"Oh, and McGonagall warned me to be on the look-out for duels breaking out in the corridors between Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Well, actually, she said to look out for any 'unmannered frivolity,'" James quoted in a haughty voice, giving Lily such a stern glare she could have sworn it was McGonagall right before her.

She giggled. "Ravenclaw and Slytherin? I thought they were on pretty good terms this year," Lily remarked.

James shook his head. "Quidditch match coming up. If Slytherin wants to stay in the running they'll have to slaughter Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaw's put up a pretty good front this year, but. . ."

"But?" asked Lily, having a hunch for what was coming.

"But it’s nothing compared to Gryffindor," James said, beaming. "I'm glad I picked Douglas for Keeper. He's phenomenal, you should've seen the other day at practice-" he broke off sheepishly. "Well never mind, I suppose we should get back to Head duties. . ."

He bent over his papers, his messy black hair covering his face. Lily smiled. The greatest part was, she was actually used to it now. When it had started happening in the middle of sixth year, she was suspicious for weeks. James Potter? Not boasting and showing off every chance he got? Not hexing everyone he could, just because he was talented? Behaving? Yet it was true.

The James Potter before her now was quite different than the James Potter she first met. She had never hated him, she had simply tired of telling him to grow up. It had seemed as though his friends admired him for it, but she had had no problem telling him that he was too confident for his own good at times. And after a while. . . here sat the remarkable result. James had listened to her. He wasn't a completely different boy, it was almost as if one had extracted all of the arrogance from his head, leaving the kindness and courage that had always been there.

"Lily?" James was shaking his hand in front of her face. "Lily did you hear what I just said about the prefects patrolling?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, James, what was it?" She smiled to herself. That was another change. No longer Evans, simply, Lily.


* * * * * * *

"Hey, Loony Lovegood, missing something?"

Luna turned around gratefully. "Yes, thanks. All of my jumpers seem to be missing, and it's rather chilly tonight, don't you think?"

The girl who had called out to her was with four others. They all had their arms crossed, and were sniggering. "Did you check with the Nargles? Maybe they're behind it," one of them called out jeeringly.

Luna chuckled. "Of course not, Nargles can't carry jumpers – they'd get lost in them, the silly things." She shivered. It really was cold. "Is today the forty-second day in the year?"

The girls looked at her bemusedly.

"Because that's the birthday of Jeremy Frosten, you know, the wizard who invented the Atmospheric Charm? Maybe that's why it's particularly cold – because no one remembered. It's awfully sad when no one remembers your birthday. It's only happened to me once, but that's because my mum had died the week before, so I forgave Dad. He was very sad at the time. Besides, one forgotten birthday in a lifetime really isn’t that bad."

The girls looked at each other and giggled nervously. Luna waited patiently for them to tell her what was so funny. She loved laughing, she was always much happier when she was laughing than when she wasn't. But it didn't work simply to laugh to try to be happier. She had tried it. Laughing without something to laugh about wasn't quite the same.

A boy with a Ravenclaw prefect's badge gleaming on his chest strode over to the group. "Everything all right?" he asked suspiciously. He knew these girls. They weren't as bad as some, but they liked to joke around.

"Everything's fine, Anthony. Loony's just been telling us about Nargles and Jeremy Frosten," piped up one of them. "No bloody idea what she's talking about," she added under her breath as the other girls laughed.

Luna frowned. Her name wasn't Loony. She shivered again, and beseeched Anthony. "Have you seen a pile of missing jumpers? Mine have gone missing. It's not really like jumpers to wander off by themselves, though once Dad said he saw one of his socks jumping into the kitchen sink, which may explain why they always end up a bit moldy-"

Anthony interrupted her to get to the point. "So your jumpers are missing?" He gave the group of girls a calculating look. They fidgeted, but he continued to watch them until one of them broke.

"Fine," one of them said, thrusting a pile of sweaters that they had been concealing behind their backs into Anthony's arms. "Here are your jumpers, Loony." They traipsed off to their dormitories, throwing disgruntled looks at him for spoiling their fun.

"Here you go," he muttered, tipping them into her arms.

"Ooh, thank you!" She beamed at him. "Now what do you need help with?" she said looking at him inquisitively.

"Erm, what?"

"You helped me, and now that we're friends, I can do something to help you!" She stood there, her overly-large eyes blinking up at him.

"Oh," he ran a hand through his hair. "Er, well. . ."

"Oh," she said, looking slightly crestfallen. "Sorry, friends don't happen like that, do they?"

"Not exactly, Luna," he said, though not unkindly. "But we can be friends if you'd like," he offered awkwardly.

She beamed again. "You don't call me Loony. Don't worry Anthony, we can just be cordial acquaintances. Thanks for helping me get my jumpers back."

And she turned, and quite literally skipped off to bed, leaving Anthony Goldstein scratching his head, and rather hoping she would be alright.


* * * * * * *

"Nymphadooooora!"

"Don'tcallmeNymphadora and what is going on?"

Remus was stumbling into the room, his arm slung around Sirius.

"Hey, Moony! Look! Hey Moony, look!" said Sirius, nudging Remus excitedly. "It's our good friend Tonks!"

"That it is!" said Remus with a look of such astonishment that Tonks had to stuff her fist in her mouth to prevent herself from cracking up.

"What did you give him, Sirius?" she asked indignantly, trying to hide her smile.

Sirius shrugged, bemused. "Dung gave it to us in exchange for my mother's old mirror. More than a fair trade, really, what do I need with a mirror? I think it's elf made. The drink I mean, not the mirror. Though the mirror may be-"

"Sirius!"

"Alright! I had about a quarter of it, but Moony here was feeling pretty miserable after last night's transmorfation and downed the rest of it."

"I hear transmorfations are rather painful," Tonks said solemnly.

"It's called a transmifation you daft idiot," said Remus, swatting Sirius on the arm. "And I'm fine, really, never better," he said as he promptly tripped over his own feet and landed on the floor as Sirius howled.

"You're both daft," Tonks said as she helped Remus up. He staggered, and she grabbed his arm to ensure he wouldn't fall again. He put his hands on her shoulders.

"Nymphadora," he said seriously. "I can never thank you enough. Honestly, I owe you. Without you, I would have been on the floor for days, months even, I may have even died there-"

"Shut up," she grinned. "And don't call me Nymphadora."

But he was already singing. "Nymphadoooora, I adooore ya, Nympha-" he tripped again, over Sirius this time, who had turned into his dog form. "Hey!" Remus said indignantly. "Watch out, Padfoot. I can be more dangerous than you are!" Remus closed his eyes and screwed up his face in concentration. After remaining like for a few moments, Tonks felt she had to say something to intervene.

"Er, Remus?" she said hesitantly. "You know you can only transform during full moons right?"

"Oh," he said, as if it suddenly dawned on him. "Right, that would explain me still standing on two feet," he mumbled as he stumbled once again over Sirius, who began licking him happily on the face.

"That would explain you trying to stand on two feet." She helped him up again.

"Oh, Dora," he sighed. "Where in the name of Merlin's monocle would I be without you?"

She opened her mouth to protest, and then smiled. She could deal with Dora. "Well for starters, you would still be thinking that Merlin wore a monocle."


* * * * * * *

"Fred can you-"

He closed his eyes and felt his stomach drop, his mouth go dry. This was the second time that this had happened this week. This week. He turned around to find his mother with her hand clamped over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

"Georgie," she said hoarsely, "George I'm so sorry, I forgot."

He smiled a smile that almost, but not quite reached his eyes. "Old habits die hard, eh?"

She nodded and opened her arms to him, but he turned away from her.

"I'm going to my flat," he said, the words coming out more coldly than he meant them too. He didn't turn to see her before he Disapparated.

The smell of dust, newts' eyes, and dirty clothing hit him as soon as his feet hit the floor. No. He still hadn't brought himself to pick up Fred's stuff. It was all laid out, strewn across the floor, piled on the bureau, just as he had left it.

"Fred? You've really got to pick it up at some point, this place is beginning to smell worse than goblin piss."

"Goblin piss? Not even close. Besides, I know at some point or another you'll get so annoyed you'll eventually pick it up for me, oh holey one."


Eventually.

The worst was when Mum called him Fred. Though he hated to admit it to himself, there was always a fraction of a second in which he believed Fred was there, was right beside him. He knew she couldn't help it, that it wasn't her fault. Yet he couldn't help getting slightly angry at her each time it happened.

He wondered if it haunted the rest of them the way it did him. He doubted it. When they were speaking, they didn't have awkward moments like he did when he broke off, expecting his sentence to be finished, but just leaving his words lingering in the air. They didn't have the constant reminder of picking up a jacket, having to check the label to see if it was their's or their dead brother's. They didn't have to wonder who would be the one to tell the Muggle girl Fred was seeing, unknown to everyone but George. No, I'm not Fred. . .That boy you've been seeing? No, I'm not him. Just his identical twin brother. He's actually dead now. How? Killed in one of the bloodiest battles known to wizardkind. . . No you didn't mishear me. He's a wizard actually. Yes, he's magical. No, I'm not joking. Yes, I realise that this is the sort of thing Fred would joke about with you. No! I'm not messing with you and I'm not Fred! That was one conversation that ended badly no matter how many times George played it out.

"I forgot." She forgot her son had died? George shook his head, as if to remove the malignant thoughts. He knew it was simply second nature for a mother to call out the name of her child when she thought she saw him. He knew she would never forget.

At times, he wished he could, but all it took was a look in the mirror.


* * * * * * *

"I told you he shouldn't have brought Ron along," whispered Molly Weasley to Hermione, winking, and pointing at the two bewildered boys who were still hovering at the entrance. "Let's go get them, it looks as though Harry wants to get out of here as soon as possible."

As Hermione (whom Mrs. Weasley was enjoying very much as a daughter-in-law) helped her drag the boys into the shop, Harry was beginning to look more and more uncomfortable.

"Er, maybe you can just pick something out for me, Mrs. Weasley, I don't really care. Ron and I can go talk to Kreacher about the food. . . I'm sure whatever you pick will be fine," he said, awkwardly shuffling towards the door.

This was so like Harry. Mrs. Weasley gently took Harry's elbow and pulled him deeper into the store. "Harry, you'll need to actually try on the robes before we buy them. This isn’t just some party, this is your wedding! You're going to look so handsome; Ginny won't be able to keep her eyes off of you. Look at these!" she said, running her fingers over robes of emerald silk. "Oh Harry, I've always loved you in green. . ."

Hermione strode into a different section, carefully picking out robes, draping them over her arm. She would occasionally hold one up next to Harry, whom would blush and say that he really couldn't care less what robes he was wearing.

"Already been through it, mate," said Ron, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "At least you don't have Ginny here, laughing every time you try something on. . ."

"Oh, Ron. You looked so elegant at your wedding." Mrs. Weasley reminisced as Ron mouthed, "Elegant?" to Harry. "You both are such handsome boys," she said to them fondly. "Harry, dear, try on the ones Hermione has for you."

Harry's eyebrows shot up as he saw the pile of robes Hermione was holding, but nonetheless took them into the fitting room while Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley waited for him to come out to give their opinion.

"Did Ginny get the final measurements for the dress done?" Hermione asked.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Yes, she's a bit upset that they had to let it out yet again, but I've told her, the bump is hardly noticeable. She isn't due for a while, it should be fine," she said, though looking slightly worried.

"Ginny will look beautiful no matter what," soothed Hermione.

"At least that was one less thing for us to worry about," said Ron gruffly. "Bloody baby. . ."

"Oh, stop it Ron," ordered Mrs. Weasley. "Harry is just so excited about it, won't stop asking me questions about newborns! He's so nervous the poor dear."

"Just saying. . . it usually goes wedding first, THEN baby."

"Hush," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "You're just still trying to act like you've still got some sort of control of Ginny's romantic life."

"Which you don't," said Harry, coming out of the fitting room and smirking at him. "She's already said yes, mate. Nothing you can do now. Besides, wouldn't it be worse if I left her now, alone with the baby?"

"She wouldn't have a baby if it weren't for you!" shot back Ron, though he was grinning. "And you look like a smarmy prat in those robes."

"Well," said Hermione awkwardly. "Harry just try on the next set. . . I guess I was wrong in thinking you would look alright in a burnt orange."

As he disappeared, Mrs. Weasley conjured a handkerchief and blew her nose. "Oh I'm all a dither," she said. "I've waited for this day since he was twelve."

"Come off it, Mum," said Ron, conjuring a second handkerchief and handing it to her.

"Well I had been waiting for your wedding day since you were twelve as well," she said affectionately, as Ron put his arm around Hermione and smiled at her.

"Me too," said Harry, coming out again. "I bet I spotted it even before you, Mrs. Weasley," he said beaming at the two of them. "Ever since that Charms lesson. . ."

Hermione gasped at the sight of him. "Oh Harry! You look great!"

Mrs. Weasley beamed, "I knew it. I have an eye for these sort of things, these match your eyes exactly, and they're much fancier then your old dress robes which you've had since when, your fourth year? Oh Harry," she blubbered as she strode over to him, hugging him and adjusting the robes muttering, "Taken in a bit here, still so skinny. . ."

Hermione cleared her throat, looking at Harry pointedly. "Erm, Harry, do you think now’s the time you should ask. . ." she nodded her head towards Mrs. Weasley who was so engrossed in making sure the shoulders fit right she didn't notice.

"Mrs. Weasley?" asked Harry tentatively.

"Yes, dear?"

"I. . . I was wondering, if - if you'd be able walk with me down the aisle, at the wedding, that is. Seeing as," he gave a rueful smile. "Well my mum isn't alive. But. . .d'you think you could, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked, looking at her sheepishly.

Mrs. Weasley became so overcome with emotion that it took her a second to speak. Beaming, and her eyes brimming with tears, she nodded, enveloping him in a hug saying, "I think it's about time you started calling me Molly."


* * * * * * *

She had been avoiding him all day. It was so silly, so rude, so condescending, so childish, yet she couldn't get it out of her mind, and couldn't bring herself to look at him without feeling guilty. Every time they met eyes she could see him opening his mouth, wanting to ask her what's wrong. Yet the words never came out.

"Hannah?" he would try, and she would walk into the other room as if she didn't hear him.

"Stupid, stupid," she'd say, hitting herself in the forehead, trying not to care about the thought that wouldn't leave her mind.

She loved him. Loved every inch of him. His smile, his laugh, the way his hands would start shaking if he was nervous, but he would still keep a brave face. She loved his kindness and his courage. She loved every bit of him. Except. . .except. . .

"It doesn't matter, it's not important," she told herself furiously. It's such a trivial thing. She didn't care about a person's blood-status, yet she cared about this, no matter how much she didn't want to.

Their dinner that night had been a silent one. The only sounds were the clamor of forks and knives on plates and the quiet thud of a glass hitting the table. He looked so worried, so concerned. She tried to fill up the emptiness with remarks on the dinner, remarks on the weather, all useless. He was not convinced.

It was only when they were in bed, close to being asleep when he whispered, "Hannah?"

She turned to face him.

"We're - we're getting married in five days."

She broke into tears.

He watched her sadly. "It's okay," he told her. "If you changed your mind-"

She hiccupped in astonishment. "Of course I haven't changed my mind! It's just - it's just-"

"What is it?" he pressed.

"You're going to laugh at me," she said desperately.

"I promise I won't," he said solemnly.

She looked at him, and confessed. "I don't want my last name to be Longbottom," she whispered, tears dripping down her face.

Neville stared at her.

"I mean I still want to marry you!" she said quickly. "I just don't, I don't really want my name - I don't want you to think of it as disrespectful towards your family - Longbottom is just, it's a bit. . . "

Neville continued staring at her. She saw he was shaking. She broke into tears again.

"Neville, I'm sorry! It's so daft of me, I know, I just, I can't stop thinking about it! I'll be Mrs. Longbottom!"

Neville was shaking even harder. Then she heard the noises coming from his mouth he was trying to stifle.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning his face away from her so she couldn't see his face. "I'm sorry, I know I promised-" and then he simply could not hold it back any longer. He exploded in laughter and within seconds was rolling around on the bed shaking with mirth.

"It's not funny!" Hannah protested, right before she began giggling.

"Is that honestly it?" he asked, still laughing, and wiping the tears out of his eyes. "That's what you've been worrying about all day?" She turned his face toward her so they were facing each other. He kissed her.

"It's okay if you want to stay Hannah Abbott," he said, smiling at her. "I love you whatever your name is."

She kissed him on the nose. He chuckled.

"It's actually a good thing. . . I don't know if Gran would be able to handle another witch being called 'Mrs. Longbottom.'"


* * * * * * *

His first trip (of many) to the Headmistress's office happened his first year. He was waiting for her to arrive and reprimand him for finding him sleeping outside the Hufflepuff common room. He was sleep-walking, he remembered angrily. He was probably subconsciously hungry, had wandered down there wanting food, hadn't thought to tickle the pear in his sleep and had promptly lay back down again. It wasn't his fault! How was he supposed to know someone would suspect him of stalking them. As if!

As soon as he walked in to wait for her, the portraits went still. They stared at him, they're eyes wide. He flattened his hair somewhat self-consciously. "Well, what are you lot gawping at?" he demanded, and was unprepared for what came next. He started as they broke into applause. A corpulent man with a red nose took out his handkerchief, blowing his nose loudly. He looked at them all, amazed. Surely this didn't happen every time a student was sent here. He turned in a slow circle, taking them all in. He halted at the portrait right behind the Headmistress's chair. "Dumbledore!" he said in awe.

The portrait of Dumbledore beamed at him. "Mr. Potter. May I say, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Me too, Professor! Wow!" James exclaimed. "Dad's told me all about you, and of course there's Al back at home. Wait until he hears about this! He has about twenty of your Chocolate Frog cards you know. Dad thinks it's funny, says you'd like that."

Dumbledore smiled down at James. "I could not, in any way, be more flattered."

James beamed. "I'll tell Al, he'll be pleased. He thinks he has a lot to own up to, because of his name. Well, we all sort of think that in a way, but Al feels it more than any of us."

"That is touching," said Dumbledore earnestly. "I'm sure Severus would agree if he was in his frame right now." James noticed for the first time that the frame next to Dumbledore's was empty, just a bare grey background.

"Do you not feel as much, as you said, pressure to 'own up to?' Being named after your grandfather and Sirius?" Dumbledore asked interestedly.

James shrugged, nonchalantly. "Not too much, Dad just said how Sirius and his dad were really brave."

"And?" probed Dumbledore.

James stared at him disbelievingly. "And I'm in Gryffindor, aren't I? 'Where dwell the brave at heart,' like my dad," he finished with a grin.

He heard a sound that sounded like someone choking. He turned sharply to see that Severus Snape had returned to his frame, and was staring at him, his facial expression hovering between incredulity, guiltiness, and utmost hatred.

"Oh, hullo! You look just like Dad said!" James said happily, not noticing that Snape was glowering at him, and feeling as though it was quite worth getting sent to the Headmistress's office, even if he hadn't done anything wrong. "Al will be pleased I've met you as well. Dad won't, he told me that you wouldn't really be all that interested in getting to know me and that I really shouldn't bother you." He paused. "I'm not bothering you, am I? I haven't called you Snivellus. . .that was something Uncle Ron told me to do. He said it'd be a laugh to see how you reacted, but Dad said no. He said that you didn't need more than one James Potter pestering you in a lifetime." He waited for Snape to say something but it was Dumbledore who responded.

"Well that was very considerate of your dad to tell you so," said Dumbledore.

James nodded absent-mindedly, he was thinking of something else as his empty stomach rumbled.

"Hey, Professor Dumbledore? D'you think, you know, since you're Dumbledore and all, that you could let me go back to the Great Hall for breakfast? You see I shouldn't even be in here, really," he explained. "I sleepwalk, have since I could fly on a broom. Mum thinks it's funny, says I can't stay still even in my sleep. Lily," James didn't notice Snape give a start at the name, "likes to follow me around and open doors for me. She caught it for that one time when she unlatched the back door and I walked a mile away from home before waking. Mum was livid."

Dumbledore smiled obligingly at him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, you'll have to wait for our Headmistress to decide matters for you.�

"Okay," said James, who hadn't really expected him to say yes, but thought he'd give it a go. "I just thought, you know, being you, and an old friend of the family. . ." His stomach gave a particularly loud rumble.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, well Mr. Potter, do you believe yourself to be innocent?"

"Yes!" said James, incredulously. "That's what I was just telling you about!"

"Really?" James heard a snide voice behind him. "Silly me, I thought it was a long-winded pointless story involving your childhood habits and how your sister has to let you out of the house."

"Phineas," said Dumbledore warningly, smiling at one of the portraits before he turned back to James. "Mr. Potter, I will use the little authority that I have as a portrait to let you go, but keep in mind that this is the one and only circumstance in which I will do so. You cannot count on 'old friends of the family' to get you out of trouble in the future. Your penalties are something that you have to deal with alone."

"Absolutely, sir!" said James beaming, and making his way out of the office. "Cheers! I'll tell Al all about you."

He turned to Snape's portrait as he was in the doorway. "You as well, of course." he said, saluting the old Potions Master, who scowled.

As James was making his way down the steps he could have sworn he heard the words, "Arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent. . ." He chuckled and had a spring in his step as he made his way to breakfast.