in possession and zooming down the pitch towards the Ravenclaw goalposts, wasting no time.”

“Why is it called being in possession, I wonder?” I ask.

“I haven’t a clue,” Remus replies. “Potter passes to Andrews, narrowly missing opposing Ravenclaw chaser Keane, while the Beaters start circling the pitch, waiting for the right targets.”

“Like vultures circling prey,” I mutter. Remus throws me a slightly bewildered look. “Not you, of course, Phyll, you’re not a vulture,” I add quickly, for fear of what might happen in the Dorms later if Phyll heard me referring to her as a vulture in front of the whole school. “Oh, look, Ravenclaw has the ball. James won’t be happy about that.”

“Yes, thank you, Marty, that’s Davidson in possession, except �“ no, wait, there goes James �“ uh, Potter, swooping in there between that throw and regaining possession for Gryffindor. Come on, now, James, you can do it ...”

“Gryffindor score!” I squeal, jumping up in my seat along with half the crowd and celebrating, as James does a loop-de-loop.

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Remus calls over the top of the cheering. “Well done, mate �“ watch out for that Bludger!”

James stops celebrating and drops in the air, so that the Bludger goes shooting over his head and the game continues.

After about half an hour of friendly banter and actual commentating of events, things suddenly start to heat up a bit. The Ravenclaws are definitely keeping their word and putting up a good fight, so that the scores are perfectly equal now and the lead keeps dipping between one team, then the other.

“What’s Smithy doing?” I ask, as our Seeker, Louisa Smith (only ever referred to as Smithy) suddenly dive bombs towards the ground, a look of determination on her face.

“Has she seen the Snitch?” Remus asks, leaning over in his seat. “Or is it a feint? Obviously Ravenclaw can’t take the risk, Staunt goes straight after her. I wouldn’t like to see those two in a fight, that’s for sure, although I’m sure Sirius Black would get some kind of sick pleasure out of it, they’re both very determined ladies �“”

“Remus!” I scold, slightly shocked. “Honestly! Boys!”

“Smith pulls out of the dive,” Remus continues, winking at me.

“Staunt follows suit, she doesn’t look happy about being tricked, but �“ wait! Has she seen something?” Isabella suddenly rockets off towards the Gryffindor goalposts and Smithy isn’t far behind.

“I think she has!” Remus yells, standing up along with the rest of the crowd in excitement. “Come on, Smithy!” he shouts and I almost laugh to see him getting so excited.

“They’re almost neck-and-neck!” I cry, getting quite into it myself. “Come on, guys, you can make it! Yes! That’s it! Almost there!”

“Louisa Smith gets the Snitch!” Remus roars, as the crowds explode. “Gryffindor wins! Thank you, Smithy!”

He turns round and pulls me into a hug as we jump up and down together.

“Go, go, go Gryffindor!” I cheer and Remus lets go. We watch as the team crowd over to Smithy and start hugging her, James looking like he might just die of relief.

“I think it’s safe to say,” Remus says over the din, “That there’ll be a party in the Common Room tonight!”

“I think you might just be right,” I reply, grinning over at him in the excitement of it all. You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve really, truly enjoyed a Quidditch match.

“Congratulations Prongs and indeed Gryffindor,” Remus says. “That was a close one and congratulations to Ravenclaw for giving us a run for our money. Thank you all for coming and enjoy the rest of your weekend. Gryffindors, you know what’s left to do!”

They need no encouragement and spill onto the pitch towards their team in droves, Sirius in the lead, with Peter and the girls from the dorm not behind. Even Lily looks pleased and my eyes may be playing tricks on me, but little Luanne almost looks proud of her, uh, ‘father’ as he ruffles her hair and pats her on the back.

Remus and I remove the charms from our voice boxes and hurry down to the pitch to meet them, too.

“Right,” Sirius says loudly. “I think the party should begin any minute now. What say you, Mr Prongs?”

“I concur most indubitably, Mr Padfoot,” James replies. “Oh and Marty, Remus ... I loved the duo idea.”

[Remus]

The party is a success, of course, as victory parties always are. Loads of people come up and say how much they enjoyed the commentary, even if some of it did get a little odd, with Marty doing 50% of the talking.

“Much better than when McJacks does it,” Mary MacDonald says. “All he does is talk about the score, as if anyone’s interested in that.”

I smile and glance over at James, who is, as a rule, much more interested in the score than topics such as why Gryffindor wears red and Ravenclaw wears blue and what that might give away about their tactics, or any of the other random things Marty ended up bringing up. Still, he seemed to enjoy it enough anyway and he’s certainly enjoying himself now, as he tells a group of star struck first and second years what a great responsibility it is to be Captain, but how ‘someone’s got to do it, so it might as well be someone who’s guaranteed to get us all the way to the top.’ I can’t help but notice both Lily and Luanne are looking rather sceptical at this and a little disgusted at his arrogance, only in an amused way. Even Lily.

If you ask me, despite the age difference, those two are very much alike. Both see James’s arrogance for what it really is and neither are afraid to talk back to him when he’s being particularly idiotic. But neither can help liking him for it, no matter how much they roll their eyes and pretend not to.

The next day or two I spend as ill feeling as I always do around full moon and on Monday night, the 30th, I am about ready fall asleep in my chair, even though it’s only six in the evening.

“Of course, full moon would be on Hallowe’en,” Peter says.

“Yeah, the Gods obviously have a sense of humour,” James chuckles.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah, it’s really witty.”

“So what are we going to do?” asks Sirius. “You know, about the, ah, little prank we had planned?”

“It’s your fault you forgot to check the calendar,” I point out, although to be honest I don’t care what they do, as long as they’re with me when it matters. “Besides, you don’t have to come with me. I’ll be fine on my own if Maraudering is more important to you,” I lie.

“Don’t talk tosh,” James says. Yes, he actually does say the word ‘tosh’. “We’ll just do it at lunch instead. Or ... yes ... yes, I have a great idea!”

Oh no.

“Marty,” James says. “You do it for us!”

I knew it. James’s great ideas never end well. Who does he think he is, jeopardising Marty’s reputation like it’s nothing? Like she’d actually want to be part of their stupid schoolboy pranks.

“Me? Are you serious?” Marty sounds thrilled. Okay, maybe she would want to be part of their stupid schoolboy pranks.

“Of course,” James says. “It’ll be easy. We’ll set everything up during the day, the complicated bits will be taken care of completely. All you’ll have to do is be on time and set off the trigger. It’s nothing overly complicated, just a fun little twist to the evening’s events ... what do you say, lads? Can we trust her with it?”

“Of course we can,” Peter says loyally. “And we can do some kind of ... we can have a kind of ‘courtesy of the Marauders’ thing set up, since we won’t actually be there.”

“Yes,” Sirius agrees, leaning forwards. “As in, saying that even though we’re not there in person, we can still wreak as much havoc. You know? It’ll make us look really powerful, really mysterious ... like we have spies everywhere ...”

Hey, wait a second, when did we become a government dictatorship? Oh, never mind. I don’t even care. As long as Marty knows what she’s getting herself into, they can do what they like.

And, as they begin planning and plotting the various details of their prank, while she scribbles furiously in The Book, it’s obvious that she knows perfectly well what she’s getting herself into. And loving it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Marty?” I ask over the top of their excited planning. Because I feel weirdly responsible for her. “You know you could get into trouble?”

She smiles and scribbles something in her book, probably about my unstoppable concern for others or something (when really it’s just her). “Don’t worry, Remus,” she says as she writes. “I’ll be fine, I’m not scared of a little detention for The Cause.”

“Woah, wait,” I sit up slightly. “This isn’t a Cause, Marty, this is some stupid prank that ... I don’t even want to know what it is.”

“Keeping people in high spirits is just as important for The Cause as any campaign or petition,” she says, still writing furiously. How does she do that? Concentrate on what she is writing and what she is saying at the same time? “It means that when the important stuff does come up, the morale of the people is such that they are ready to start straight away.”

I sigh, too groggy feeling to argue. “Okay. Fine. Do what you like. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Don’t worry,” she chirps. “I won’t. But do you guys mind if, before I do the prank, I have my annual one-girl protest against the commercial use of pumpkins during the Hallowe’en period?”

Oh, Merlin. For a moment, I had forgotten about her weird pumpkin thing. The others assure her, however, that they don’t mind a bit. Does no one else find that thing with the pumpkins really odd?

Still, pumpkins are the last thing on my mind the next evening, when I should be going along to the Hallowe’en feast with everyone else. Instead, I am sneaking outside in the gathering darkness, heading for the Whomping Willow where I will wait for the others to come and join me.

When I am halfway to the blasted tree, I turn almost involuntarily and look through one of the brightly lit windows of the Great Hall, searching for Marty before I even realise what I’m doing. I can’t tell one person from another, of course, at this distance. But just thinking of her being there, sitting with Lily and the other girls, waiting for her moment to begin whatever it is she has agreed to begin, makes me feel just that bit better about what is going to happen.

I try not to think about why I’m so comforted by the thought of her being safe and happy. I’ve been trying to avoid a lot of those thoughts lately, actually. Despite the pumpkin thing, I think I might just �“

Nothing. I might just nothing. I pull my cloak tighter around myself and hurry towards the Willow, searching in the grass for a large stick to touch the knot with.

[Marty]

As several of the younger and more excitable girls and boys begin screeching, I can’t help but feel proud of myself. Even if all I did was bring to life what my friends had already done themselves, there’s something oddly thrilling about being the cause of all this chaos. I twitch my wand very discreetly and a large cloth unfolds above the teachers’ table out of thin air, hanging suspended above the staff for all to see.

Courtesy of MWPP ... There Is No Escape

I twitch my wand for a third time and the food on the tables �“ green worms where there should be green beans, miniature eyeballs where there should be peas, balled up spiders webs where there should be mashed potato, complete with spiders �“ begins to fade back to its original form. It’s actually very exciting being a prankster, I’m finding. Okay, none of the spell work is my own, or the planning, or the ideas, but just being the trigger is enough. If there weren’t so many pumpkins about and if all of my friends were actually here, I would be really enjoying myself.

Except that they aren’t all here and there are pumpkins about, despite my annual one-girl protest. Not that I don’t like pumpkins �“ in fact, I love them. That’s why we (meaning me, my Aunt Tabby and my Mum. In the old days, that is, when we were all alive) never drink, or drank, pumpkin juice and always made paper pumpkin decorations at Hallowe’en. We only served the juice in Taffy’s due to popular demand. It was �“ and still is, I suppose �“ a business, after all. Okay. Some people (particularly Remus, actually) find the pumpkin thing weird. To be honest, I don’t really remember what’s so wrong with drinking the juice and using them as decorations. But I’m not about to change the habit of a lifetime, no matter how disconcerted Remus gets. Plus, it’s hilarious to watch his eyes go crazy, but he never says anything about it, because he’s too polite.

Laughter begins to outweigh the screaming and when people read the banner, they begin to look around to congratulate the Marauders on another job well done ... only to find that they’re not here.

“Marty,” Lily begins, cautiously. “Where are your ... other friends?”

The Shrieking Shack, I want to say. “I don’t know, actually,” I lie, trying not to look her in the eye, under the pretence of studying the carrots, which are halfway between orange slugs and vegetables.

“Did they tell you they were planning this?”

I helped them do it, I think. “No, I had no idea ... shows how much they tell me, doesn’t it? It’s very good magic, though, isn’t it?”

Lily looks unconvinced. “How would they do it if they’re not here?” she asks, checking under the tables as if she expects them to be hiding there.

Get me to. “I haven’t got a clue ... it does add to the prank a bit, though, doesn’t it? Makes it more advanced seeming than just a large scale deception charm.”

“How do you know that’s how they did it?” Lily asks, suspiciously.

I was the trigger. “I don’t. Just guessing.”

“All right, everybody, settle down,” McGonagall calls, sounding exasperated. And why wouldn’t she, with all these pumpkins on show? “The food is back to normal and perfectly edible, don’t worry. When I find the culprits, I’ll be sure to punish them.” She takes out her own wand and banishes the flying banner to a corner, where it will be out of sight.

“You know, Marty,” Lily says as normality is somewhat resumed. “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with me.”

“Don’t you?” I ask, innocently. Luckily, Lily looks more amused than anything.

“Good thing I’m not planning on pressing the matter further,” she says.

“That is a good thing,” I agree, smiling knowingly at her for a moment, before innocently reaching for the potatoes �“ cobweb free now, thankfully �“ and piling them on my plate.

“Because to be honest, I don’t want to know,” Lily admits, sighing and shaking her head.

“Funny,” I reply thoughtfully. “That’s what Remus said.”

Lily snorts with laughter, which soon sets me off too.

“Wasn’t that brilliant?” Mary asks, turning to us and grinning. “I bet James was behind it, he’s always been the brains of the group, hasn’t he?”

This succeeds only in making us laugh harder.

When the giggles finally subside, I happen to glance towards the ceiling and see the full moon hanging in the sky. I sober up a lot quicker and I suddenly ache for poor Remus, going through agony while I sit here, enjoying the feast, warm and surrounded by friends. But I’m comforted knowing that, while he may not be enjoying himself, at least he, too, has friends around him. Still. I want to help him. But how can I? There’s nothing I can do. I’m no Animagus and I’d be terrified of doing it illegally anyway. I suppose all I can do is support him when it’s over.

The feast is soon finished and the next morning I am eating breakfast, putting the finishing artistic touches on a ‘Get Well Soon’ card I made last night (with Lily’s help on some of the trickier charms, of course).

“So that’s where they are?” she had said, as we sat by the dying fire in the Common Room. “With Remus?”

“Yes,” I said. “He’s ill again. But he didn’t want everyone knowing. So the prank also helped to account for their absences ... by drawing attention to them, I guess.”

“I thought they were just being pompous gits, as usual,” Lily said, in a pleasantly surprised manner. “But they’re staying with their friend, rather than coming to a splendid feast?”

“They’ve never been pompous gits,” I insisted. She looked sceptical. “Well. Maybe a bit. But you know it’s just an act, don’t you?”

Lily sighed. “I suppose so. But still. They really do know how to make me mad sometimes.”

“You mean James does.”

“Well. Yes. I mean James does. Stupid arrogant arse,” she muttered. But not like she meant it at all.

I smile now as I think about it and am glad to be helping Remus, even if it is just a charmed card. It’s a good feeling to know that you’re helping a friend, even in the smallest of ways.

I swot away an owl that keeps trying to get too close to my handiwork. And then I realise it’s trying to deliver a letter to me, only I hadn’t quite noticed.

“Sorry,” I say, taking the letter and offering the owl some toast. I recognise it as Garfield’s, the man Aunt Tabby has been staying with since Mum died. She has been using his owl to write to me, since we never had our own and she’d rather do that for free than use the ones from the post office.

I open the letter and scan the contents, taking a sip of water as I do so (not pumpkin juice, of course, even if it is more out of habit these days than actual protest).

The letter contains all the usual things ... she and Garfield are glad of each others company ... business is going well ... would I be willing to �“

What? I read that part again. My hand almost drops the goblet I am holding, it starts shaking so hard. She can’t be serious. She can’t honestly expect ...

My blood runs cold at the very thought.

*~*~*

AN: Whoops, cliffhanger there! You can guess what Aunt Tabby wants, if you like, but you’ll have to wait until the next chapter to find out if you’re right ... in the meantime, don’t forget to drop me a review and tell me what you think!

I have often wondered about the motivations for some of The Marauders more controversial actions. Do they really believe in what they are doing, or is it more for the attention? Sometimes it is quite obviously the latter �“ when they tried to set up the caretaker with McGonagall, for example, it was for the attention, not because they felt the two were soul mates who were destined to be together. But other times it can be more difficult to determine the truth. I sometimes wonder this about my own Causes; do the Marauders help me protest and petition because they believe in what I’m trying to achieve, or because it really rubs figures of authority the wrong way when young people point out their faults? It’s possible �“ and, in fact, probable �“ that the answer to this is both.

Chapter Eighteen: Uncle Morris

[Remus]

I am trying not to think about her. Only the thing is, the more I try not to think about her, the more I do. And the more I come round to the idea. This is ridiculous, really. I wish it had never even occurred to me. What was I thinking? I don’t like Marty. Not in that way. It’s impossible. She’s crazy. I’m a monster. She has that weird thing about pumpkins. I’m a monster.

It would all just be far too difficult.

Why did the thought ever have to cross my mind? It was much nicer before, when there was no question that she was just a really good friend.

I am trying not to mull this over some more (and failing), when someone knocks on the door of the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey bustles across the ward to let them in.

“Miss Price,” she says begrudgingly. “Come on in. Lupin, I presume?”

Marty must have nodded, but I don’t see because I pretend to be asleep. Although I’m not sure why.

“Hi, Remus,” I hear her say from over by the chair when Madam Pomfrey has left. “I thought you would be awake by now, but I guess not. I made you a card. Well ... Lily helped.”

I sit up in a panic and whirl around to face her. She lets out a surprised little shriek.

“You told Lily about me?” I yell at her.

“Not the truth,” she insists, once she has recovered. “I just said you were ill. Calm down. Were you pretending to be asleep?”

Oops. Yes. This is awkward. “Uh ... no. How did the prank go?”

“The what? Oh, yeah, it went fine. Everybody loved it.”

I frown. Yesterday she had been practically having kittens that she had been asked to be the trigger for their Hallowe’en prank. Now she barely seems to care at all.

“And what did they think about us not being there? And the banner?”

She smiles half-heartedly. “Worked like a chime. Very enigmatic.”

“Do you mean charm?”

“Probably. You know, Aunt Tabby is always mixing her words up. I wouldn’t be very surprised if it was passed on to�“” she stops. “Yeah. Well. Yeah.”

My frown deepens. “Marty, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I got a letter from her, that’s all. Nothing new. Have you heard from your Mum lately?”

“Uh ... yeah, last week, she says hi ... didn’t she write to you too?”

“Oh. Yeah. She did. Is there, uh ... is there a chance of ... do you think she would mind ...”

Marty is struggling for the words. I know that she is trying to ask if she can stay with us again over Christmas without sounding like she’s asking to stay with us, because she doesn’t want to be a burden.

I don’t know why, but I’m not nearly as comfortable with this idea as I was a month ago when I just assumed it would happen and I didn’t mind a jot. But ever since I had that darned thought, the idea scares me a little. Like I don’t want to be alone with her for too long. But I don’t know why.

All right, I know exactly why. The same reason I pretended to be asleep just now. Because I’m scared of what will happen if we’re alone for too long.

All right, fine. I’m terrified. Happy?

“You’ll have to ask her,” I say. Wait, no, don’t ask her. She’ll welcome you back with open arms! Which is exactly why you should ask her. I mean, not ask her. I mean ...

Dammit.

“Sure ...” Marty seems distracted again. I want to get to the bottom of it and help her, but I’m far too tired right now. I slump back in my pillows.

“Can I see the card?” I ask.

She passes it to me, wordlessly. She has that distracted look on her face. The one she usually gets in between realising some injustice and deciding something needs to be done. A sort of shocked, helpless, desperate look, as if she’s waiting for someone to run in and fix it for her, before she resigns to the fact that she’ll have to do it herself ... again. I feel a huge urge to be the first person to take the burden from her without her having to do anything at all, but I don’t even know what needs to be done. And the look on her face usually only stays there for a second or two. She’s looked like that ever since she walked in.

Whatever has happened is either so huge, she needs a little longer to compose herself ... or she doesn’t think anything can be done.

I sincerely hope it’s the former.

The card is really very nice. Very glittery and shimmery and Marty. When I open it, little fireworks shoot out of the inside crease and explode before my eyes in lots of gold sparkles. I can see that Lily definitely helped with the charms, but the ideas and twinkle-factor are Marty all over. Or at least, they’re the old Marty.

There is another knocking on the double doors of the ward.

“Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!” someone outside sings loudly �“ James, as far as I can tell by the horrible off-key sound to his notes.

“Ding-Ding-Ding-Dong!” someone else harmonises. Peter, by the high notes he is almost hitting.

“Ding-a-Ling-a-Ling-Dong!” someone else harmonises. Sirius, by process of elimination (and the self-important way this third of the trio is trying to steal all the limelight). They continue their individual ditties on a round loop.

“What on Earth is that?” asks Marty, sounding horrified. I’m happy to hear a more solid emotion in her voice than before, even if it is mild alarm.

“I dread to think,” I reply.

Madam Pomfrey storms across the ward angrily, before wrenching the door open.

“Keep that racket down!” she says.

“Sorry, Poppy,” Sirius replies, grinning and patting her on the shoulder as they all swan in, as self-assured as ever. I shove the card under my pillow.

“Sorry,” I say quickly to Marty. “I like it. But it’s not very manly.”

She smiles and shrugs. Sirius grabs a chair from beside the empty bed next to me and straddles it. I wish he wouldn’t. Peter sits at the foot of my own bed, while James hops on to the empty one and crosses his legs like he’s meditating, even though he’s wearing shoes. Sirius throws down the Prophet onto my bed, open at a section about halfway through when all the important and intelligent news has run out. Most of the page is taken up by a picture of Celestina Warbeck throwing up over the bouncer outside the only solely Wizarding nightclub in London, ‘Lumos!’. She is doing this whilst trying to cover her identity to the photographer (but not covering her knickers).

“Um,” I say. “Delightful as that image is, is there any reason I should be interested in ... uh ... ‘Celestina War-barf’s Latest Night On The Town’?”

“Not that,” Sirius says, “although the poor love is a little worse for wear. I reckon she needs a nice, caring hand to take care of her and guide her back down the road of normality. No, it’s that small bit in the corner. And it’s mostly for Marty’s benefit.”

I see where he is looking and manage to read the headline (if you can call it that) ‘Barmy Ex-Wizengamot’s Hogsmeade House To Be Demolished’ before Marty takes the paper and starts reading it, frowning deeply. James pulls a face as if to say, “Sorry about this.” Peter looks equally sympathetic.

Sirius sort of looks like he wants another chance to see Celestina War-barf’s �“ I mean, Warbeck’s �“ knickers. But I decide to pretend he is concerned for Marty’s Cause, too, because that’s much less worrying.

“We do too have something better to do!” Marty cries. Sirius winces, while James and Peter look similarly guilty at having exposed her to whatever that tiny article displays.

“What?” I ask, being the only person not to know what’s going on.

“Listen to this,” Marty says sounding disgusted. “‘On the 1st December, the humble home of Ex-Wizengamot, Eugene Cardrac, will be demolished to make room on Hogsmeade’s High Street for two new shops. Despite one or two protests from some teens at the school with nothing better to do, the demolition will continue as planned. Cardrac was laughed out of the Wizengamot in 1867 for his unorthodox ideas, probably spurred on by senile dementia.’ That’s it! That’s all they have to say!”

“Preposterous,” Sirius insists solemnly, whilst looking again at the revealing picture accompanying the page’s more dominant article.

“Terrible,” Peter agrees, thankfully looking like he might actually mean it.

“They didn’t even mention that the spokespeople for the campaign are also the Marauders, Hogwarts’ most infamous quartet,” James says, equally disgusted.

“Yes,” I say dryly. “The real crime here is that you’re not getting credit where it’s due, not that a noble man’s home and heritage is being destroyed and his forward thinking yet undeniably true ideas are being ridiculed even now, over 100 years after they were first put forward, in an age which is supposed to be ten times more tolerant.”

There is silence as everyone present turns to stare at me. Even Marty looks surprised at my language.

“You’ve been spending way too much time with this one, mate,” Sirius tells me, shaking his head incredulously and indicating Marty.

I shift a little uncomfortably. “I care about this particular Cause, that’s all,” I say begrudgingly. “What they’re doing is wrong.”

And, as has happened far too many times before, Marty throws her arms around me and bursts into tears.

[Marty]

I really don’t want to count the number of times I’ve thrown myself at poor Remus and started sobbing in this past year, but at least this time I pull myself together quite quickly.

“Sorry,” I mutter, as everyone looks uncomfortable. “Do you really mean it?” I ask him.

“Um. Yes.”

I smile happily through my tears. “Then we need to get started. A month is so little time to plan something on the scale we need!”

And, conveniently, it will be the perfect distraction from the letter I received this morning. I push the contents from my mind and beam at everyone present.

“So,” I say. “A sit-in? A lie-in? Placards? I think we’re past a petition now, my friends, this requires good old-fashioned action. What say you?”

“Yeah,” Peter says unsurely. “Um, what’s a sit-in?”

“It’s where everyone sits down and refuses to move,” James explains. Peter looks pleased.

“That sounds easy. I think we should do that. We could bring a picnic.”

“It usually ends with the protestors being forced to move by the authorities, sometimes with violence,” I say.

“Oh.”

“But the important thing,” I stress to him, “is that we never retaliate with violence.”

“So, wait.” Now even Sirius sounds confused. “We just let them push us around and beat us up and we can’t even defend ourselves, we just refuse to move?”

“Absolutely,” I say happily. “It makes them the bad guys in the eyes of the public, so that more people are on our side. The Muggles thought it up. It’s very effective.”

My friends seem to be considering how insane I am, on a scale of one to crazy.

“Let’s do it,” Remus says.

“What?” Sirius cries.

“Come on, Padfoot, it’s not like they’re really going to use violence on us. In the words of the Prophet, they have better things to be doing, right?” James reasons.

“Exactly,” I say. “We won the last protest over this because the officials couldn’t be bothered to deal with us. Why not get the same result by the same means, only slightly more dramatic?”

“I’m up for it.”

“Thank you, Peter. Sirius?”

He looks around at us all and sighs. “Is it technically breaking the rules?” he asks hopefully.

“Well, it’s hardly smiled upon,” I say, knowing this will help sway him into agreeing.

He looks tempted. “Good, good ... keep going ...”

“It will annoy a lot of Ministry people, not to mention the teachers,” James says excitedly to himself as well as Sirius.

Sirius grins. I can tell he is just doing it for fun now. “Excellent, yes, this is sounding persuasive ...”

“We’ll have to skip classes,” Remus chips in. “Since the first of December is a Thursday.”

“Count me in!”

It doesn’t take long for Remus to be deemed fit to leave, so we travel down to the Great Hall in time for Lunch, still discussing our plans at length. It’s nice not to have to think about the letter which is still in my bag. And if I do think about it, I try to distract myself as quickly as possible. I just don’t want to think about it right now.

I see Lily sitting on her own with several books spread around her. She has some food on a plate, but is distractedly flicking through one of the large volumes, not really concentrating on that either.

I sit down next to her and push the large jug of pumpkin juice as far away as possible, for the sole purpose of annoying Remus. This is easily achieved and his eyes go a bit crazy. Yet, as ever, he says nothing about it. I try not to giggle to myself too much. In fact, I’m practically light-headed at the thought of organising a sit-in. I’ve attended them before, of course, but never organised one by myself. It’s so exciting!

“Hey, Lily,” James says cautiously. She looks up.

“Hi, guys.”

“Whatcha reading?” asks Peter, leaning over her shoulder and furrowing his brow.

She closes the book with a bang. “I’m not. I’m just trying to look busy.”

“I do that sometimes,” James says quickly. I am reminded of the week before, when Lily pointed out loudly that she and James could never be together because they have nothing in common.

“Uh ... that’s nice for you.”

She catches my eye. I shrug.

“Yeah,” James says enthusiastically. “There are loads of things I do that you do too. Isn’t that right, Padfoot?”

Sirius looks rather surprised at being included in the conversation so suddenly (and randomly). “Well I don’t bloody know,” he says incredulously.

“See?” James says proudly, as if Sirius had enthusiastically agreed and even given an example. “Tonnes of stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” Lily raises her eyebrows and smirks, catching my eye again and winking. “Like what?”

“Well.” James looks stumped, but hopeful. He probably thinks the wink was for him. “We both like to ... study.”

“You hate studying,” I point out to him innocently. Lily is trying extremely hard to stop herself from laughing at his pathetic attempts to bond.

“Thanks, Marty. Anyway, it’s not just our love of studying. We both like to interior decorate.”

“Actually, that’s true,” I say seriously this time. I’m always hearing random stories about James’s decisions to give their dorm a new ‘theme’ (apparently it’s gone from Quidditch, to dragons, to ‘famous cheeses of the eighteenth century’ in just one term, although that last one hasn’t lasted long and he is already thinking about moving on to well-known Gryffindors, even though the cheeses have only been stinking up their dorm for a week or so). And Lily once practically forced a rather terrified Roxie to put up some posters around her bed, because it didn’t feel ‘homely enough’ without them.

“Thanks, Marty,” James says again, but without the sarcasm this time. “And we both like helping Marty with her Cause. Especially the Eugene Cardrac one which is actually sort of worthwhile.”

I take offence at this statement, but am reminded that Lily needs to be brought up to date on the sit-in idea.

“Ah, yes, that reminds me, Lily,” I begin. “I don’t know how thoroughly you read the Prophet this morning, but �“”

“Marty, where are your manners? I was speaking,” James chides, cutting across me very politely himself.

“What was in the Prophet?” Lily asks me interestedly. Apparently James has gone from entertainingly desperate to just pathetic (we all knew it would happen eventually).

“We both like to crochet!” James insists wildly. Sirius starts to laugh so hard at this that he has to put down his sandwich and cover his face in his hands.

“It was about Cardrac House,” I say, leaning closer to Lily in order to be heard over Sirius’s (and Remus’s and Peter’s and Luanne’s) laughter.

“Oh? Have they caved to our demands?”

It’s so touching to hear people quoting your own terminology back at you. Especially when they’re being serious, instead of just mocking you for speaking like an overzealous campaign leaflet. Which I’ve been told I do, though I’ve never noticed it myself.

“Unfortunately not,” I say. “The opposite. They’ve scheduled a demolition for a month from now.”

Lily looks appalled. “No! They can’t! After we sent petitions and did that protest and everything!”

“They put that down to teens with nothing better to do,” Remus says, having recovered, while Lily looks even more outraged. Meanwhile, James is sulking over being ignored again and Peter is trying to convince him that crocheting is actually a very manly pastime and he’s sure he had an uncle who made the most beautiful bags in between his intensive workouts at an all-male gym.

“So what are we going to do?” Lily asks. “Another protest? Do you want me to start making signs?”

“Perfect,” I say. “Only this time, it’s slightly more illegal. We’ll have to skip classes and it will sort of resemble a sit-in.”

“A sit-in!” Lily looks thrilled. “That is so cool! Will there be riot control?”

“For Merlin’s sakes, Peter, I don’t really do crochet!” James yells randomly, setting Sirius (and Remus and Luanne) off again and distracting us momentarily. “And if you’re talking about the Uncle Morris we met last Christmas, then going to an all-male gym just proves that he rides his broomstick backwards.” More to himself than to Peter, he adds, “I knew that question about cocktails was some kind of double entendre.”

There is a short break in our more serious protest discussion, while Lily slides from the bench onto the floor because she is laughing so hard that she can no longer balance.

I don’t blame her. I am finding it difficult to stay upright too. Maybe it would be easier to join her on the floor under the table ...

How could anyone ever worry about a terrifying letter they received from they’re aunt which they definitely aren’t thinking about right now, when they have friends like these surrounding them?

[Remus]

In exactly one month we are being drenched with buckets of rain in front of Cardrac House. It’s bloody freezing, but Marty doesn’t seem to have noticed. The house isn’t all that big �“ Cardrac was never very wealthy, which was apparently another reason why he wasn’t taken seriously and the Ministry were quite happy to turn him out on his ear without a second thought, according to Marty �“ so it doesn’t take many of us to block the Ministry’s path to the house. But there are certainly enough teens with nothing better to do to cause a stir with the officials who’ve been sent.

Marty is in her element, more so even than last time, because last time she was rather adorably ill. This time she’s totally healthy, despite the cold wind and rain.

She’s still kind of adorable though. Not that I actually think that or anything.

“Look,” one of the officials says to her, crouching down on his knees so that he is on her level. “What d’yer want? How much d’yer want to call it off and let us do our job?”

“We don’t want money,” she says calmly. “We want protection for the house and recognition for Eugene Cardrac’s inspiring ideas and reasoning.”

“And ’ow much is that worth, sweetheart? Twenty Galleons?”

“I’m not going to be bought like some five year old,” she says defiantly. “You’re just going to have to explain to your bosses that Martina Price refuses, on behalf of the wizarding youth of Great Britain, to allow such atrocities as this to take place.”

I love it when she starts talking like that. It’s so funny. That guy doesn’t have a chance against her and her Cause-speak.

“Fifty?” he asks, after apparently not hearing a word she said.

“You know,” Marty says, “you could learn a lot from Eugene Cardrac about prejudice and stereotyping. Just because someone was bitten by a werewolf doesn’t make him a monster. And just because I’m a young girl doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I want to speak to someone in charge.”

“I’m in charge,” the Ministry worker says, clearly getting annoyed and dropping the ‘sweetheart’ tactic.

“No,” Marty says kindly. “You just have a clipboard and a megaphone. I mean someone who actually has some real power.”

Me and Sirius both laugh at this. We are sitting either side of her at the front of the sea of kids, because I am extremely protective of her and Sirius is the most intimidating. Now the Ministry worker looks angry.

“Why ain’t you in class, anyway? Do the school know yer ’ere? I think I’ll just tell ’em,” he says, standing up.

Uh oh. McGonagall would pull the plug on all this in a matter of seconds. As soon as the school figure out why a bunch of their students are missing, the whole thing will be over and Marty’s plan will have failed, after a whole month of enthusiasm leading up to this. I can’t let that happen so soon.

“The school already knows!” I say quickly. “They’re behind us. We learnt about Cardrac in History of Magic and they all agree with us. For the record, he was far more open minded than most people in the Ministry even now.”

“If they know yer ’ere,” the man says, sneering. “Then why ain’t there a single one getting wet alongside you? You can’t fool me that easy. Smithings? Get down the school and let ’em know. If we don’t demolish summat today we’ll be for it from Jenkins.”

“Howard Jenkins?” Marty asks. The man looks down at her, surprised. “He’s involved in this? Can I speak to him?”

“No, yer can’t speak to anyone. ’Specially not ’im.”

“Who is he?” asks Sirius.

“Quite high up, but not high enough to make the headlines,” Marty says. “But high enough to call the whole thing off if he wants to. He likes three sugars in his tea.”

I grin. “He came to Taffy’s? You know him?”

Marty looks at me despairingly. “Everyone came to Taffy’s. I don’t know everyone. But Howard Jenkins was a regular. If we can speak to him, we might have a chance.”

“Well ... go for it!” I say. I had doubts before which I hadn’t dared voice, but maybe somehow, we might be able to pull this whole thing off after all.

“Excuse me!” Marty says loudly. “Excuse me!”

“Oi!” Sirius yells. “She’s talking to you!”

The Ministry worker ignores them both. Someone pokes me in the back.

“Ow!” I turn around. “Oh, Lily. What’s wrong?”

“What’s going on?” she asks excitedly. “Are Marty and Sirius starting a riot? Can I join in? We’re all here, it’s not fair if only they get to make some noise.”

I glance around at Marty and Sirius. They are still being ignored.

“Start chanting for Howard Jenkins,” I say, smiling. “That ought to shake them up.”

“Who’s Howard Jenkins?” asks James, who sneakily got to sit next to Lily (when she told him to move he insisted that he couldn’t, because it was a sit-in and Marty had told him not to get up until he was forced to. She muttered something about ‘you haven’t seen no force yet’, but she let him stay).

I am getting rather into this whole rebellious protestor thing. “Who cares?” I ask, grinning. We start chanting. Marty looks thrilled and rather proud as everyone else catches on and joins in. The Ministry worker looks frustrated ... and a little worried. He shouldn’t be, of course, because we were given a very long talk about how we weren’t going to use violence in any circumstances, just reason and stubbornness.

Still.

It’s fun to be a rebel.

[Marty]

“How-ard Jen-kins, How-ard Jen-kins, How-ard ...”

It’s so moving to hear all those people chanting for me to speak to Howard Jenkins. We had such a fantastic turn out! Lily appears to be particularly enthusiastic. Even Remus, who is normally so refined (I mean, he carries a HANDKERCHIEF) seems to be getting into the spirit of protesting teen with nothing better to do.

Just as we are all getting very excitable and there is some rather flattering foot-stomping on my behalf, a tall figure appears at the end of the street.

“Oops, here she comes,” Sirius shouts over the top of all the noise, grinning with anticipation. I start to get a little worried, but I think of my Mum and know that I won’t back down that easily.

“Excellent,” says the Ministry worker in ‘charge’. “This’ll sort you lot out, won’t it?”

“Keep going!” I call over my shoulder. “How-ard Jen-kins, How-ard Jen-kins!”

My anxiety gets worse and worse the closer McGonagall gets to us, because I know we’ll be punished for skipping classes and I’ve never quite so flauntingly broken the rules like this. But Sirius and the others do it pretty much daily and the teachers still love them. Secretly. Besides. It’s a good cause. In fact, it’s The Cause.

McGonagall is close enough to catch my eye.

I’m terrified. I can think of nothing to do but smile hopefully. She is evidently trying very hard not to smile back. Instead, she starts talking to the Ministry worker. There is quite a lot of noise around us, but I can just about tell what they are saying, with some help from some handy lip-reading and straining of ears.

“So, what’s the problem?” she asks.

“What d’you think’s the problem? We can’t do what we’re paid for with them lot blocking that old ruin.”

“Well, have you tried talking to them?”

“’Course I bleedin’ ’ave!”

She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t think that sort of language is necessary, do you?”

He sighs. “Can yer just get rid of ’em?”

“Certainly.”

She comes forwards and kneels in front of me. I don’t need to know how she realised I was the one behind it all.

“Hello, Marty. You know, I was wondering why you and your friends hadn’t attended my lesson. You realise you’ll have to make up the work in detention?”

“Yes, Professor,” I say.

“Now tell me. What do you want with Howard Jenkins?”

“Marty knows him, Professor!” Sirius says, unable to restrain himself and leave the negotiations to me. “We think he’ll help us!”

“And what do you need help with?”

This time Remus jumps in for me. “Preventing the destruction of our valuable heritage, in the form of Cardrac House. After all, Professor, if we ignore the past, how can we prepare for the future?”

It’s hilarious when people quote stuff I’ve said, it really is.

McGonagall looks surprised at his language too. “I see.” She also sounds rather amused. “And how will Howard Jenkins help?”

Lily pokes me in the back from behind. “What’s going on?”

“We’re negotiating,” I reply.

“Wow, seriously? Can I help?”

“Keep chanting. That seems to be annoying everyone.”

I face McGonagall again. “We’re not moving,” I insist.

“No,” she agrees calmly. “I wasn’t exactly under the impression that you were. Can we come to an agreement?”

“If it involves cancelling the demolition,” I say, “then yes.”

“I’m not sure that will be possible,” she says. “Whatever it is which will replace Cardrac House, it must be important to the Ministry.”

“Shops,” I say. “That’s it. Over history.”

“What is it you really want, Marty?” asks McGonagall meaningfully. “Do you want to stop the demolition of a house which has seen better days and is uninhabitable? Or do you want some kind of recognition for the man who once lived there?”

“Well,” I say, feeling rather stumped at this slightly random question. “Both.”

“But is leaving the house as it is really achieving the latter? Did anyone take any notice before all these new buildings were planned? Except for you, of course.”

“Well,” I admit begrudgingly. “Not really.”

“And if the building remained as it is, would they take more notice? Or would it be left to degenerate even further? How is that any more respectful than simply getting rid of it?”

She has a point. I know she does. Remus knows it too and when I catch his eye, he shrugs as if to say ‘I guess she’s right’. Even though I see the logic, I can’t help but feel slightly betrayed by this gesture. Sirius has got bored of the negotiations and is chanting with everybody else, so is therefore unavailable for opinions.

“So what can we do?” I ask desperately. “If no one will listen either way, what are we supposed to do?”

“Well,” she says thoughtfully, “What about some kind of plaque?”

I exchange a look with Remus. “Uh,” I say.

“What kind of plaque?” he asks, since he seems to have taken the role of deputy negotiator. Thankfully.

“One dedicated to the life and home of Eugene Cardrac. I’m sure if we speak to Mr Thandy over there�“” she points at the Ministry worker we were arguing with who is watching us with suspicion “�“then he’ll be perfectly happy to agree, if it means he can do his job. Marty, you could be in charge of what it says.”

I look at Remus. He shrugs again.

“What do you think?” I ask unsurely.

Because I have no idea. I know that she’s right. Even if we stopped them today, they’d come back tomorrow. It’s not like I really know Howard Jenkins would change anything for me just because I used to serve him coffee. But this Eugene Cardrac campaign has been so popular. Everyone’s become really interested in it. Not like the others. No one really believed in those except me. But this one ... random first and second years I’ve never met before have been looking up to me because of it. Look at all the people who turned up to the sit-in. I can’t just cave in now.

Remus seems to be thinking about it hard. “I don’t think you’ll get a better offer,” he eventually says. Once again, I feel slightly offended by his lack of faith, but I know that it’s true deep down. “And,” he continues thoughtfully, “people would see it and read it, then think about him. Maybe read up on his history. Get to know his beliefs. Like Professor McGonagall said, it’s more than they do now.”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “Shall I speak to Mr Thandy?”

“It’s your decision,” Remus assures me.

I look at him and then at McGonagall, then back again. “All right,” I say finally, nodding at her. “See if he’ll agree.”

She stands up and walks over to where he is standing, disgruntled, in the rain.

Lily pokes me in the back again so that I turn around.

“What’s happening?” she asks. “I can’t hear anything good back here. Are they getting Howard Jenkins? Who even is he? Do you think he’ll help us?”

I shake my head. “We don’t need him. We came to our own arrangements.”

“They’re cancelling?” she asks gleefully. “That’s brilliant!”

“No, they’re not cancelling, they’re going ahead with it.”

“How come?” asks James, leaning in closer and accidentally-on-purpose touching his leg with Lily’s. She shifts away from him and he grins at her until she rolls her eyes and fights not to smile.

“They’re putting a plaque up instead,” I say. “In memory of him.”

“A plaque?” asks Lily. “That’s the big compromise?”

She looks disappointed. So am I. I’ve failed Cardrac. I knew it. I’ve failed everyone.

“Oh,” I say, remembering before I turn around. “And we’re all in detention.”

Much later, Remus and I are sitting in a corner of the Common Room, writing and scribbling on a piece of parchment, trying to decide what the plaque should actually say.

“I think ‘imperative’ is a better word than ‘important’,” Remus says. “It’s smarter sounding.”

I scribble out the word ‘important’, but there is no room to write in the new word, because the page is so full of words and crossings-out anyway.

I throw my quill down, scrunch up the parchment and hurl it across the room. It hits a third year in the head and he looks around gormlessly for a while, but doesn’t manage to work out what has happened.

“Come on,” Remus says gently. “We’re almost there.”

“What’s the point?” I ask. “No one’s going to read it anyway.”

“I’ll read it,” he insists. “Every time I go past. In fact, I’ll deliberately plan my route so that wherever I’m going in Hogsmeade, I’ll always pass it and I’ll always stop to read it. Maybe I’ll set up a rota so that there’s always someone standing in front of it reading. We could have shifts. It would be very organised. James would love it.”

“Why would James love it?” I ask, wondering what it is about organisation that might fascinate James more than anyone else.

“I dunno,” Remus admits. “He loves all sorts of crazy things. You wouldn’t think he was into self-flagellating musicals, either, to look at him.”

“Self-what musicals?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I look at him suspiciously for a while, but he refuses to tell me any more. “The point is, people will read it. We have to make it good. We’re almost there. Are you sure there’s not something else up?”

In truth, there is. I still haven’t told him about that letter I received last month, or replied to it either.

“It’s just,” I say reluctantly. “I wanted more than some stupid plaque.”

“This plaque,” he insists, “is not stupid. We did well. More than most people could say. Old McGonagall was great. At least we got something. Maybe it’s better this way. It’s like she said, it was practically uninhabitable anyway. Is there something else?”

Yes. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well ... there was this letter. Last time I heard from Aunt Tabby.”

“Wasn’t that about a month ago? What about it? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s doing well. Only ...”

“Only what?”

“She wants me to go back to work in the holidays. Back to Taffy’s.”

*~*~*

AN: Okay, not exactly that shocking, but I had to end the chapter somewhere and by refusing to go back over the summer, Marty has made herself completely terrified of the place. What should she do? Leave me a review and let me know what you think ...

EXCLUSIVE interview with Marauder Peter Pettigrew

Interviewer (I): Hi, Peter. How are you?
Peter (P): I’m good, Marty. And you? Still upset about that thing with the plaque?
I: What do you mean?
P: Well. Moony said you were upset about it because you’d failed everyone.
I: Remus said I’d failed everyone? You guys were talking about me? And how I’d failed everyone? When was this?
P: Maybe he didn’t use that word ... I remember! You THOUGHT you’d failed everyone.
I: Oh, well, that’s different. What’s your most treasured memory of the Marauders?
P: Don’t get offended or anything, Moony doesn’t think you’ve failed everyone. The opposite. He’s actually in love with you, but he won’t admit it. I’ve tried.
I: Don’t be ridiculous. What memory has stuck with you most during you time as a Marauder?
P: I’m not being ridiculous, it’s true. Although, like I said, he doesn’t like to talk about it and he hides behind that pumpkin juice thing like it’s proof you’d never work out, but I know inside he knows the truth.
I: Peter! Memory!
P: Oh, right. Uh ... when we first ever met and Sirius and James beat up this Slytherin who called me fat, even though we weren’t even friends yet. So are you going to tell Moony you’re in love with him, too?
I: I’m WHAT? I think you’re mistaken, Peter.
P: What? Everyone knows it’s true.
I: I’m wrapping this up. What would you use as a title for this book, if it was up to you?
P: I don’t know why you’re pretending like you’re not in love with him.
I: TITLE!
P: All right, all right, nobody ever listens to me anyway. I’d call it ‘Love And Denial: A Maraudering Tale’.
I: It’s not a romance, it’s a biographical and psychological study of what makes you so different and special compared with other groups of friends your age.
P: Whatever you say, Marty. Whatever you say.

Chapter Nineteen: Passing Phase

[Remus]

There is a comfortable silence in the Common Room as the six of us �“ to James’s delight, Lily has started joining us in the evenings every now and then �“ sit around in our usual seats and do our homework.

“Hey, Marty,” Lily says after a while. “Have you decided what you’re doing about your Aunt yet?”

I look up sharply. It’s been a week since Marty told us her Aunt Tabby expected her to help out over Christmas and still no decision has been made. The truth is, I’m kind of hoping she’ll agree to it.

Okay, I’m really hoping she’ll agree to it.

Not that I don’t like Marty. That’s the thing. I like her a lot ... a lot. I try not to think about how much. The other day, I even smiled to myself when she shuddered at the sight of a jug of pumpkin juice. That’s when I decided that there was no way she could possibly stay with us over Christmas. I know what my house is like at Christmas. It’s an old house in the middle of nowhere and it always snows. It can get quite cold. So without fail, we end up spending almost every evening in the living room, curled around our mugs of warm drinks and keeping as close to the fire as we can get. Usually, the fire is the main source of light, as well as heat. And the fairies twinkling away as decorations aren’t going to help the situation much either.

No. There’s no way she can stay with us over Christmas. What will happen if Mum and Dad go up for an early night or something and leave us down there? Alone? On purpose? Because my parents love Marty. She gets more letters from them than she does from her real family. Mostly because she hardly ever writes back to her Aunt and she writes back to my mother weekly. But that just proves my point even more. My parents would love it if we got together. I don’t think they’d ever stop celebrating.

Oh yes. They’d definitely leave us alone on purpose. And then what? What if I ‘make my move’ as Sirius so likes to put it and she freaks out? I wouldn’t blame her. I would freak out, too, if I tried to chat myself up. And how does one actually go about doing said chatting up? Without looking like an idiot? I bet Sirius would know. But he wouldn’t tell me. Not without turning it into a gigantic joke. He’d end up getting the same idea as Peter (who is being really annoying lately and keeps telling me to “talk” to her, with lots of nudging and eyebrow aerobics). Then I’ll never get a moment’s peace again. No, it would be better to just avoid contact until the whole thing blows over. Because I’m sure it will.

Eventually.

Anyway, that’s why I don’t think it’s a good idea that she stays with us in a warm old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere during the holiday season with only a roaring fire for comfort. And each other ...

... I did not just think that.

“I’m not sure,” Marty says in response to Lily’s question. “I just don’t know if I’m ready. There are too many bad memories. It’s like, every time I think about going there, I think about the fact that �“”

“You know, the best way to get over your fears is to face them,” I say loudly. Everyone looks a little surprised at the way I interrupt her, but she doesn’t seem offended. If anything, Lily is more annoyed than she is.

“I know,” Marty says sadly. “It’s just hard. I mean �“”

“But it will get harder,” I say. “The longer you leave it.”

“Geez, Remus,” Lily says, not one to stay quiet for long. “Stop interrupting her. Who taught you your manners, anyway?”

“It’s okay,” Marty says. She looks close to tears. What is wrong with me? “You’re probably right anyway, Remus.”

No, I want to say. I’m very, very wrong! Stay with me as long as you like! It’ll be fun ... we’ll have snowball fights and decorate trees and curl up by the fire and maybe to keep warm we’ll have to �“

“I am right,” I say firmly. “You should go back and help out.”

“It’s her decision,” Lily points out, still sounding annoyed.

“Yeah!” James says much too loudly, glancing at Lily to check that she’s noticed he’s on her side. “If she’s not ready, Moony, she’s not ready,” he continues in his extremely loud voice. “Stop pushing her. She’s free to make her own choices.” I stare at him. He shrugs in apology and gestures towards Lily behind her �“ rather confused �“ back, as if to say, Sorry, I can’t help it.

“I know it’s her decision, Prongs. But she’ll have to go back eventually,” I say calmly.

“Sure, eventually,” Lily jumps in. She’s really taking this to heart for some reason. “Not now. Unless she wants to, of course.”

“I just don’t see how it will help to prolong the inevi�“”

“And clearly she doesn’t want to, so I don’t see why you’re�“”

“�“not going to achieve�“”

“�“her decision�“”

“�“pointless�“”

“�“just expect�“”

“Do you think I’m going to have any say at all in my own Christmas?” Marty asks casually, as I bicker with Lily.

“Probably not,” Sirius says. I stop bickering long enough to glare at him.

“I think I know why Moony’s getting so upset about this,” Peter says proudly. Oh, Merlin, not this again, Peter ... and why now?

“Shut up, Wormtail,” I say quickly. As if I need him blathering on about my secret passion for Marty Price right in front of her. It’s not a secret passion, anyway. Just a secret passing phase. That’s all.

“Why?” asks Lily, probably glad for a distraction from bickering with me. After all, it was fun while it lasted, but there are only so many points you can make on this subject until you start repeating them. And then the only way to make them interesting is if you say them louder.

Which, in my experience, never ends well. Best we leave it at that, really.

“Nothing,” I say. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Wormtail thinks Moony’s in love with Marty.”

“James!”

“What?” he shrugs at me again, helplessly gesturing at Lily to indicate that he can’t help the things he must say to win her love. Or whatever his excuse is.

I really hope that girl knows what we have to put up with because of her.

[Marty]

I watch Lily playing on her violin by her window into the moonlight. Which would be very dramatic and poignant if Phyll, in the bed next to her, hadn’t stolen some earmuffs from Herbology, then distributed them around the dorm. I’m the only one without, but Lily knows not to take this to heart. Everybody knows that violins don’t work as a solo piece unless the musician is some kind of genius.

But I kind of like listening anyway.

Also, no one ever mentioned to Phyll about it being rude to steal earmuffs (it never came up that stealing is wrong, either) because they’re useful for drowning out much more than Lily’s practising. Such as Roxie’s snoring, which is the loudest noise she makes all day. And Mary’s voice, when she’s singing in the shower and thinks we can’t hear her. And the sounds of the second years next door when they have a sleepover (as if they don’t sleep in the same place every night anyway). And that time James flew to our window and knocked on it for three hours straight in a misguided attempt to get Lily’s attention in the dead of night, until his wrist got so sore he couldn’t write for four and a half days and the incessant knocking drove everybody but us insane, so that McGonagall flew up personally to meet him and gave him detention for the next two months.

Speaking of Lily and James, I have just this evening decided that they will be my new Secret Cause. It’s good to have a Secret Cause you can work on in private, as well as lots of Public Causes. Such as my Secret Cause to watch over Remus before we were real friends. And my Secret Cause to get Peter to stop eating sandwiches with mayonnaise in them, because they ‘don’t agree with his stomach’ but he likes them too much to resist if they’re put in front of him (I eventually managed this by convincing the House Elves not to use mayonnaise in their sandwiches, and I managed this by making up some false statistics which pointed towards mayonnaise as the root of most deaths in teenagers under 18. I had to keep it as a Secret Cause so as not to embarrass poor Peter). And I suppose I had a Secret Cause to teach the Marauders responsibility by convincing them I hated them that time, although Lily was in on that one too.

Anyway. It’s clear that James loves Lily and that she likes him at least a little bit, if only as a friend. And I don’t like to see James suffer from lovesickness, especially when his friends are clearly suffering as a consequence, which Sirius solemnly assures me on a regular basis that they are. So the best thing to do is to get them to go out and let whatever it is they have run its course.

Whether that’s two days of agony and the subject never being brought up again, or a long happily married life with seven children remains to be seen.

But it will have to be secret, because Lily is not going to like knowing that I’m basically making decisions about her love life for her.

But I’ll do it anyway, because it might distract me from my own.

Unfortunately, just as I consequently distract myself from this thought by planning Phase One in the latest Secret Cause, Lily stops playing and says casually, “So Remus is in love with you, huh?”

Which brings me right back to the very thing I was distracting myself from.

“No,” I say, checking that the other girls still have their earmuffs on and can’t hear our conversation. Which is another thing they’re good for, if you can do it without the other girls realising.

She smiles knowingly.

“No!” I repeat. “Nobody is in love with anybody. Except for James, but we all knew that anyway. Speaking of which, why don’t you go out with him for a bit? You know ... give it a whirl?”

She looks disgusted, probably at my lack of subtlety. “Don’t make me vomit.”

“What? It’s a good idea. He’s very obviously infatuated by you and the only way you can help that is to put him out of his misery and agree to give it a try.”

Now she looks like she’s torn between laughing at me and yelling at me. “Hello, Mrs Pot, I’m Kettle, now why are you calling me black?”

I am confused. Pots? Kettles? What’s she talking about?

Evidently my confusion shows on my face. “Marty, you can’t tell me to do that with James when you need to do it just as much with Remus.”

Wait. What? How are we talking about me and Remus again? I thought I’d diverted that situation!

“Remus isn’t in love with me,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course he’s not. And James isn’t a complete idiot.”

“He isn’t,” I say, even though I know she’s being sarcastic. And that she’s right (about James, not about Remus).

“Oh, come on. It’s obvious. Can’t you tell just by looking at him?”

“That James is an idiot?” I ask, although I know who she’s really talking about. And she knows I know that too. I sigh. Because actually, the answer to that is no. Sure, I know James loves Lily. But only because he tells everybody that fact on a daily basis. How are you supposed to tell if someone is in love just by looking at them? I don’t exactly have much experience to compare it to.

“I can’t,” I insist now to Lily. “I’ve never liked anyone in that way before. I don’t know what it looks like.”

She looks as if I’ve just told her I’ve never brushed my teeth. “What do you mean, you’ve never liked anyone ‘in that way’ before? It happens to everybody. Everybody. Even idiots like James who shouldn’t be allowed access to that much of an excuse for stupidity.”

“It’s true. I’d rather be doing something useful.”

“Well, yeah. So would a lot of people. That doesn’t stop it happening though, it’s not something you choose to feel. You’ve never had a single fantasy about someone you know? Or don’t know? Not even a celebrity or something?”

“No,” I admit. “Who would I fantasise about? None of the boys at this school, that’s for sure.”

I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with my best girl friend about boys. It’s like the third year I never had!

“Come on. Not even Remus? You lived with him for almost the whole summer. Are you saying you never once saw him shirtless? The same for the other three, who must have been around a lot. Maybe Remus and Peter might have shied away, but I’d bet my violin that Sirius and James didn’t.”

“Well, then you’d keep your violin. But it still never occurred to me to think of them like that.”

She stares at me.

“Are you even human?”

“Of course I am! Just because the sight of a boy doesn’t send me into some kind of insane frenzy, doesn’t mean I’m not human.”

“Well, no, not any boy. But it honestly never crossed your mind that one of them might be a good kisser?”

Okay, I am really, really glad the other girls can’t hear this. If this is how they spent their third year while I was holed up in a corner stalking (uh, observing) the Marauders, then they are welcome to have it back. I want out.

“Did it cross your mind?” I demand. Because I know for a fact that it didn’t. She hates them all. Well, maybe not anymore. But she did. Any second now, she’s going to burst out laughing and agree that the idea of the Marauders in that way is preposterous ... any second now ... wait for it ... why isn’t she agreeing with me yet?

“Well, yes, of course I did. It never went further than that in my case, obviously, but the thought did at least cross my mind. And it went further than that for people who weren’t idiots who called themselves the Marauders.”

“Like that Snape guy?” I ask, suddenly curious.

She shrugs. “Yeah, when we were younger. When he was still quite sweet, until he became even worse than they are. But not just him. Other people. Like ... I don’t know, like Stevie Wells, who was Head Boy when we were in fourth year. People like that. People I would very obviously not have a chance with. But it didn’t stop me thinking about it. Are you seriously telling me that you never had somebody like that?”

I think about it. Have I? I honestly can’t think of anybody. Romance has just never appealed to me. It’s occurred to me, but only so I can think about how much it doesn’t appeal to me. Maybe because I was only a baby when my father died, so I never grew up around couples the way kids who have both parents do. The only adult male who was ever around as more than a customer in my childhood was Garfield, who was never exactly linked romantically to my mother or my aunt. Unless I missed that, too. After all, my Aunt Tabby still lives with him, doesn’t she?

“I really don’t think I have,” I admit. Except for Remus, but that was only recently that it even occurred to me that that was even near the realms of possibility.

Maybe Remus could be my secret fancy. I could giggle when he looks at me (even though there’s nothing funny about him looking at me) and bat my eyelashes around him (as if that won’t make me look demented) and say Mrs Martina Lupin in my head (like I have nothing better to do) and plan what we’ll name our children (but that hardly seems fair, since he deserves a say in that too). It will be like having my first boy infatuation five years late. Then, in five years, when I’ve reached the stage Lily is at now, I might be ready to actually take it further.

She shakes her head sadly. “You, my friend, have missed out on a major part of your teenage years. I can’t believe you’ve never felt the inner angst of unrequited love. It’s a right of passage. Why do you get to skip it and go straight to the good part?”

“What’s the good part?” I ask, snapping out of the daydream I was forcing myself to have about my wedding day (not that it worked. I keep thinking about other things, like when the Charms homework is due in, rather than what colours my flowers would be, which is what I was trying to make myself think about. If that’s even what you think about in those daydreams. I have no more idea about that than anything else apparently).

“Well, being in love with Remus and having him returning your feelings. I mean, that’s where you are now, after all.”

“Um,” I say. “No it’s not. Remus isn’t in love with me and I’m not in love with him.”

I just have a forced fancy for him to teach myself what the experience feels like.

“You really don’t like Remus?” Lily asks, sounding shocked. I haven’t been telling her this for the past ten minutes or anything, after all.

“No!” I insist. Oh, wait, hang on. Yes I do. I forgot. Darn. This is a lot harder than it sounds. How come no one ever mentions how difficult it is to remember who you’re supposed to have a passing fancy for? Why are people always saying how happy it makes them to be in love, rather than how hard it is to remind yourself?

“Well, maybe you just don’t realise it yet,” Lily says eventually. “But I can assure you that you do, even if you don’t know it.”

I decide not to tell her about how I am forcing myself to like him. It might not work, after all. I should just steer the conversation away from me and back onto my Secret Cause. Secret Causes I can deal with.

“Like you and James?” I shoot at her.

“No,” she says gently. “Because James only thinks he’s in love with me and Remus actually is in love with you. And I know I’m not in love with James, whereas you think you know you’re not in love with Remus.”

How does she keep doing that? Every time I bring up her and James, she twists it into me and Remus! How am I supposed to argue about her and James if I only end up arguing about myself? That’s hardly fair. Where do you learn that skill anyway and how come no one ever told me about it? Just when did I get so completely clueless?

“Who’s in love with James?” demands Mary, taking off her earmuffs, after apparently noticing that Lily has stopped playing. It took her long enough. “Is it you, Lily? He’s mine! How could you betray our friendship this way?”

“Don’t worry,” Lily assures her calmly. “You’re the only person in the entire world who could ever love James.”

Mary nods. “You can bet on it.”

Lily tries not to laugh and I decide not to mention to Mary that she just insulted the object of her affections. Some things are better left unsaid.

Especially when there are people around to hear them other than the ones you want to hear it. And those people are all taking off their sound blocking earmuffs.

However, there is an ear splitting squeal from next door �“ the excitable second years �“ which can only mean one thing. They’re having another sleepover. We all reach for our earmuffs (some for the second time in one night, straight after taking them off) without saying another word, as one high-pitched squeal turns into six.

Well, if those girls spend the night having the kinds of conversations Lily and I just had, then good luck to them, is all I can say.

[Remus]

Luckily, the last Quidditch game before Christmas isn’t a Gryffindor game. I don’t think I’d have been able to take that on top of everything else.

Peter is continuing to tell everyone that Marty and I are destined to be and the more he says it, the more I believe it ... sort of. I almost put mayonnaise in his sandwiches to shut him up. On several occasions.

Meanwhile, I’ve barely spoken to Marty, things have been so awkward. Sometimes I’ll catch her eye and smile before I can stop myself. It’s so stupid that Peter’s delusional (okay, not that delusional) ramblings have made us unable to talk to each other unless there’s someone else around. The one or two times we’ve been on our own, the silence has been so awkward I’ve been driven close to jumping out of the nearest window. Not that I would. Knowing my luck, it wouldn’t even work.

And now we have to commentate together. It’s fun, of course, it always is. Beforehand, Greg McJacks tries to get his commentating job back. It’s weird that a month or two ago I’d have been the one begging him to come back so I didn’t have to sit up there and talk with the entire staff and students of Hogwarts listening. But I really enjoy doing it with Marty. Well, I did, before Peter started stirring things up.

But as McJacks insists that, “It’s only a small hangover this time, I only had thirteen drinks last night and when I woke up, the bush I was in wasn’t even that far from the school this time. Commentating is my life, you understand that don’t you, Romulus? Minnie? You know that, right? Right? My head is killing me ...” I realise that the last thing I want is to give up commentating the games. Besides, people like our double act. There isn’t quite so much muttering about Ministry conspiracies when we do it.

Okay, now that I think about it, there is. But Marty’s way of happily rambling along about the way the Minister is trying to hide the fact that trolls are really the superior descendants of the lost and ancient tribe of Unicorn-Centaurs, is completely different to McJacks’s drink induced mumblings about the Ministry being out to steal his beer money.

And even if that time he treated us to ‘I’m a Believer’ was pretty hilarious, the truth is that Marty and me are just more family-friendly. Not that there are any small children. But if there were, they wouldn’t be forced to stay inside to stop them picking up bad language. Which McGonagall is only too happy about.

So we gently tell McJacks that we think he deserves a break from the stress of having to pay attention to what’s going on around him and when that doesn’t work, Marty casually mentions that the house elves sometimes like to share a bottle of butterbeer when the students are all away for the morning, so he is out like a shot. We go up to sit in our places (in silence of course) and say no more about it.

But even if we can’t speak to each other before it, when the game starts we’re fine. Maybe there isn’t quite as much playful banter as usual. But we’re still fine.

“Slytherin wins!” Marty eventually yells as the incredibly good looking Slytherin (according to girls we know, at least), Keith Robertson catches the Snitch easily, then slicks his hair back and smiles sexily (uh, so I’m told) at a nearby adoring fan. Much to James’s disgust �“ or maybe because of James’s disgust �“ Luanne had admitted that she was going through a “passing phase” for him, like most first year girls ... the ones who don’t like Sirius that is.

“But ...” James had stuttered. “But ... Slytherin! Bad!”

“Uh,” Luanne said. “Don’t discriminate, James. We’re all people.”

“You’re doing this on purpose!” he had whined. “You’re trying to rebel against me! What did I do to deserve this? Why him? It’s because of his bad boy image, isn’t it?”

Then Lily had wandered over and asked what was going on (she probably noticed James rocking back and forth in distress). When he explained sorrowfully, Lily had only said, “Oh, well, I know where you’re coming from, Luanne. Who wouldn’t?”

It was funny to watch poor James’s head explode.

I think of that now as Robertson is patted on the back by his team mates and many young girls are reaching from the stands to touch him, even though their arms aren’t nearly long enough.

“I wonder if Prongs will give him the ole ‘touch my daughter and die’ speech?” I mutter to Marty. She laughs.

“Probably. I don’t think he has much to worry about, though.”

“Because he would never go for a first year Gryffindor, seeing as he’s a sixth year Slytherin? I know. But try telling Prongs that.”

“Actually,” Marty says, smiling to herself. “That’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking that if any guy tried to hurt Luanne, she’d certainly make him live to regret it.”

At this point, James stomps into the teachers’ stand where the commentators sit and sits down miserably.

“I knew it,” he says. “That smarmy git caught the Snitch just to provoke me. Now he’ll probably take Luanne and impregnate her. They’ll have a hasty marriage, they’ll both become drunks and then spend the rest of their lives hating each other. And me. It’s all an elaborate plot to destroy my morale now that we’ll have to play them in the final.”

“You should really have more faith in your daughter’s judgement,” Marty points out.

I catch her eye and grin as James falls forwards and buries his head in his lap. I can’t help it. It’s so much fun laughing at James behind his back with her. Why should we let Peter get in the way of harmless fun? So what if I’m in love with her?

I mean ... going through a passing phase. Right. But still, that doesn’t mean we can’t carry on making fun of James without him realising like we always have. Besides, it’s not like it’s flirting. I do it with Sirius and Peter too and no one could say I’m in love with them.

I am pleased with this conclusion. “What you should do,” I say calmly, patting him on the back soothingly, but smirking at Marty as I do it, “is give him the ole ‘touch my daughter and die’ speech.”

Marty snorts with laughter. “No you shouldn’t,” she assures him, whilst trying to cover up her giggles. “You should take this personal attack on your morale and use it by being a stronger Captain than ever and throwing it back in his face.”

“I should?” James asks, looking up at her with large desperate eyes.

“Definitely,” I agree. “Then give him the ole ‘touch my daughter and die’ speech. Make sure it’s where I can see you.”

“Okay,” James says, standing up. “Right. I’ll do that. But not now though. First I’ll make sure there are locks on the windows of all the girls' dormitories.”

“There are,” Marty tells him. “But they can be opened from the inside. So if Luanne wanted to let him in, she could.”

Luckily for us (after all, it will be funny to find out what happens when he is caught hovering by the windows of a first year girls’ dormitory), James doesn’t appear to be listening.

[Marty]

“So, the first years thought James was a lecherous pervert, huh?” Lily asks, giggling to herself over her Potions essay. I can’t help but join in her laughter.

“Yeah. He insisted he was just checking no one could get in for security reasons, but I don’t think McGonagall believed him. Of course, that’s what he really was doing this time, but the memory of the knocking incident is probably still fresh in her memory.”

“Well, since it’s obvious he can’t get a girlfriend his own age, it’s only natural for him to go for the adoring younger girls.”

“But he wasn’t,” I insist. For the Secret Cause, I feel like I need to make sure Lily knows James isn’t a psychotic pervert (as opposed to just being an idiot, although that’s not much better). “He really was checking the security. He was worried Keith Robertson would come in the night and impregnate Luanne.”

However, this serves only to make Lily laugh even harder.

Speaking of Luanne, she wanders over to us now and sits down.

“I can’t believe how embarrassing James is,” she says, burying her head in her hands.

“Well, he is your father,” Lily points out through her chuckles. “It’s only to be expected.”

“As if Keith Robertson would ever look my way, anyway. I mean, I’m a first year Gryffindor. He’s hardly going to look twice.”

“Pretty funny though, right?” Lily asks. “And like I said. I’m right with you on the Keith Robertson front.”

I watch them as they discuss this between themselves. Apparently Lily was right and every girl does have an unrequited love at some point. How come it never happened to me? What’s their secret? I look over at Remus, who is sitting with Peter a little way away. I’m not sure where Sirius and James are. Is Lily right? Am I in love with Remus without even realising it? My forced fancy didn’t work out too well, because I kept forgetting about it. But I guess anything’s possible. It was fun commentating today, even though there were a lot of silences before and after the game (but never during, of course. We’re professionals after all. Sort of.) while I tried to figure out whether I was happy because I was spending time with my friend or my soul mate. Only I couldn’t.

“Marty? Are you there? Marty?”

I snap out of it. “Huh? What?”

Lily smiles. “I was just asking if you had realised that you’re in love with Remus yet.”

I sigh. “You say that, Lily, but I’m just not sure it’s true. Luanne, you know how it feels. What do you think?”

“What do you mean ‘I know how it feels’?” she asks.

“You know, being in love,” I point out. Maybe I’m not the only one who forgets who I’m supposed to be in love with after all! I knew some research would solve my problems!

“I’m not in love.”

Wait. What? “Not even with Keith Robertson?”

“Uh ... no. That’s different. That’s just a passing phase. Mostly to wind James up.”

“There’s a difference?” I ask, more confused than ever. Lily and Luanne exchange glances.

“I see what you mean,” Luanne says.

“Didn’t I tell you? Hopeless,” Lily agrees. Well, that makes me feel better. I can’t help it if I apparently have no clue about anything.

“Marty,” Luanne says gently. “You’re in love with Remus. Everybody can see it. Except you.”

“Then doesn’t that defeat the point?” I wail. I mean, really! Why did no one tell me having proper girl friends made everything so difficult? Boy mates were never this complicated. They just did stupid stuff while I wrote down the stupid stuff they did. They never tried to tell me how I felt about Remus.

Well, lately Peter did. But never before then. They were just as clueless as I am.

“Do you think I might be a boy?” I ask. However, Lily and Luanne don’t have a chance to react to this (probably a good thing), because at that moment, James and Sirius come bursting through the Portrait Hole.

And James has a black eye.

“James!” Luanne cries, shooting out of her chair and rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”

Which proves, really, that as much as she complains about how embarrassing he is, she still cares about him. Merlin. They really are like father and daughter.

“What happened?” Lily asks. I note with some satisfaction that at least a small part of her seems to care too. My Secret Cause is going pretty well and I’ve not even done anything yet.

“It was Robertson,” Sirius explains, as James waves Luanne away and tries to look like a wounded hero in front of his daughter and Lily. “Uh ... Prongs decided they should have a chat.”

I turn in my seat to catch Remus’s eye, grinning at him and trying not to laugh. Peter notices this interaction and looks pleased with himself as if he personally orchestrated it.

“The ole ‘touch my daughter and die’ chat, right?” I ask, turning back to Sirius.

“That’s the one,” he nods. “It didn’t go too well, though. Robertson said he didn’t even know anyone called Luanne, then Prongs said it had better damn well stay that way. Then Robertson called him crazy and asked why his eye was twitching and walked off to meet his girlfriend. Then Prongs was so annoyed he walked into a suit of armour.”

I look to see how Luanne takes the news that Robertson has a girlfriend. But she seems to be too busy laughing at James’s stupidity (now she knows he’s okay) to care. Maybe that’s the difference between love and a passing phase like she has. Maybe when you’re in love it hurts when they don’t return it, but when it’s a phase you’re too busy having fun with friends to mind.

I try to imagine what I’d do if Remus had a girlfriend. With worrying clarity, I realise that I would be hurt. A lot. Sweet Merlin. Maybe I really am in love with him.

Now what?

*~*~*

AN: *Grins*. I love James when he’s being an idiot. Anyway, I’m afraid that there is only actually one final chapter left ... *wipes eyes*. I apologise for all the girl talk in this one and the amount of times I used the words “in love”. Personally I rather enjoyed writing all that, but my brother couldn’t stand that part and made me skip some of it out, (although he’s a fourteen year old boy). I hope you liked it more than he did. Please let me know!

Funny how Christmastime brings out the best in people. Marauder Sirius Black can often be heard singing carols, with and without the alternative lyrics. Marauder James Potter uses his interior decorating skills to turn the Common Room into a bizarre Santa’s Grotto with a few too many broomsticks. Marauder Peter Pettigrew will tell Yuletide themed jokes to anyone who will listen and they are usually so embarrassingly bad that they are actually quite funny. Everywhere you look people are laughing and joking, talking loudly to their friends and having a jolly good time. Even James’s daughter Luanne and love interest Lily aren’t quite so critical as usual and are finding it much harder to hide their amusement. The whole tower �“ and school, in fact �“ is full of optimism, hope, happiness, enjoyment, anticipation, excitement, youth (okay, it’s always been full of youth, but still) and above all laughter ...

Remus is quite cheerful too.

Chapter Twenty: Pumpkin Juice

[Remus]

“I tell you what, guys, this Christmas is just going to be genius,” James announces from under his bed.

“Genius, huh, Prongs? How so?” asks Sirius from under his bed. Why do they always leave their packing until the very last second? I watch Peter desperately trying to close his trunk from my bed, feeling rather smug that my neat trunk has been packed and ready since this morning.

“Well. I’m not sure yet. But how could it not? Whoever thought up Christmas was just ... just ...”

“Genius?” I supply.

“Exactly.”

I shake my head and smile. Simple things for simple minds. How is it that James can be both top of the year and a complete idiot at the same time?

“So, what theme are you thinking next term, Prongs?” I ask, looking around the room. It’s been fun having James change round our dorm every couple of months. You stop taking everything for granted. Although thankfully we didn’t have to put up with the cheeses for long.

“I’m not sure,” James says, still rooting around under his bed. “I was thinking maybe rainforests.”

“Um ... wouldn’t that be a bit ... green? We don’t really want to go down that road, do we?”

“Good point. Hey look, a Galleon! I knew this was a good idea.”

“You know, Moony, you could help us instead of sitting there,” Sirius’s right foot suggests lightly. Or at least I presume it’s his right foot, because everything else has disappeared in the depths under his four-poster. Just what is it he’s looking for anyway? Besides spare Galleons, which he isn’t exactly desperate for.

“That’s all right,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to strain myself or something. I hear it can be quite strenuous to leave everything until the last moment. What are you looking for under there anyway? Is it really so important to clear under your bed? We’re coming back in a couple of weeks anyway.”

“You’re just not very organised, Moony. Besides, I don’t trust these house-elves.”

I roll my eyes, not that anyone can actually see them. “Oh, well, I’m sure you’d rather make your own fires in the evenings and wash your own sheets and cook your own food. Yeah, that would be much more preferable. What’s not to trust?”

“Nothing. I love house-elves. I just needed an excuse as to why I’ve managed to get myself stuck under here.”

“Stuck? You idiot.”

“Are you going to help me, or what?”

“I think I’ll sit here and laugh for a while. Do you mind?”

James wriggles out from his own bed, looking a whole new level of dishevelled (and I’ve seen him in the mornings) and laughs as Sirius’s feet start tap dancing, even though the rest of him is concealed.

“You’re right, Moony,” James says. “This is hilarious.”

The feet stop dancing. “You call yourselves Marauders? I’m in a serious dilemma here and you just sit there and laugh. I’m being bullied. My rights are being abused. Wormtail, what’s your stand on all this?”

Peter finally shuts his trunk and looks over. Sirius’s trunk is practically empty and his things are strewn everywhere. Even James is nearly finished.

“That you’re a cropping idiot,” Peter says eventually. James and I both laugh loudly, because it’s true.

“Come on, guys, or we’ll never get home,” I say and slide off my bed to wander over to Sirius’s. I begin organising his things and placing them into his trunk, heavy books first so they don’t crease any clothes underneath. James and Peter come over to help, albeit a little less carefully than me.

When we finish, Sirius manages to free himself, then stands and brushes himself off carefully.

“I knew I could get you guys to do it for me somehow,” he says, grinning. James picks up a pillow and throws it at him and the carefully made beds soon descend, naturally, into chaos.

But never mind. It was a little creepy seeing everything so neat anyway.

[Marty]

As usual, I am the only one organised enough to be sitting on my bed watching everyone else struggle. Even Lily, who is normally quite on top of things, has left the packing a little late.

“So have you decided what you’re doing yet, Marty?” she asks as she hurriedly �“ but still methodically, of course �“ transfers her possessions from her bedside drawer to her trunk.

“I just don’t know,” I wail. “I’ve barely thought of anything else since I realised, but what am I supposed to do? How do I know for certain he likes me back? What if it’s all a big mistake? I mean, has anyone ever actually heard him say it?”

Lily stops packing for a moment to stare at me. “I meant about going back to Taffy’s.”

“Oh.” I blush furiously. Well, can I really help it if I presume she’s talking about Remus? That decision has weighed on my mind much more heavily lately than going back to my old home. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about that, either.”

“You should definitely snog his face off,” Phyll says.

At the same time, Mary advises me, “I think you should go home with your aunt.”

I decide to stick with Mary’s conversation path, as Phyll’s is never going to end without embarrassment.

“But it’s so hard,” I say.

“No it’s not, it’s easy,” Phyll says. “Just go up to him, grab his robes in your fists and �“”

“Not that,” I say quickly. “Going home. There are so many memories.”

“But good ones,” Lily points out. “One night of bad against a whole life of good. And didn’t you say your aunt was still living with that Garfield guy, anyway? So you wouldn’t even be there at night, would you?”

I consider this. It’s true, of course. But Garfield’s ancient and cold cottage is no more appealing than the renovated café. And the memories there aren’t of death, but of grief, which is hardly much better.

“I mean, look at it this way, Marty,” Mary says, whilst trying desperately to squeeze everything leftover into a tiny uninhabited space in her trunk. “You could spend your entire life avoiding that place, as it gets more and more of a taboo in your mind and you turn it into the worst place you could ever go, making returning there three hundred times harder than if you just got it over with now. And you’ll also see much less of your aunt and you’ll start missing her as much as she must be missing you. Won’t you? You can’t depend on Remus for the rest of your life. Especially when it means you hardly see anything of your aunt. You’ll start thinking of her as a taboo eventually, too.”

This is all true, but it might also be being said a little too late. I already can’t think of the café or Aunt Tabby without thinking of the loss of my mother.

“You can’t distance yourself from your family,” Roxie says. As usual, she can sum up an entire speech in one simple sentence.

“I just don’t know,” I sigh.

“Well, how about helping us close some of these trunks then?” asks Phyll, sounding a little irritated. But we all know by now never to take that personally.

I smile broadly and laugh. “Nah. It’s much more fun to watch everyone else struggle.”

[Remus]

Once everyone’s trunks are safely out of harms way and the cage containing my owl, Chudley (don’t even ask), is in no danger of falling off anything, we collapse into our seats. Those trunks really are as heavy as they look.

“Thanks guys,” Lily says. “Although you didn’t have to do ours too. We’re perfectly capable of handling our own luggage.”

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we left you ladies to struggle alone?” Sirius demands in his best ‘gentleman’ voice. “Dubious ones, at the very least.”

“A little suspect, really,” James agrees.

“Quite questionable,” Sirius concurs, nodding.

“You already are those sorts of gentlemen,” Luanne points out. James merely grins at her.

“You know it’s been a whole term since I adopted you?” he asks. “Hasn’t it been fun? Didn’t I ease your fear and guide you through hardships well?”

“And embarrass me every chance you got, yes. It was all very realistic.”

“You have changed a lot, though,” Marty says. “I’ve been recording James’s progress as a father for The Book and when we first met you, you were just as terrified as any other first year.”

“I remember that!” James cries. “You were the last one to be sorted and it was taking ages, so when it was finally over I swore in front of you accidentally.”

“And then kept trying to make it up to me by being helpful, but really you just scared me more.”

“But only at first,” Marty insists. “Eventually you came right out of your shell and turned out to be a match for him after all. It was all very exciting to record.”

“Speaking of which,” Luanne says. “How come you never interviewed me for The Book?”

Marty looks taken aback. “That’s a good point. It would give a very interesting perspective on the whole relationship, wouldn’t it? If I had an interview with you, I could probably flesh out an entire chapter on James as a father. What a good idea!”

She begins to set up a little area where she and Luanne can conduct the interview, brushing Peter and Sirius out of the way as she dives into her bag to retrieve her notebook and a quill. She seems a little surprised to notice us watching her.

“Well, have your own conversations,” she says and shakes her head disbelievingly at the thought of us trying to listen.

I clear my throat. “Uh ... so ... you’re going to James’s again, right Sirius?”

“Of course,” he says, still watching Marty and Luanne but trying not to.

“Shouldn’t a parent be present during this interview since she’s a minor?” asks James.

“So are you,” Marty points out. “So no.”

“But how will I know what she’s saying about me?” he whines. Luanne and Marty give him scarily similar looks of disdain.

“Wait until The Book comes out,” Marty says and turns back to Luanne. They lean in closer so as not to be heard.

“The cheek!” James fumes. “Abominable!”

“Just leave them, Prongs, they’ll be back soon,” I say. “I’m sure Luanne won’t come to any harm.”

“In the meantime, Remus, you are going to make sure she goes back to ...” Lily glances over at the two and lowers her voice. “To Taffy’s, right?”

I swallow. In truth, I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that. On the one hand, I want her to go back to her aunt’s so that I can avoid any romantic messiness by the firelight when my parents pointedly leave us alone, as I’m sure they will do. On the other hand ... well, I’ll miss her. It was nice having someone my own age around, like the sister I never had. Only, let’s face it. She’s not like a sister anymore.

“I guess,” I say eventually. “That would probably be best.”

“Of course it would. If she doesn’t go back now, she never will. She’s left it far too late as it is. She should of gone straight back as soon as it was restored in the summer.”

“She didn’t want to,” Sirius says, obviously picking up on the slightly accusatory note in her voice. “We told her she could, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Of course she wouldn’t, but you should have made her go anyway. The only way to get over your fears is to immerse yourself in them, right?”

“She trusted us,” James insists. “Come on, Lily, you don’t think we’d really do that to her, do you? Sometimes you are much harder than you ought to be.”

“You mean than you think I ought to be. You know, you can’t accept it, James, can you, that I have more backbone than you do?”

“Why would I want a backbone of steel if it meant I couldn’t bend the rules once in a while?”

“There’s bending rules and there’s breaking them. You know, why don’t you just �“”

“Okay, ladies,” Sirius says loudly (“See what I mean?” mutters Lily). “Let’s not disrupt the peace.”

“We’re not disrupting anything,” James points out. “This is normal.”

Sirius sighs. “More’s the pity. Let’s clear this up. Lily is very brisk and likes to do things by the book, such as exposing fears straight away to cure them. Prongs is a little more lenient and as long as the result is the same, it doesn’t really matter how you got there and which rules were broken along the way. Am I right?”

“Maybe,” Lily mutters quietly.

“As bleeding always,” James agrees under his breath.

“But you both want the same thing?” Peter asks. “Don’t you? To help Marty?”

“Peter!” Lily hisses, glancing wildly over at the interview. “Ssssh!”

“Sorry. But it’s true?”

“Well,” James says, shrugging. “I suppose so.”

“Then what does it matter?” asks Sirius. “Hey, I know. Remus, you go with her. You’re closest to her, aren’t you?”

For once, there isn’t an innuendo that can be sniffed a mile off. “Yes, probably.”

“Then you go with her and keep her company. Sounds like a plan to me. You can help her go inside and say hello and reacquaint herself and things.”

“And,” Peter says. “She could stay with you in the evenings. Work there in the day, stay with you later. That will keep her out of her aunt’s friend’s cottage that she hates so much, but she’d still see her aunt every day.”

I bite my lip with worry as I think about it. It’s a good plan. She wouldn’t be around during the day, which would be good, but in the evenings ... and the fireplace ... and the atmosphere ... still. If she’s going to be facing her fear ... well, why shouldn’t I?

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Sounds like a plan.”

“What does?” asks Marty, as she and Luanne join us again.

“We’re going to get James and Lily together,” I say quickly, not wanting her to think we’ve made up her mind for her. She has to believe that was her own idea or she’ll never agree to it. “Since it might shut them up for a while.”

“Hey!” Lily and James both say at the same time.

“Really?” Luanne asks, laughing. “So you could be my mother, Lily? That would be pretty cool. You might be able to talk him out of peeping at innocent first years and things.”

James goes very red all of a sudden. “I was not peeping!” he insists. “I was checking on security!”

“Of course you were, mate,” Sirius says, laughing.

“I was! Moony told me to!”

“No, I told you to make sure you gave Robertson the ole ‘touch my daughter and die’ speech, which resulted in a black eye. Not to peep on the first years which resulted in a week’s worth of detentions.”

“I wasn’t peeping!”

“Sorry. ‘Checking on security’. Of course.” I make sure that the quotation marks can be detected a mile off.

“Well, it didn’t work anyway,” Luanne says, laughing. “Because that night I was perfectly able to climb out of the window and visit him myself. I don’t live up to clichés.”

We know she is joking (or at least, everyone but James does) but this only makes it funnier and as James’s head begins to explode, we can do nothing but clutch our sides in hysterics.

[Marty]

The train journey is over too soon and I know what’s waiting for me. When I didn’t reply to the letter from Aunt Tabby �“ right back at the start of November �“ she eventually sent another one, explaining that she had contacted the Lupins and arranged that they should pick me up from the station and I could come when I wanted. This suits me just fine.

The guys get down our trunks for us, still claiming that it makes them worthy as ‘gentlemen’ and we slowly make our way from the train to the platform and out into the station.

Mrs Lupin comes rushing forwards and hugs both me and Remus tightly; she’s far stronger than she appears. It occurs to me that even though my own mother is gone, I have one almost as good in Mrs Lupin.

When she finally releases us, Lily grabs me straight away. “Have a brilliant Christmas, Marty,” she whispers into my hair. “And I’m sorry I can be such a cow sometimes.”

This is news to me, but I hug her back anyway. “Don’t be silly. Just make sure you visit me in ... well, I suppose in Taffy’s, right? I’m not going to get away with it am I?”

Lily lets go and shakes her head. “Probably not, no. Write and let me know what happens. I’ll see you soon.” She looks around at everyone else. “And you have a lovely time too, Luanne.” She eyes the Marauders warily. I suppose it’s never really been clear whether they’re actually friends or not, but she has spent much more time with us all lately. Eventually, she nods at them and says, “Bye,” before hurrying away to her parents.

“Well, see you,” Luanne says. She reaches out to hug me briefly and then tentatively hugs James too. He pats the top of her head and she breaks away rather briskly. “Right. Well. I’m off to see my real parents. See you in a couple weeks.”

James grins down at her happily. “We are your real parents,” he insists.

“Sure, Dad, whatever.” She sticks her tongue out, grabs her trunk and runs off.

“They grow up so fast,” he says, sniffing and watching her leave mournfully.

Mrs Lupin looks at me questioningly. I shake my head. “Don’t ask.”

“Come on, pops,” Sirius says, chuckling to himself and patting James on the back. “I think your Mum and Dad are waiting. See you Moony. Bye, Wormtail. Marty. We’ll be round all the time, you know, at the café. You won’t get rid of us.”

I smile. “Well, as long as you keep ordering drinks, I don’t mind.”

He winks and guides James away.

“Well, bye,” Peter says, shaking my hand formally. “And don’t worry, Marty. We don’t judge you. Trust me, I knew all along.”

“What about?” I ask and then remember his little campaign about me and Remus. “Oh. That. Well, yes, thank you. See you soon.”

He gives a mock salute and wanders over to his where his mother is waiting.

“Ready?” asks Mr Lupin, looking more at me than Remus.

I nod. “Can ... can we go straight there? To the café I mean? If it’s all right with you ... I’d like to get it over with.”

“Of course,” Mrs Lupin says. “We’ll get the Knight Bus right now if you like.”

We do, but it’s so packed full of Hogwarts students that we have to split up. There are two seats on the second deck, which are graciously offered to me and Mrs Lupin, before Remus and his Dad disappear to the third deck.

After a few minutes of silence, I say tentatively. “Mrs Lupin ... I’m kind of scared.”

She looks down at me and takes my hand. “I know. But don’t worry. Because you and I are similar, Marty and we have every ingredient needed to make us indestructible.”

I stare at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well. We can never be broken. We’re strong. I may seem soft and frail to look at and you could expect me to be with everything that’s happened. But I have insides of pure iron, we both do. First of all, we are Gryffindors. This makes us brave. We can face anything. Whatever is thrown at us.”

I think of when I was sorted. The hat hadn’t put me where I thought it would. I had expected Ravenclaw, but it gave me Gryffindor. Why? “You have more to give than you’re giving,” it had said. But I never understood what that meant. Is Mrs Lupin right? Is that what I never gave until now? The ability to carry on? I suppose, then, I had never needed it. But if I think about it, I have done remarkably well. Five months after my mother died and I’m fine. I have the odd wobbly day, but mostly I’m better than ever. Everything that happened after that night made me a much stronger person.

“Secondly,” Mrs Lupin continues. “You are British. You have the carrying on with a stiff upper lip blood running through your veins. If there is anything Britain is known for, it’s strength defying all hardships.”

This is very patriotic and slightly weird, but I like it anyway. It makes me proud of my country. If we can take anything and come out the same as ever, this little business with You-Know-Who should be a doddle. I can almost taste the hope and victory already.

“What else?” I ask. “That can’t be it. Loads of people are British and a Gryffindor.”

“Well, there is one more thing,” Mrs Lupin admits. “But it doesn’t narrow anything down much more. You see, there are many people just like us who are strong. That’s why people like You-Know-Who will never defeat us.” Funny that I had just been thinking exactly the same thing.

“Go on then, what is it?”

“You and I, Marty, have one final thing to make us indestructible. Something that roughly half of the population lack entirely.”

Good grief. It sounds like I’m one of the lucky ones. “Stop stalling. What is it?”

“We’re both women,” Mrs Lupin says, before throwing her head back and laughing.

Soon, we arrive at The Leaky Cauldron and it’s not long before we find ourselves in Diagon Alley.

“We’ll leave you together,” says Mr Lupin, smiling a little. “We can meet here later. Good luck, Marty.”

“And remember the three,” Mrs Lupin says and winks. She takes Mr Lupin’s arm and they disappear down the street together.

“What’s she talking about?” asks Remus. All the awkwardness of the last few weeks seems to have vanished completely. I wonder if he got his own little pep talk from his father. He wouldn’t tell me if he did. It would probably be better not to ask.

“Nothing. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

I shock myself �“ and probably Remus �“ when I take his hand firmly and head in the direction of the café.

“Marty,” Remus says tentatively. “Can I speak to you about something?”

“Is it to do with what Peter kept going on about?” I ask.

“Well. Yes.”

I pause for a second, before saying. “Go on then.”

“It’s just,” he begins, “the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed. I know you have that weird pumpkin juice thing, but everything else just seems to ... fit, you know? It’s like where you’re wacky, I’m ordinary and where you’re scared, I’m strong. But where I’m scared, you’re the one that’s strong. Where I see a problem, you see a solution. Everything bad about me is good about you and the other way around. You know, together we almost make a whole person.”

I look up. It’s funny, but with all my observations and recordings and research, it turns out Remus knows more about himself and me than I ever could.

“So,” he continues when I don’t reply, “maybe you’d like to give it a try sometimes. Us, I mean. See how it works out.” He stops.

“Yeah,” I say eventually, despite my instincts telling me to run away. What about my arrangement with romance? We’re supposed to avoid each other. Still, what was it Lily said? It catches up with everyone in the end. Something like that. Besides, I have the three keys to indestructibility. How could a little romance hurt? “Yeah, okay. Let’s try it.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised, but pleased.

“Sure. Did you really mean it that you were planning on trying to get Lily and James together?” I ask, because I’ve been thinking about it ever since he said it. After all, for us both to have had the same idea (my Secret Cause is certainly not forgotten about) is pretty cool.

He looks a little uncomfortable for some reason. “I suppose so. Do you want to help?”

I grin. “Most definitely. They’re stubborn, but I can fight dirty. They’ll be together if I have anything to say about it.”

“In that case, go Team Lily and James.”

I smile. I can’t help it. It won’t go away. “Remus ... why have we stopped?”

He looks taken aback and says unsurely, as if he’s not sure whether I was joking or not, “Well, because we’re here.”

I look over and am surprised to see that he’s right. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I suppose in a way, I’d been expecting to feel it before I saw it, to sense the bad vibes emanating out. Not forget about it completely because something more interesting was happening.

It’s mostly the same as ever, I’ll admit, but changed in small ways here and there. I can’t quite put my finger on it for a moment, but then I see. The windows are empty. Before everything happened, they were full of posters advertising the next rally, or urging you to find out more about whatever was currently the most important Cause and sometimes they even advertised the café itself. Now, you can see straight inside. Aunt Tabby is behind the counter and my Mother’s place seems to have been taken by two extra waitresses. Despite this, I know that my help will be as valuable as ever now that the holiday season has arrived. I look through the windows behind Aunt Tabby, who hasn’t noticed me yet (but looks exactly the same as she always did, only I imagine a few more lines on her face close up) there is a large framed picture behind her. I can’t see what’s in it, but I don’t recognise the frame.

I watch for a moment longer and mercifully something grabs her attention to the right. She moves over and the picture is revealed. I can’t see it in much detail, but I recognise it straight away anyway. The three of us, the summer before last. We’d taken a small holiday in the north of England by the sea. Mum had predicted that good times would be few and far between in the near future, so had hired some temporary staff, stressed for nearly a month to try and brief everyone about exactly what would happen and worried the whole time that the café would crumble and disappear while we were gone. But as soon as we got away, it was fine. Worries over. And that photo had been taken on a beach on the very last day. I am in the middle, my mother and aunt either side with an arm each over my shoulders. We’re all waving.

It’s not a tacky memorial shrine to my mother, with candles and an eerily benevolent picture. To a stranger (or a Death Eater looking for a way to accuse us of being too outspoken) it’s just an ordinary family holiday photo in pride of place. But I know the truth. It is a memorial, not just to my mother, but to the happy family unit of three we used to be. But it’s also a symbol of hope.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it and the idea hadn’t even occurred to Aunt Tabby when she picked it, but the way all three of us are smiling and waving is like saying that there are some things You-Know-Who and his followers can never destroy. It may not be an in-your-face campaign to shout as loudly as possible about every injustice we can find, but that was more mine and my mother’s style anyway. In her own way, Aunt Tabby is protesting just as much. And it makes me want to run inside and never let her go, to apologise for being a terrible niece and ignoring her these past months because it hurt too much. How could I not realise that it must have hurt her just as much not to hear from me? Why did I never realise how selfish I was being?

“Are you ready to go in?” Remus asks.

I look up at him. There’s one thing I need to do first. I decide to take Phyll’s advice. I take a bunch of his coat in each fist and pull him towards me. This takes him by surprise at first, but he soon responds by kissing me straight back, placing his hands on my shoulders carefully.

It only lasts two or three seconds before I let go and step back, brushing myself down briskly.

“I am now,” I decide.

He is staring at me with wide eyes like a kid who’s only just realised it’s Christmas soon.

“Wow,” he says. “That wasn’t like you at all.”

I smile. “Well, I think it’s about time for a change anyway, don’t you?”

Then I take his hand firmly and lead him inside.

*~*~*

Conversation with Marauder Remus Lupin

Me (M): Finally. I thought I’d never get a break. How’s your Mum?
Remus (R): She’s good. Looking forward to tonight. She wants us to help her decorate the tree. It should be fun, there’ll be lots of fairies involved.
M: Excellent! But, you know, I’m not sure I agree with the use of living creatures purely for ornamental reasons. Is it fair to conjure them purely for our own use?
R: Probably not. Still, I think there are bigger problems right now.
M: Like what?
R: Well, I’ve been waiting five minutes and I’ve still not got the drink I ordered. I blame the waiting staff myself.
M: We’re busy! And you were the one who forced me to take a break so I could come talk to you.
R: I was kidding, calm down. Hey, I thought of a name for The Book.
M: Really? What?
R: “101 Ways To See James Make A Prat Of Himself”. It sounds like a bestseller to me.
M: Very funny. For a moment I thought you might have something useful to say. You know it’s been nameless for nearly three years?
R: I was kidding. No, the real name I thought of is much better. “Our Tale”.
M: ... I don’t get it.
R: Well, that’s what it is, right? The story of you and the Marauders. It’s Our Tale.
M: I guess. But it’s not about me. How can it say “Our Tale by Marty Price” when I’m not actually in it?
R: What are you talking about? Of course you’re in it. Especially lately. Everything that’s happened to us the last few months has involved you in some way. You’re just as much one of us as ... well, as one of us. It’s your tale too.
M: You mean I’m a Marauder now?
R: Well, no. That would be weird. But we’ve never been about maraudering, not really. You know that. It’s not the tricks and jokes that keep us together.
M: It’s your friendship ... I know. Of course I know! I’ve been telling people that since way back when, but no one ever believed me before. “Our Tale”. I like it.
R: Really? It’s simple, you know? People would want to find out more. And you can give it a subtitle, like “A Study of Strong Friendships” or something.
M: Yeah! Like ... “Our Tale by Marty Price: An In-Depth Psychological Analysis of the Personalities and Dynamics Needed to Sustain Everlasting Friendships”.
R: Or ... something. And what’s more, I think it will grab attention because �“
M: You don’t have to sell it. I’ll use it.
R: You will? Not just because you don’t want to offend me? I can take it.
M: No, I really do want to use it. Thanks.
R: Well. The pleasure’s mine. Thank you. Do you fancy some pumpkin juice?
M: Yeah, go on then.

*~*~*

AN: Well ... that’s it. It’s over. Thanks so much to my brother for listening and Chomione for reading and beta-ing every single chapter. To the mods for accepting and for the fabulous site in general. And to the readers, all of you, whether you reviewed or just read. And not just with this fic, with all of them. Because I have a small announcement, if anyone’s interested. This is my last fic. Maybe not ever, but certainly for the foreseeable future. I’ve realised it during the course of writing this, even though I enjoyed it immensely, but I think now it’s time to end. I still love fanfiction. I love everything about it and I’m not giving up writing stories, but I’m afraid I’ve grown out of this. I want to write in my own universe now and so I have original fics I’ve been working on, with a characters who storm into my head and then completely take over. At first I thought they’d fit into fanfiction, it’s time to make my own world. The only bad thing about it is that they won’t be able to be published here. I will still answer any reviews and I’ll probably still read other fics every now and then, I just won’t post any. I’m not disappearing into cyberspace like some writers and I’m still more than happy to be contacted through my author page, I really mean that. But real life (including lots of real studying, I’m starting my A-Levels now after all) and writing my own world has slowly taken over. Hard to believe. When I started, it was impossible to imagine even being published on here, let alone giving it up, but here I am.

Thank you again to the site and everything and everyone that comes with it. You’ve helped me grow as a writer, and you’ve probably helped me grow as a person. Now how about one last review? =)