A Runaway, a Rat, a Wolf, and a Prat: Boys Driving me into Insanity by Pheonix_Feather

That was how we became friends.

Well, I wouldn’t have called us friends at that point. We were more like acquaintances. Or just, you know, not mortal enemies.

At the time, the rest of the year seemed normal. Nothing extraordinary happened, nothing memorable except for the teachers suddenly becoming homicidal. And delusional. Because, you know what? N.E.W.T’s are for seventh years. They obviously forgot.

But, besides the enormous work load that threatened to murder my already dwindling social life, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to happen, or so I thought.

Now, being in the well-advanced and mature state of an almost seventh year, my brain notes that something actually did happen. You witnessed my temporary insanity on the train ride back from the Christmas holiday but there was another problem. It wasn’t temporary.

Sure, Potter grew up a lot last year (which is good because I might have gouged his eyes out at the opening feast if he was still that much of a prat) and we ended the five years of hatred.  He stopped asking me out, thankfully, but we still bickered.  His moods would change at the drop of a hat and I would call him out on it.  It was never pretty.

Yet the fights blew over and, instead of not speaking to him for weeks or mashing my buttered toasts in his hair, I would simply roll my eyes and grin. Yes, grin. Worst part? I had no bloody idea why.

Potter, with his ever-present yet ever so annoying wit, said it was because I had finally fallen in love with him and then lament that it had happened after he was “done.”  He constantly brought up that argument and I winced every time.  I didn’t need a reminder of his past behavior much less the horrible way I treated him.

Sirius said, with his usual tact, it was because I had finally pulled the stick out of my bum and loosened up.

In the dorm room one night, Brenna, forever my most insightful friend (hahahah), said it was because I was a bloody nutter.

Alice opened her mouth to give what I’m sure would be a perceptive answer—or would have been if she valued her life—when Mary McDonald told us all to sod off and pack our damn trunks.

Lovely girl.  She probably just diidn’t want Myra Mavis to start talking about a shirtless Potter again.

So that was the analysis of my new toleration of James Potter. Why did this analysis come at the end of the year, six months after we stopped hating each other, you ask?

Oh, I might’ve had a nervous breakdown at the leaving feast because Potter had politely inquired as to when I would be writing him this summer.

I had laughed and stuffed my face with a biscuit before dashing upstairs.  Six months ago, I would have stuffed a biscuit in his face and laughed.

At least I didn’t cry.

But now, I felt like it.

It was the practically the end of the summer and I still hadn’t written. 

It was Petunia’s birthday and I was nearing nervous breakdown number something-or-another (I’d lost count at this point). 

So I did the only thing I could when Potter’s owl showed up at my window and started mutilating my fingers.  Which was really quite rude.  Who does that?  Sends their owl to eat a person’s fingers simply because their letter is a bit late.

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Potter-
Here’s your letter.


- Evans.


P.S: Sending your owl to peck my fingers off until I wrote you doesn’t really qualify as ‘voluntary’ communication on my part.

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Evans-
You really need to work on your writing skills because that was so verbose and rambling that I could hardly finish reading it in one sitting.  Stop being so sassy.


-JP


P.S: I have no idea what owl allegedly attacked you. Mine has been sitting diligently by my side for the entire summer (since it hasn’t had letters to carry because SOMEONE never wrote).

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JP (seriously?)-
I’ll stop being sassy when you stop being a smartass.


-The utterly charming, brilliant, Lily Evans


P.S: Bullshit


P.P.S: Have you spoken to Remus? I made Head Girl and was wondering if he was Head Boy. Probably not with loons like you and Sirius as friends but better him than a Slytherin.

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Evans-
Nice signature. And you say I’m arrogant? You made Head Girl? Sorry, I’m not surprised at all it’s just that…well I can’t tell you now because you’ll call me a lying bastard and I’d rather surprise you anyways. And I’m not a loon.


-the fantabulous, dashing, handsome James Potter


P.S: Your letter was still a little long. Try writing a more succinct letter next time (but send it to Sirius’ because I’m going over there while his parents are out in order to assist him in hiding some well-placed Filibuster Fireworks).

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TFDH James Potter-
I couldn’t write all of that out as my mother has always told me not to lie. I’m pretending it stands for “The fucking delusional handsome-ish.” What in Merlin’s name are you on about this Head business? Have fun wreacking havoc.

-The humble Lily Evans (who remains, without a doubt, utterly charming and
brilliant)


P.S: You are a loon.

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I thought that two or three letters would suffice and I didn’t actually expect a response, yet there was James’ tiny owl pecking at my window.

Actually, the little owl (little but persistent—bugger nearly amputated my fingers trying to get me to write his git of an owner) had been knocking at my window for a few minutes so I decided to let it in before Petunia started whining about how the “infernal racket” was ruining her beauty sleep or something.

And, honestly, I wouldn’t have challenged her. The girl doesn’t just need beauty sleep; she needs a bloody beauty coma.

I would’ve let it in sooner but I was shocked that James had actually felt it necessary to respond unless he actually was going to tell me about this Head business in which case I would be very excited because -a. I was a curious girl and thus wanted to know and –b. it would give me an excuse to call him a lying bastard.

I’d found that, since being civil to each other, I had no one to yell at when I was frustrated.

Being both curious and excited (I’m twisted, leave me alone), I opened up the window.

And that is when I was nearly murdered.

Did Death Eaters fly through my window and I escaped to tell the tale? Not quite. Did Petunia poke her unattractive face into my room demanding a birthday present and thus cause me to fall out the window in horror? No.

Although I can’t deny that that would have been quite horrifying. And hilarious.

But, alas, no. No. Instead, James Potter’s owl nearly decapitated me. The ruddy animal dive-bombed onto my bed, emitted an ear-splitting shriek, and collapsed.

Yeah. I know.

I was tempted to leave it there, dying on my bed, or perhaps throw it in the garden since it had so cruelly bitten off my fingers but I figured it was under Potter’s instructions at the time so I took pity on the little guy. 

Tulip (Yes, that was what Potter named his owl. Tulip. He tries to claim that Sirius named it but for some reason I’m not buying that story) looked like he was about ready to jump in the garden without my help and probably dig his own grave if I let him.

The owl wasn’t injured or hurt but, to put it plainly, Tulip looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

I could probably get along well with the bird, actually.

Anyways, I was stroking Tulip to try to get him to go to sleep and, right at the point where my hand was about to fall off, Tulip hooted feebly, stuck his leg out, and started snoring.

Whose owl snores? And why the bloody hell was it sticking its leg out at me? Did he want me to give him a leg massage or…oh. The letter.

I untied the letter, giving the owl a pat on the leg for good measure (I mean the owl could’ve wanted a leg massage. Who am I to judge? It snores and it’s Potter’s. It’s a bloody weird owl, ok?).

Then I opened the letter and read it and I had another nervous breakdown. Yeah, another one.  If you haven’t noticed, this is about my millionth breakdown.

The letter wasn’t from Potter though. It wasn’t even Sirius.

Regulus. I wracked my brain for a second, tryng to remember who the heck this kid was but, judging by the “Most Noble And Ancient House Of Black” Crest, I figured it was Sirius’ brother.

Sirius’ brother who was sorted into Slytherin. Sirius’ brother who is the seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team and thus plays against James. Sirius’ brother who is friends with Avery and Snape.

I didn’t know Sirius all that well and I hardly pay any attention to what Potter says half the time but, from what I did know, Regulus was the prized pure-blooded arsehole of a son.

Apparently Sirius and his brother didn’t get along very well. If I didn’t already know that, I did when I read his letter.  Words like “scum” and “shameful” tipped me off right quickly.

Fuck. What if James was stuck with these bastards who thought him a blood-traitor? What if they hurt him? What was this nonsense about Remus being a repulsive half-breed? Surely they couldn’t know about Remus being a werewolf? I’m not even supposed to know about Remus being a werewolf!

And what in sodding hell did he mean, “Sirius was gone?”  I’m doubting they shipped him off on a lovely vacation. Don’t really strike me as the family to send him to France.  Maybe the guillotine but not France.

I had to find James. If anyone would know what to do…James was like family to Sirius except, you know, better because apparently the Blacks were a bunch of freaking lunatics.

“Mum! I’m going out for a little while!”

I was shouting in the direction of where I assumed my mother was as I sprinted to the door.

“Where are you going, dear?”

Of course, the woman picks this moment to be interested in what I bloody well have to do.

“Errands, Mum!”

“Alright, Lily, just be back in time for Pet’s party this evening!”

Oh yes, mother. I’ll be back in time for my idiot of a sister to celebrate her birthday. Let me just run on this quick errand to let the former bane of my existence know that his adopted brother may or may not be imprisoned by his wretched family or cast off into the streets or sent to the guillotine or killed or…

I was barely breathing at that point. I imitated Tulip, dive-bombing into my car and speeding down my road.

Where the hell did the Potters even live? Alice had said at some point that they lived within half an hour of each other so I’d drive to Alice’s and…I’d figure it out from there.

Now was probably not the best time to realize that my sense of direction equaled Petunia’s tolerance for Hogwarts i.e. none, zip, results in the negative practically. It was somewhere north…

Oh great, Lils, somewhere north? That could be Iceland, for fuck’s sake!

I’d driven to Alice’s house before and I knew I had a map in my car somewhere. Hell, my dad’s faith in my sense of direction was lacking more than my own. The man had practically highlighted the route.

Thank you, Dad. Merlin, it was at least an hour away. Well, I would just have to speed then. How fast does a 1970 Chevy Kingswood Wagon even go?

How am I going to tell the Potters? Would James even believe me? Would I get there in time?

And how bloody long do I have to floor the accelerator before I hit 100 kph?

Of course my father takes the better car to work. Of course. The man can highlight a map for me but he can’t give me the nicer car for one day? He should have expected this kind of emergency, this need for speed. Weren’t parents supposed to be old and wise?

Almost there, almost there.

It was practically night by the time I reached Alice’s house. Ok, so it was actually barely the afternoon and I had plenty of time but this is a crisis for crying out loud! Who else hits traffic in the middle of a damn crisis, I ask you?  That’s never on the tele, is it?  The ambulance doesn’t get stuck in traffic because, if they did, the bloke in the back would bleed to death.

Merlin.

I jumped out of the car, full on sprinting to Alice’s front door. I was halfway there when I realized the car wasn’t in park.

“Lily, are you ok? You look like something is wrong.”

Does it look like something is wrong? Because, yes, yes something is very wrong.

Alice’s mum really was perceptive.

 “Is Alice home?” I asked, breathing heavily.

“I’m so sorry you drove all this way, dear, but Alice is actually—“

I cut her off. “Sorry Mrs. Folie, but can you just tell me how to get to the Potters? It’s urgent.”

“Is there anything I can help—” She was looking at me like I was a madwoman which, in all honestly, I was at that point.

“Just directions, ma’am.”

I am seriously going to have to tell Alice that her mother is horrible in a crisis. It took her ages to explain the directions to me and they might as well have been in Hieroglyphics. And then, get this, the woman goes, “Or you can just follow the main highway and get off at exit 627 and hang a right. It’s the first house on the corner, big, brick mansion.”

So you told me the long, extrapolated version for kicks? Spiffing, absolutely spiffing.

I didn’t say that because, you know, I didn’t want to be rude but I practically sprinted out their front door. No, Mrs. Folie, I don’t want a corned beef sandwich.

Alice probably won’t be allowed to drive with me if her mum saw the way I sped off.

I got to the Potters in twenty minutes, having sped until the wheels of the car were shaking and felt like they were going to fall off. I parked haphazardly in their driveway, which, might I add, was most likely the length of a soccer field.

It was a dire situation but what can I say? I notice when someone erects a mansion in a secluded corner of a neighborhood.

I counted eleven chimneys before I darted to the front door. I don’t even think my house has eleven rooms.

I only had to knock once for the door to open but it took me a few moments to realize what had opened the door because there didn’t appear to be anyone directly in front of me. A shrill squeak alerted me to my greeter who was most definitely a house elf, though the smallest one I had ever seen.

“Is you going to Hogwarts with Master James?”

I nodded at the tiny elf, wondering how the hell he knew that. I could’ve been trying to sell encyclopedia subscriptions for all he knew. And was it really wise to have a house elf answering the door? I may be going out on a limb here but wouldn’t that scare the bejesus out of a Muggle?

“My name is Herbert!” the elf exclaimed. “You must be the Missus Evans that Master James knows! I is answering the door because I senses that you must be a witch. Come in, come in!”

The elf spewed this information without taking a single breath, leaving my jaw open a bit at the shock of it all. So, Potter talks to his house elf about me to the point where the elf recognizes me? I would’ve been creeped out if I wasn’t so worried about the arse.

“Herbert, where is James?”

Herbert beamed and ran off in a hurry, dragging James into the foyer.

“Alright, alright! I’m coming, Herbert. What’s the big surp—bloody hell.”

Well, it’s not everyday that former enemies show up in your foyer, eh?

He grinned slightly. “Evans—“ he began, folding himself into a bow.  He stopped halfway, leaving him looking slightly ridiculous I must say, when he saw that my eyes had clearly expanded to the size of dinner plates and was clearly emotionally disturbed.  His grin faded and he led me into the kichen with a concerned look on his face. I promptly collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, and suddenly became aware of what was going on.

I was standing in James Potter’s kitchen in my sweatpants, about ready to deliver news that was scaring the hell out of me. So, as is usual when I’m having a nervous freaking breakdown, I started crying.

I know it’s a dire situation and all but how is it that every time I have a serious conversation with James Potter, I end up sobbing?  If I didn’t have other pressing matters to attend to, I might just analyze this phenomenon.

“Lily, what’s wrong?”

I jumped at the sound of his voice and he almost took a step backwards. Great, I’m scaring the kid.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, James,” I started, sitting back down and gesturing for him to do the same. “I got a note from Sirius’ family. I’d gotten your letter and I wrote back but-but,”

I heaved another massive sob, completely ignoring James’ attempts to interrupt me

 “They said he was gone forever and I think it’s my fault because I didn’t really realize how bad his family was and I shouldn’t have written, considering I’m a Muggle-born and all and…”

“Who the hell could possibly occupy this much of your time, Prongsie?”

Sirius Black’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen.

“If it isn’t L— oomph.”

 I practically knocked the chair over when I jumped up and I’m pretty sure I elbowed Potter in the face but I didn’t care. I mauled Sirius giving him a hug and whispering nonsense in his ear about how scared I was.

The two of them looked confused but, honestly, I probably would have been too if some sobbing girl came storming into my house spouting nonsense.

I tried to explain but my words got caught in my throat so I just handed Regulus’ letter to Sirius.

I was biting my lip as I watched him read the letter, his face darkening. James seemed to look concerned and almost made a move to snatch the letter and read it himself which, personally, I thought was a little silly. Wouldn’t your face darken if your evil maniac of a brother was sending your friends death threats and implying that you were dead?

I thought James was being slightly overprotective but, looking back at Sirius, I noticed his face. Sure, it was darkened because he was furious, but he also had a purplish tinge underneath his left eye.

Had his family actually hit him, forcing the Potters to rescue him like they were in some sort of soap opera? It seemed far-fetched but, then again, Sirius’ family seemed to be clinically insane. Obviously trying to keep the family line entirely pureblooded was causing some serious incest to go on.

“And you thought the worst?” Sirius asked me. I nodded and could feel my cheeks reddening. Of course I overreacted.

“It was smart of you to come here, Lily. The Potters would’ve known what to do had it…had it…” he trailed off tiredly and an awkward silence fell over us.

Sirius again tried to lighten the mood and, had it not been for the circumstance, I probably would have smacked him. “It’s a shame you didn’t know how to disappear for a little while years ago, mate.  Could have had Lily worried over you!”

I shot him a scathing look but I’m pretty sure he didn’t notice. Either that or he didn’t care but I’m hoping that wasn’t the case because, honestly, I don’t want to lose faith in my evil glares. I’ve worked quite hard to develop them over the years.

I was saved from the awkwardness as someone else walked into the kitchen.

“James! You didn’t tell me you had another friend joining you!”

I spun around at the sound of a female voice and opened my mouth to introduce myself.

“Oh! You must be Lily Evans,” the woman said. “I’m Abigail, James’ mum.”

What is it with this family and knowing who I am? And I can tell who you are, ma’am.  Even if it is a bit grayer than his, your hair sticks out in just the same fashion.  Not that I said that…don’t want to be rude.

I managed to exchange small talk with Mrs. Potter but was still glad when she announced that she had to run out for a bit. She invited me to stay for dinner and, for once in my life, I was glad to have Petunia, using her birthday as an excuse to get home.

She smiled at me anyways and turned to go. I began to follow her, hoping to escape from further embarrassment, but I stopped dead when I heard what she said.

“Oh, James! Did you ever figure out who was Head Girl this year?”

Why would James be so interested in finding that out? Could Remus not do it himself?  I mean I knew they were dependent on each other but sheesh, wasn’t that a little much?

I turned to look at him and saw the heat rising in his cheeks. James Potter was embarrassed. Potter was never embarrassed. Never.

He mumbled something incoherent but Sirius finally answered his mother with a smirk I normally associate with trouble. “It’s actually Lily!”

“Congratulations, dear! You and James will work together beautifully, I’m sure. Merlin, we’ll have to celebrate! I haven’t heard of two heads from the same house in years, much less two close friends.”

What was she prattling on about? Work together…same house…friends?

Glorious. Just glorious. 

Fuck my life.