Of Grief and Imagined Betrayals

Chapter One

Five years later...

"Hey, Bug, do you ever see the light of day anymore?"

I look up from the book, startled.

"Cy, what are you doing in the library?" I ask suspiciously as I close the book and lean my elbows on it, more out of reflex than to hide my guilt; I am well aware that it is already too late. The move, though, serves more to draw attention to what I am obviously trying to hide than to actually hide it and I grimace slightly as my brother's eyes light on the book whose title is partially obscured by my arm.

I almost groan as he slides into the seat across from me and holds out an expectant hand.

"There wouldn't happen to be any chance of you pretending you never saw me and walking away, would there?" I ask as sweetly as possible.

He raises an eyebrow slightly, his hand still stretched out towards me. There are, I decide as I push the book over, the limpest of gestures, some very annoying aspects to being the Head Boy's sister.

"Divine Divination Divulgences: Twenty Things You Can Do To Acquire the Sight in Twenty Four Hours? Lily? What's this about? Don't tell me you actually believe in this 'Walk twenty paces backwards at the stroke of midnight and you will be endowed with the Sight for two hours' bullocks!" His voice holds in it a faint smile.

Slightly put off, I cross my arms over my chest and examine the indentations carved into the table by generations of bored and destructive students, and I half-heartedly mumble out my excuse.

"What was that?" Cypress asks, cocking his head to the side curiously.

I growl. "I said I'm desperate. I can use all the help I can get if I'm to pass divination this year." My eyes narrow at him. "Don't laugh."

"Ah, dear child, it's your own fault for taking that laugh of a class to begin with."

I am sure that there would have been much more mocking to have been had if it wasn't for the commotion across the hall. As it is, I find myself quite grateful--for the first time, mind you--that Sirius Black and his cronies had chosen this moment to descend upon the seventh year Slytherins across the way.

I hear Cypress swear under his breath but when I look over to him I see a malicious glint in his eye before he saunters away from me. He hates the self-dubbed 'Marauders' more than I hate divination, and that is saying something. Personally, I understand the sentiment; after all, the Gryffindor boys seek out trouble as one might seek out water on a hot day. They seem to go hand in hand.

Paying only partial attention to the exchanging of insults, I flip through the book again and sigh. My brother is right. Nothing is going to help me miraculously get the Sight no matter how many nights I walk backwards.

"So they're at it again, are they?" a deep voice murmurs in my ear before my friend, Nicholas Carmichael, slides into the chair next to me.

I look at him despondently. "When aren't they? Did you do the essay for Binns yet?"

"Doesn't it bother you at all?"

"What? Them?" I gesture vaguely off to my left as the voices become more heated.

"The fact that your housemates are insulting your flesh and blood." Nick kicks my chair a few times as I think about my answer.

"Cypress can take care of himself," I intone needlessly; we both know this to be true. "I can't say that I wouldn't be happy if this little feud of theirs ended but I know that there is too much bad blood between them for that to ever happen." I grin up at him. "Even the ever-optimistic Dumbledore sees that by now."

My attention is drawn back over to the seventh years and I suck in a startled breath as I witness my brother violently shove James Potter against the stone wall, gripping his throat tightly and pointing his wand at the black haired boy's temple.

It was, perhaps, the first time in a long time that I acted without thinking.

I stood. "And now it's time for me to break up this little bacchanalia," I sigh with a faint smile and cross over to my brother, warily minding the variously pointed wands. Placing a hand on my brother's shoulder in order to subtly placate him, I happen to glance up and meet Potter's eyes and for a that brief second I forget who I am and why I am there, I forget that my brother is currently tightening his hold on the boy's throat, cutting off his air supply, I forget that there are eight boys behind me, watching my every move. The only thing I know is that my heart had stopped and then fluttered and now was throbbing painfully in my chest.

Wrenching my eyes away from Potter's clouded hazel ones, I lean in close to Cypress' ear so that no one else will be able to hear. "Cy, he isn't worth losing Head Boy over and you know it," I whisper, risking a glance back at Potter, but his eyes aren't on me anymore. They are on his enemy. I am slightly alarmed to see the redness in his face starting to turn to blue. I am only dimly aware of Black spouting expletives behind me, but I ignore him easily. "Tell everyone to back off. They'll listen to you, you know that." The tension in Cypress' body seems to seep out slowly and his hold on Potter loosens. "He's not worth it," I whisper one last time, before turning around and fixing the group with a hard stare.

Never have I interfered before and it is obviously throwing them for a loop because all of the pointed wands, despite what side they are from, seem to be twitching ever so slightly off of their intended targets and onto me as if I was to all of a sudden begin hexing everyone.

Although I have to admit, none of them know exactly which side I am supporting. Yes, I love my brother but I know that the only reason why the Slytherins are civil to me is because he insists upon it. But I hold no particular love for the seventh year Gryffindors in front of me either. Since day one, Sirius Black has despised me--not that it has ever mattered much to me, either way--and while he doesn't actively go after me as he does my brother, he still hasn't made me feel all that welcome, even in my own common room. I suspect that it has much to do with my slight friendship with his younger brother, Regulus, whom still hasn't spoken to Sirius since their family disowned the older boy.

In fact, now that I think about it, I myself don't even know which side I am supporting. Even if I had the time to mull over the situation, I would be hard pressed to come to a decision. But here I am, in the middle of a very high-charged group of alpha-male posturing adolescents, each eying me with a measure of distaste. And then it hits me. I don't owe allegiance to anyone, least of all anyone here.

I am stringless, obligationless. The revelation bolsters my confidence and I hold back a grin.

"Do I have my wand drawn?" I finally question, placing my hands on my hips as Black snarls, marring his tragically beautiful face with the gesture. Nobody seems inclined to answer (unless you count Black's aforementioned snarl) so I continue. "Then I ask you to show me the same courtesy."

No one moves. Watching as each of the boys flick their gazes to their comrades behind me, I hold fast, despite the sudden ache to know what is happening between Cy and Potter. But one thing I learned early on in my years at Hogwarts is that you never turn your back on immature boys with their wands at ready. And I can hear Potter's ragged breathing so I know nothing too dire is going on. He's still breathing, after all.

"You heard her," Cypress suddenly states, resolutely. His voice deepens just a little; this is his serious voice. "And if I catch any of you pointing a wand at her ever again, you will live to regret it."

Slowly, the wands disappear into pockets and holsters, and I sneek a peek at Nick, lounging in his chair across the hall, looking as though he is immensely enjoying the show. Arse.

"Potter," I continue as he comes around from behind me and collects his fallen wand from Pettigrew. "Ten points for provoking the Head Boy. You, a prefect, should know better." The group of mutinous Gryffindors look as though they are about to explode so I plod on, not knowing if I am signing my own death sentence as I do so. "And twenty points from Slytherin, Cypress, for allowing yourself be cajoled into resorting to physical violence." My brother's lips tighten, forming a tight line across his face, but he remains silent. "Now, I do not feel the need to divulge the details of what has transpired here today to the Heads of Houses, that is, unless any of you would like to object?"

Evan Rosier, a Slytherin who always seems to be either on the verge of either kissing me or hexing me, raises an eyebrow condescendingly. Severus Snape, a quiet yet devious boy, smirks at me but his eyes are still cold and hard as steel. Black glares openly; his hatred for me is apparent and I dismiss him with a roll of my eyes before moving on. Remus Lupin, a boy whom I never could figure out, not that I spend much time trying, glances at me briefly before going back to watching Potter carefully as if the boy is going to collapse at any moment. I find this extremely funny since I have gone to every Quidditch game thus far and have seen Potter attain much more grievous injuries than a little asphyxiation and still continue to play. Rabastan Lestrange, my brother's best friend, and his twin brother, Rodolphus, wear identical expressions of boredom before exchanging a look that meant nothing to me but obviously volumes to each other because both smile manically at Potter. The rest of the group simply look too nervous to speak so I ignore them. And Nick, well, he is grinning at me brilliantly from his seat, appearing quite content to let me continue the social suicide I seem set on committing.

"I thought not. Now if you would please disperse, I have an essay I need to be getting to." I watch as Cypress waves the Slytherins off before beginning to head back to my useless Prefect friend in the corner.

Just as I step away, though, I hear Black sneer at my brother. "Need to have your sister clean up your messes now, Evans? Too much of a duffer to leg it out of your own fights when things get too rough?"

Now, I think this is quite priceless considering the precarious position Potter had been in, but I am through with being the mature one so I ignore the pompous bastard as I usually do and slide into my seat next to Nick.

"Interesting..." Nick drawls, and I look up at him briefly, expecting his attention to still be on the boys and am surprised to see them resting on me. He tugs on a strand of my hair and rests his chin on his hand.

"What are you on about?" I ask, tucking my hair tightly behind my ears. I resist the urge to look at my brother.

"You, getting involved." Before I can voice my opinion though, he continues. "I mean, luv, you aren't really a joiner."

I ignore his pointed look and begin digging in my bag for my History of Magic text. "I just don't relish having to spend the next few years visiting my brother in Azkaban. It's purely selfish."

Nick's smile fades and his hand lands on mine, stilling its movements. I feel my eyes drawn up to his and I suck in a surprised breath when I see the seriousness in his chocolate eyes. Nervously, my eyes dart away, focusing instead on my brother, seated stoically on the edge of the table, fiddling with his wand as he speaks to an enraged Black. Pettigrew is bouncing on the balls of his feet, a bundle of anxious nervousness, and Potter, fully recovered now, looks as though he might lunge out at any moment and punch Cypress in the face. But it is Lupin who confuses me, for he is not focused on his friends' plight, but is instead examining me with a tilted head.

I turn back and find Nick watching the other boy curiously before turning back down to me.

"Lily, things are going to get worse before the get better," Nicky murmurs, glancing back up at the boys a moment. "Are you going to be willing to step in every time there's a confrontation?" His voice holds no mocking, only compassion.

After a moment, I answer truthfully. "I will do what I must," I answer hesitantly, wondering what he was trying to tell me.

He nods and I feel reassured. Nick pulls out his History of Magic essay and slides it in front of me. I take it in my hand but don't look at it. His eyes are trying to tell me something, something that I'm sure I'm supposed to understand. But this meaning keeps eluding me so I continue to stare. "Even if it means going against your brother?" he adds in a soft yet threatening voice.

Sharply, I look up at him and then over to my brother, now alone with a pleased smile on his face. "He's all I have in this world... he's all I have in any world." Then, with a little more force in my voice, I add, "Besides, he has only ever looked out for me. Nothing will change that."

Again, Nick nods, but this time I feel as though his knowledge of what is happening and what is to come is deeper than he is willing to admit. "Then have faith, little one."

And then he is normal Nicky again, smiling and chewing lewdly on his quill, all pretense of seriousness gone with the shifting of the wind.

"So," he grins, waving the book I had abandoned in the air. "Does this have anything to do with your irrational fear of failing divination, by any chance?"

Pouting childishly, I cross my arms over my chest and do my best to ignore the seed of worry that he has unwittingly planted deep inside my chest.

"Sod off, Nicky."

. . . . . . . .

Life for me is quite monotonous, really, but I don't mind. In fact, I thrive on routine. I have a very small circle of friends with whom I spend my time, but mostly I study, which is what I am attempting to do late the Sunday night following the library incident.

Most of the students had retired an hour before; a few solitary fourth and fifth years dotted the outskirts of the room, reading or revising. As I look around, I notice a small girl, no doubt a first year, huddled on the floor by the fire, picking at the threadbare rug, looking lost in thought. I am reminded of myself all those years back when I found myself alone in a house who scorned me for my name, a name that everyone construed to be of a dark nature thanks in large part to my indomitable brother. It was hard the first few weeks, but then I met Nick and Holly Morgan, both Gryffindor first years with me, and the isolation I had suffered from had all but dissipated.

Just as I am contemplating going over to the young girl to cheer her up, a bellowing laugh comes echoing down the boy's landing. A few moments later, Potter, Black, and Pettigrew round the corner, jostling each other roughly and laughing at something fairly inane, I am sure. Peter Pettigrew is the first to notice me; his squinty eyes narrow and his mouth constricts as though he is sucking on a particularly bad sweet. The other two boys followed his line of sight and instantly scowl. Sirius Black, never one to hold back when wanting to say something, starts over, and I bolster myself for his attack, but much to my and Black's surprise, Potter pulls him back and they continue out the portrait hole, throwing dirty looks over their shoulders.

I shake my head. They still haven't confronted me about what had happened in the library, which, considering they don't share any classes with me, this isn't all that odd. What is odd is that they have left the common room after curfew. What were the professors thinking, appointing Potter as a Prefect?

I don't have much time to contemplate this inexplicable mystery because Holly darts down the stairs, looking around panicked. She sees me at once and makes her way over, scroll of parchment in hand.

"Thank Merlin, Lily. I have sat staring at this essay for so long, it no longer makes sense to me. Please tell me it makes sense. I don't think I could write another one; it's due tomorrow morning. Professor Sparrow will do that eyebrow thing of his whenever we do something not quite up to par, you know? Well, I just couldn't stand it if--"

I hold up a calming hand and gently take the paper from my friend. She gets like this sometimes, Holly does, and I have learned to just ignore my friend's odd idiosyncrasies.

"Deep breaths, dear. That's it, put your head between your legs," I say, not bothering to hide my condescending attitude. Holly shoots me an annoyed glare but before I can respond, someone behind us softly clears their throat.

To say that I am surprised would be an understatement. Remus Lupin stands before us, his passive expression suddenly grating to my nerves.

"Sorry to bother you, but..." He pauses. "Did you happen to see where James, Peter and Sirius went?"

I blink at him, feeling Holly's questioning gaze lingering on me. Finally, I find my voice. "Where the leaves go in autumn," I reply, apathetically.

He stares at me a moment, and then nods, a brief smile at his lips. "Quite right," Lupin murmurs, softly, and he turns without another word and ducks out of the common room.

"My, aren't you poetic today," Holly drawls, staring after Lupin. "What was that all about anyway? Isn't it past curfew?"

I make a non-committal sound in the back of my throat and turn my attention to my friend's essay.

"No, really, why was he asking you? Nicky told me about what happened in the library, which is another topic altogether, girl. You have to be pretty daft to step in between that group of guys if you want to continue your neutral status."

Not looking up from the parchment, I scoff. "I've never been neutral, Holly Tree. My brother saw to that before I even came here. It was just my dumb luck that got me sorted into Gryffindor."

The blonde remains silent, staring at her hands.

"There's something different about Lupin, though," I add, suddenly not able to concentrate on the words in front of me. "Or maybe I just never took the time to notice before."

"Different, how?"

"He was watching me in the library. Everything was so high-charged, everyone was so on edge, and he was simply watching me, not out of wariness or anything, but... I don't know. It's as if he wants to say something to me, but doesn't know quite how to go about saying it. Urgh. That doesn't sound right, either," I finish, feeling my face flush at my inadequacy.

Holly chews her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe he likes you," she offers with a delighted grin.

"Maybe who likes you?" Nick asks as he joins them at the table, snatching the essay from my hand. "Is this the paper for Sparrow? I thought you were done with that a week ago."

"It's Holly's," I supply, studiously ignoring his first question.

"I think that Remus fancies our darling Lily, here," Holly puts in pointedly.

"Thanks, Holly."

My friend shoots me a dazzling smile.

Nick appears put out. "Why would he do that?" he snaps, before visibly wincing at how it came out. I don't give him the opportunity to amend his statement before giving him a solid thwack on the back of the head.

"Are you saying that I'm unlikable?" I demand playfully.

He grins sheepishly and sidles up next to me. "Not at all, m'dear. Can't blame a bloke for being a jealous git, can you?" He kisses my neck for good measure as I hear the portrait hole behind us open up.

I gurgle as I shove him off me. "Get stuffed," I growl, trying to steal back my hand that Nick seems adamant on keeping. The moment my table is shrouded in shadows though, I stop struggling and gaze upwards to find two of the four Marauders looming over us.

"A word, Evans?" Potter asks, his eyes flicking to where my hand is joined with Nick's before traveling back up to my face.

"Is it terribly important?" I play innocently, opening my eyes wide in mock worry. I hear Nick stifle a laugh.

Potter rolls his eyes and musses his hair. "Don't patronize me. You know what I want to discuss."

"Oh! In that case, no." I nonchalantly begin to gather my things into my bag, ignoring the looks my friends are giving me.

"What is your problem?" Sirius exclaims, only to be shushed by those remaining downstairs. "Why are you even in Gryffindor?"

"That I could not tell you, Black. Apparently, the sorting hat has a wickedly twisted sense of humor. But then, you disowned your brother who ended up in Slytherin so questioning my loyalty is a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"You know not what you speak of," Sirius growls, looking for all the world like he has a few hexes waiting to be spilled off his tongue. "You are just an ignorant child who follows her brother blindly into the arms of the dark. Don't even try to deny it. Your unfailing faith in him is disturbing in the least. Don't you have a mind of your own?"

His words, though misguided, hits close to home and I take a moment to gather my wits. "I do not feel the need to explain myself to the likes of you. It is neither my fault, nor my concern, that you and my brother do not get along. My only regret thus far has been to go out of my way to save your little golden boy's neck. Do not mistake me; it'll never happen again." I shove the remaining scrolls into my bag and stand abruptly, cursing my shortness as I am still forced to look up at them.

"Evans, you are playing in a game with no knowledge of the rules. You," Potter hesitates and scratches the back of his neck. "You inadvertently got your brother to stop mauling me, so I simply thought I would return the favor."

I snort, trying to move around them but they block the way. "By what? Insulting me? Telling me I don't belong here? Well, don't bother. I'm well aware that I am not welcomed by most in this house. Now if you will please, I wish to leave this conversation."

Potter seems to be barely holding onto his wayward anger and grips my arm almost painfully. "Look, just watch your back. There haven't been any to successfully be accepted by both the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. It just doesn't happen. You will be betrayed."

I look up into his eyes, haunted by the mysterious emotions of my last encounter with him, and search his face for his true meaning. Finding no definitive answer, I sigh wearily. "I already have been," I acknowledge and lean down to kiss the top of Nicky's head. "Goodnight."

And taking Holly by the hand, I drag my friend up the stairs to our dorm only pausing once as I notice the small first year watching me with trepidation from in front of the fire.

I haven't been that little girl in a very, very long time.

. . . . . . . .

Once in our dorm, we slip off our cloaks and shoes soundlessly and crawl into Holly's bed. I lay on my back, staring up at woven cloth that covered the top of the bed as my friend secures the curtains around us so as to not wake up our roommates. Once settled, Holly distractedly plays with my hair as we both think about what happened.

"I..." I begin, but I don't know what to say. Holly nods in agreement.

We stay there, side by side, listening to each other breathe until I think Holly might've fallen asleep. But she proves me wrong when she clears her throat.

"Does your family support the dark?" she asks, no trace of fear or judgment in her voice.

I close my eyes. "No," I whisper.

"My uncle was in Slytherin, but that was before the Dark Lord came into the picture. My family is usually in Hufflepuff, if you'll believe it. I'm the first to be sorted into Gryffindor..." Holly trails off and snuggles further down under the blankets, turning onto her side to face me. "What about your family? Are you the first into Gryffindor as well?"

"Yes," I whisper again, feeling an unbidden tear make its way down my cheek. I try desperately to will my lip to stop trembling. "Tree, I've lied to you," I admit softly.

Holly stops breathing.

"I... I've lied to everyone," I try again. "I'm not like you. I--" I cut off as I try to keep a hold of my flailing so-called Gryffindor bravery. "I'm muggle-born," I finally say, and it is like a great exhale, the relief flooding my senses until I feel lightheaded.

The blonde twitches. "I don't understand."

"Before my brother received his letter, I--we--had no idea that there was a magical world beyond the one we were living."

Holly's hand squirms under the blankets until it finds mine. She gives it a brief squeeze that affords me just enough comfort for me relax back against the bed again. We let the silence sit there awhile.

"Could you imagine being a muggle-born in Slytherin?" she asks after a breath of quiet. We both shudder. And just like that, Holly's quiet, contemplative mood is gone as she bounds into a seated position excitedly, wrenching the blankets off of me in the process. "So let me get this straight. Your brother comes to this school not knowing anything about magic and somehow convinces his Slytherin dormmates that he is pureblood?"

I nod, trying to wrest the covers back down on top of me as Holly falls back against the pillows dramatically.

"Holy fuck, I think I'm in love with him," my friend swoons.

"Cute." I give Holly a pointed look. "But I don't think he's your type."

"And what do you know about my type, huh?"

"Last I knew you were trying to convince me of Sirius Black's numerous qualities. Need I say more?"

"Oh, come on. You don't have to like the guy to admire some of his more finer... ends. Besides, when was the last time you were snogged, hmm?"

I lift my head, yank the pillow out from below me and smack her in the face with it. "I fail to see the connection. You've wanted to bring this up for awhile now, haven't you," I conclude suspiciously.

"Can't a girl be concerned for her friend's lackluster love life?"

"You sound remarkably like Nicky and it's creepy beyond words. From here on out, you are restricted to seeing him only at meal times."

"Nice. Well, you can have him. He was cramping my style anyways." Fidgeting, Holly forces my wrist from out from under the covers to check my watch by wand light. "Now shove off, even your watch seems to think we should be asleep already; it's starting to spout Poe again."

My watch, a gift for my sixteenth birthday from Holly and Nick, is too snarky for it's own good. I still haven't gotten used to its cryptic remarks but find it comforting in its oddity. At the moment it reads: 'Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them.'

"I know when I'm not wanted." I crawl out of bed, shivering in the moonlight. "Night," I whisper as I dart to my own bed and into its cold confines. All the comfort and ease I felt in Holly's bed has fled me and I suddenly find myself feeling bereft and alone. Idly, I run through the twenty three uses of raven's blood, usually a sure-fire way to put anyone asleep, but am distracted by mutinous thoughts. Heart pounding faster than I would care to admit, I finally allow myself to focus on the events in the common room, something that Holly has instinctively let alone this evening though I know it won't be long before the topic comes up.

Many times I have tried to discern exactly why I dislike the Marauders as much as I do. But the conclusion I come to isn't one I like to dwell on. Instead, I focus on Potter's blind arrogance that he proves to be ignorant of time and time again. That he thinks of me as someone in need of warning, that he thinks I don't realize that my life is on the line, is enough to make me seethe in contempt. And Black. He is more like his brother than he realizes. Every mannerism, from the set of his shoulders when determined to the maddening smirk when angered, is an echo of Regulus. He is just as cold as his brother but not as controlled. He is a filibuster just waiting to explode and that scares me. I like my routines, the predictability of it. Sirius Black is something that even his friends have a hard time predicting and that is dangerous.

Especially now, after I have angered him one too many times.

. . . . . . . .

To me, prefect meetings are pointless. Between the bickering and unspoken alliances, nothing of substance ever gets completed. During the last meeting I had been to, Gregory Dunbar, sixth year Hufflepuff, argued with Renee Green, fifth year Gryffindor, for forty minutes about the intricacies of the Saturday lunch menu while the Slytherins played exploding snap, Potter slept, and Cypress lorded over it all. Needless to say, the following Saturday, the house elves served the same lunch that they always served.

Nothing will ever change.

Some might say I'm just cynical and I would, quite frankly, agree. But I'm also realistic. I know that, if push came to shove, the Hogwarts prefects will never be able to stand together. It is intrinsically impossible.

So, generally, I avoid going to prefect meetings like I do the mall after Christmas or nest of angry dragons or anything else particularly distasteful. I'm not being neglectful--Nick always goes and fills me in on the more sordid highlights later--I'm just conserving my energy. Why Dumbledore wanted me as Prefect in the first place is beyond me, but then, the nutcase made my brother Head Boy and Potter and Nicky Prefects as well. The man works in mysterious ways.

So it is with great reluctance that I stand outside the meeting room, contemplating offering myself on a silver platter with a bull's eye targeted on my bum to the combined efforts of both the Slytherins and the Marauders rather than enter into the room beyond the door in front of me.

"You'll have to go in there sooner or later," says Holly, who's leaning comfortably against the wall beside me, enjoying my discomfort a little too much considering she's supposed to be my friend.

"I have so many other things I should be doing." I notice that my voice has taken on a distinctive whining quality to it.

"So you lose out on two hours in which you could have started that potions assignment. You'll make it up; you always do," she replies, nonplussed.

"Lost time is never found again," I sigh but grit my teeth and open the door. The last thing I see before the door swallows me up is Holly biting her lip to keep from laughing.

I really need to get new friends.

Glancing around the room, ignoring the surprised looks most of the Prefects are shooting at me, I spy Regulus Black in the corner, nose buried in a book. Seating myself next to the boy, I peek over his arm at the text.

"It's impolite to read over one's shoulder," Regulus states blandly but when he looks up at me his face softens. Regulus' eyes are a shining brown, deep-set, longlashed, and identical to his brother's, right down to that little hint of mischievousness that seems to catch the light every now and then.

"It's a good thing I never said I was polite, then," I counter, peering around the room once more. The lines of segregation are more distinct than I seem to recall in this room. The Hufflepuffs are grouped in the center front, a tight ball of nervous energy. Gryffindors are along the right wall, occasionally interspersed with a Ravenclaw or two and the Slytherins are slouched on the left, only allowing the Ravenclaws to penetrate into their midst. I can feel Regulus' eyes on me as I examine the room and although it's never a comfortable thing to have his full and complete attention, I am able to disregard this discomfiture with practiced ease.

He leans in, his breath hot against my neck. "So to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Nick has detention therefore I am elected to come in his stead."

His eyes flatten and he leans back, focusing back down on the creased pages in his hands. "More's the pity," he practically spits out, ill concealed vehemence lacing the words.

Accustomed to his elitist transgressions, I ignore his tone. "No," I murmur with a soft smile. "It's a pity that a certain delinquent brother of yours survived that mauling this morning in Magical Creatures. Who would have thought that a knarl would react so violently to being prodded with a stick repeatedly," I finish sarcastically. Really, I would think that a seventh year pureblood would know better.

True to his nature, Regulus shifts in his seat but otherwise shows no discomfort at discussing his brother. Then again, he never actually does the discussing; he always remains passive, only listening. Baiting him, seeing what would set him off, is one of my favorite past times. Unfortunately, he hasn't cracked yet.

But before I can mention his brother again, Cypress stands and bangs his gavel in an overly annoying fashion making all those in the room cringe collectively, and calls the meeting to order.

"Today," he states brusquely. "The meeting has been shortened. Lily," Cy continues, an eyebrow cocked toward me in amusement. "You only have to sit through thirty minutes so save the sleeping for Binns' class."

Bastard.

The room titters nervously; it isn't often that Cy jokingly banters with me in front of God and fellow students.

"Fuck off," I declare loudly in my 'superior than thou' voice, but I grin in spite of myself. "Twenty nine minutes and counting."

Cy beams at me, a beguiled twinkle in his eye. "First on the agenda..." he trails off, peering over the Head Girl's shoulder at her notes. Even from where I am, I can see that the parchment is pale pink and her i's are dotted with hearts. "Is the blatant disregard most students have for hallway etiquette. Emma, dear, I believe this is your cause?" Cy turns to the Head Girl, Hufflepuff Emmaline Stoddard, and smiles innocently. I'm not quite sure what he's playing at because he never pays any attention to--never mind encourages--her hopeless, weekly evangelism, but by the sudden blush on the blonde's face, methinks he is having his torrid way with her. Probably at the very desk in front of us.

Cringing at my horridly detailed imagination, I find both my mind and my gaze wandering while the Head Girl passionately fills us in on the sordid side of students getting around the 'no magic in the hallways' rule. Inexplicably (or so I tell myself), I find my eyes drawn across the room to Potter's lax form, lounging in his chair against the wall. Just looking at him makes me want to fidget in my seat, something I absolutely abhor. Control over what people expect of you is only achieved through control over yourself.

Or something like that.

I suddenly find it difficult to think coherently watching sodding James Potter, poncy, arrogant prat that he is, biting his lip enticingly at Ravenclaw Jenny something or other. If looks were action, he would be across the room dry humping her leg right now. Lucky bitch.

Startled, I check myself. Lucky? This is sleep deprivation at its best, I try to convince myself. And remarkably, I believe it, because there is no possible way for me to be suddenly and unfathomably attracted to such bloody wanker, bedroom eyes or no.

I close my eyes; out of sight, out of mind. So I try to prove the old adage correct and focus down at Regulus' flowing script on what looks to be our latest Divination homework. I have been putting it off for two days now.

"Don't waste your time," Regulus whispers, his brown eyes flickering across the room to Potter before settling back down on his work in front of him. For a second, I delude myself into thinking he's discussing my Divination work. "I've heard he's a horrible lay."

My heart speeds up, its beating taking on an unnatural pattern that leaves me feeling off balance. "Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't waste my time with that ponce if he was the Dark Lord himself." Even to me, my words seem hallow. In a desperate attempt to save face, I rest my hand on his forearm. "Besides, Slytherins have always been more my style."

He knows what I am doing, his look tells me plainly, but he allows my hand to remain where it is and I force my body to relax.

When I look up, Potter's gaze is on me; a cold, hard look that isn't difficult to interpret.

. . . . . . . .