Some of my favorite quotes from Artemis ii so far:
"Copy. Moon joy."
"I have two Microsoft Outlooks, and neither one of those are working."
"Houston, if you could give me about 20 new superlatives in the mission summary for tomorrow that will help out my vocabulary a little bit, that would be great. Thank you."
âIf youâve ever seen the top of the spotlight of the top of the Luxor at night in Vegas, this looks like what it wants to be when it grows up.â
"To all of you down there on Earth... we love you, from the moon."
"We just went sci fi."
"It is so great to see Earth again. To Asia, Africa, and Oceania: we are looking back at you. We hear you can look up and see the moon right now. We see you too."
"We will always choose Earth. We will always choose each other."
âItâs a bright spot on the moon, and we would like to call it Carroll.â
Want to wake up like an astronaut? Now you can! Check out the Artemis II astronauts' wake-up songs on Spotify.
These songs were chosen by the astronauts for each day of the mission. To end each sleep period aboard Orion, the Mission Control Center at our Johnson Space Center in Houston sends out a special song to the crew. This continues a tradition that reaches back decades to the Gemini VI mission in 1965.
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Lily and Sirius are the only characters who use the insult "toerag" in canon:
âYou think youâre funny,â she said coldly. âBut youâre just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.â
âI know James Potterâs an arrogant toerag,â she said, cutting across Snape. âI donât need you to tell me that. But Mulciberâs and Averyâs idea of humor is just evil. Evil, Sev. I donât understand how you can be friends with them.â
âWhatâs she got against werewolves?â said Hermione angrily.
âScared of them, I expect,â said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. âApparently she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose ââ
Headcanon that Sirius started using the phrase because of Lily (uh, ignoring the less than ideal comment in which he uses itâŚ). People who spend a lot of time together often talk like each other and catch phrases from each other etc.
love the hc of lily & sirius bonding over their sibling problems but also rlly love the idea of them first bonding when they paired together in class for a project & end up getting completely obsessed with it & spending hours upon hours in the library just sitting on the floor together surrounded by books and frantically discussing the topic of their project & end up writing triple the amount and then after handing it in they proceed to go back to the library to find out more
This Hogsmead trip was all blue skys and birds chirping and people laughing, the smell of fresh baked pastry engulfing the wide cobble stone streets. It was the textbook definition of a very fine day.
And the thing that made it even finer than any other day of the year, was the fact that one Miss Lily Evans has finally agreed to go out with Mister James Potter.
The two now walked down the cobblestone path to The Three Broomsticks, awkwardly trying to respect each other's personal spaces but also trying to keep close enough so they still were walking together.
"I was going to say nothing but I can't anymore." Lily said after a long stretch of silence. "You've been staring at me since we left the castle."
James cleared his throat and blushed a soft pink as he looked away quickly. "I'm sorry." he mumbled. "I just can't believe you're here."
Lily sighed and fiddled with the sleeve of her light sweater. "Don't say things like that. There's no need to make this more awkward than it has to be. Okay, Pott- James?"
"Yeah." James said and nodded. "Zero awkwardness from now on."
Lily realized that maybe that wasn't the nicest thing she could have said to him. And come to think of it, she'd never actually said a lot of nice things to James Potter for it to go down in history.
"James?" she said to get his attention. "I know we just said zero awkwardness and everything, but can I ask you something?"
"Sure." James said, glad that Lily decided to break the silence.
"Well . . ." Lily started, trying to find the right words. "What- What do even see in me? I mean . . . I haven't really been the nicest to you and I spent most of the time we've known each other telling you to leave me alone but you never gave up. What did you see in me?"
James came to a stop as he thought and Lily did the same, looking up at him expectantly.
"Well . . ." James started and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while he thought of how to put this right. "I know that everyone thinks that male Potters are the most oblivious breed of people to have ever lived and all, but I'm good at reading people, at least." he said and stopped.
"And?" Lily prompted.
"And . . . umm . . . and I can tell from just a look what kind of part a new person would play in my life. From the first look." he answered and smiled before continuing. "For instance, I knew Sirius and I would be best friends- no, brothers- from the moment he walked into my compartment and asked to sit next to me and then proceeded to help himself to my box of Every Flavor Beans without asking for permission." James smiled when Lily laughed at that. "Even Remus." he continued. "First day I saw him, he was reading this book that was no less than one third his own size and I just knew I needed him in my life so I walked up to him and said Hello."
Lily waited for him to go on but James didn't. So she asked, "What about me, James? What did you think of me?"
James gave a nervous laugh. "I'm sure you remember how me met?"
Lily noticed the slight pink tinge to James's tan cheeks and smiled sadly. "Wasn't a very good first impression."
"Yeah." James agreed softly. "But I still saw something in you, Evans. It was different than anything I'd felt from someone else and I just didn't know how to deal with it, I guess."
Lily only nodded.
"Listen, Lily." James said and took a tentative step closer to her. "I'm sorry for all the distress I caused you all this years and I'm sorry for how I treated Snape."
"Yeah. I'm sorry too." Lily said sadly before looking back at James with a warm smile. "But you know what?"
"What?" James asked, eager to hear what Lily had to say.
"I think we can start over." Lily answered with a nod. "Make this better. How about we forget all the bad stuff that happened and start anew?"
James smiles widely at that. "Hi. I'm James Potter." he said and gave Lily a big smile along with a handshake. "I like Quidditch and chocolate frogs. I've never been stung by a bee and I'm deathly afraid of ostriches."
Lily couldn't stop the snickers. "You can't be serious."
"Well . . . Yeah." James said with a laugh. "I just introduced my self as 'James Potter'- not 'Sirius'."
Lily wrinkled her nose playfully. "We're doing that?" she asked.
"Of course." James said with as sincere an expression as he can. "Padfoot would be mortally wounded and upset if we didn't. Now it's your turn."
"Of course. Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter." Lily said, trying not to laugh too much, and shook his hand. "My name is Lily Evans. I'm Muggleborn. I love books and pumpkin pasties. And spiders scare the daylights out of me. Also, I think you still owe me a butterbeer."
"That I do, malady. May I?" James said and offered her his arm.
Lily just smiled for a moment, amazed at how much she actually liked this version of James. "Yes, you may." she said before putting her hand on his forearm.
The two walked in comfortable silence to The Three Broomsticks, stealing covert glances at each other before looking away with smiles.
âI do fancy you.â
Lily Evans wrote that to him.
The letter was dated 1977.
His seventh year.
Her sixth.
Merlinâs beard, the letter was delivered more than three years later?
For @potterversegiftexchange for my pal and resident horse!jily believer! ILY so much my sweet friend @practicecourts âĽď¸âĽď¸âĽď¸âĽď¸
James woke up to the grating sound of the enchanted mirror in the corner announcing the weather and giving unsolicited skincare tips. Its chipper voice bounced off the cheap hotel walls. James honestly wouldâve preferred a tellie, like the ones in muggle hotels.Â
"Partly cloudy today with a high chance of rainâdo try a cold compress for those under-eye bags!"
He groaned and dragged a hand over his face, the world spinning slightly as he cracked open one blurry eye. His gaze landed on a head of tousled blonde hair on the pillow beside him. Her back was to him, one arm slung across the covers in a way that suggested comfort, or maybe possession.Â
James winced.
What was her name again? Melissa? Melinda? Something with an M, he was sure of it. He shouldâve asked again last night. Or written it down. Or maybe just⌠told her no. He was bad at this stuff, relationships, no matter how quick or fabricated by alcohol they were. Bad at love really, never being able to keep a girlfriend longer than a month at most.
He shifted slightly, trying not to wake her as he twisted the face of his watch. It was half past eight. Bloody hell. The first-of-the-year staff meeting at Hogwarts started at ten sharp. McGonagall didnât tolerate tardiness, especially not from repeat offenders, and certainly not in her first year as head mistress.Â
James sat up slowly, his head pounding, the sheets tangling around his legs like they were trying to keep him there. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and began the painful hunt for his clothes. His socks were halfway across the room, one boot was under the chair, and his wand was sticking out from under her bra on the dresser.
âClassy,â he muttered to himself, tugging on his shirt backwards at first before realizing and correcting it with a sigh.
As he slid his long cloak on, he heard her stir with a soft sigh from her.Â
Too late for a clean getaway.
âMmmâŚWhere are you going, handsome?â she murmured sleepily, peeking out from under the covers.
He froze, one button still dangling between his fingers. The collar of his shirt sat askew, and his hair was doing something unfortunate that a mirror mightâve warned him aboutâif he dared to look.
âYeah. Hi. Morning,â he said, forcing a smile as he turned to face her. His voice cracked slightly, then stabilized, like a broom on a rough takeoff. âListen, IâuhâIâve got a meeting. At the school. Very important. VeryâŚeducational.â
She blinked slowly, propping herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping slightly. Her expression was still soft with sleep, but confusion was clearly setting in.
âOh. Are you a teacher?â she asked.
âYes,â James replied quicklyâbecause technically, yes. He was. Though this wasn't exactly how he'd planned to broadcast it. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of how cold the floor was beneath his socks.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. âDo you teach my daughter, Evangeline?â
His heart stuttered.
Did he?
This was not the moment to be mentally rifling through the student roster like a panic-stricken filing clerk. Evangelineâwas that a second-year? Or a third-year with a habit of skipping his lectures? Tall girl with the plaits? No, that was Evelyn. Or Evie. Merlinâs pants, why were all their names so similar?
He nodded, but vaguely. A safe, noncommittal bob of the head. âPossibly. Hard to say. Faces, namesâit all blurs together early in the year.â
She gave a half-laugh, forced or suspiciousâhe couldnât quite tell. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair with a little more urgency.
âWell,â he said, clapping his hands together once, as if that would somehow wrap this whole scene in a tidy little bow, âI should really get going. You wereâŚuhâŚgreat. Really wonderful. Top-notch. Gold star.â
The words fell out of his mouth and instantly turned to ash.Â
Gold star?
Who even said that?
Her brow lifted, one delicate arch rising over a sleepy, amused smile. âGold star?â she echoed, clearly entertained. Then, after a beat: âYou could owl me sometime, you know.â
James blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the softness in her voice. It wasnât a request so much as a gentle offerâone he didnât quite know what to do with. That was the trouble with nights like this. The morning always feltâŚblurrier than it should.
âRight,â he said, nodding a little too quickly. He reached for his wand on the dresser, narrowly avoiding knocking over a half-empty glass of water and a bottle of something that definitely hadnât agreed with him. He fumbled the wand into his coat pocket, then gave a weak shrug. âYeah, owl you. OrâŚyou know...â
Why was he still talking?
âOr not,â he added quickly. âNo pressure.â
âNo pressure,â she agreed, her voice light, teasing. "But I'm here every Sunday night."
"Brill."
He made a mental note to avoid the bar downstairs on Sunday nights.Â
James gave her one last, apologetic smile and turned for the door. His hand hovered on the knob for half a second too long, as though he might turn back and say something more, something redeeming or clever or even vaguely cool. But none of those things came, so he left.
He stepped out into the hallway, breathing in the stale scent of old carpet and spell-sanitized wood. Halfway to the stairs, he caught his reflection in a dusty wall mirror and grimaced. Hair like a haystack, shirt mis-buttoned at the collar, and a faint lipstick smudge just under his jawline.Â
Great.
By the time he reached the innâs poky little front lobby, he was moving far too quickly to look casual and far too stiff to pass for confident. His boot caught the edge of the rug by the door, and he lurched forward, arms windmilling in a way that wouldâve been funny if it hadnât been him. He only just managed to catch himself on the doorframe.
âSmooth,â he muttered, yanking the door open with more force than strictly necessary.
âWait!â came a sharp voice from behind the counter. âMr Potter! A letter came by owl post last nightââ
James froze halfway out the door. âPardon?â
The innkeeper bustled forward, skirts swishing. Her grey hair was wound up tightly round her head and pinned in place with a collection of frankly obscene peacock-shaped clips. She waved a battered-looking parchment in the air like it might make a run for it. âCame in while I was letting the dog out, just before midnight. Nearly took my eye out, it did.â
James frowned, mind scrambling to place the sender. Sirius had the mirror if anything urgent came up. Peter barely wrote when prompted. Remusâwell, he was fairly certain that wasnât Remus trying to get hold of him. Everyone knew where he was once term had started at Hogwarts.
He reached out and snatched the parchment from her grasp. The wax seal was cracked and uneven, the edges singed and frayed, as though it really had been dragged through hell and back.
âBloody hell,â he muttered, already prising it open with his thumb. âDid this come all the way from America or something?â
He didnât wait for an answer. With a half-arsed wave over his shoulder, he stepped fully outside. The door swung shut behind him as he unfolded the parchment.
The morning air in Hogsmeade hit him like a bucket of icy water. It was sharp and clean, cutting straight through the seams of his cloak and biting at the back of his neck. The village was still half-asleepâonly a handful of early risers about, lifting shop shutters or sweeping doorsteps. The clink of glass and creak of wood echoed softly along the cobbles.
James lingered on the stone steps, breathing it in. For a brief moment, he considered Apparating. Straight to the castle gates. Quick and tidy.
Except his stomach was still doing slow, unpleasant somersaults, and the last time heâd tried Apparating with a hangover, heâd ended up upside-down in a goat pasture near Invernessâsockless, disoriented, and being judged quite harshly by a sheep.
Right. Not happening.
With a weary sigh, he started down the road, skimming the scrawl at the top of the parchment.
Dear James,
He stopped dead.
That handwritingâhe knew it. Heâd known it for years. Heâd seen it plastered across Gryffindor noticeboards, scribbled in the margins of essays, folded into letters passed hand to hand in the common room.
But why in Merlinâs name was Lily Evans writing to him?
Heart thudding a bit harder than it ought to, he read on.
Dear James,I wanted to apologise for turning you down for a date in front of everyone⌠and for the fact that everyone made fun of you all night for getting turned down by a sixth year.
I didnât turn you down because I donât like you. I actuallyâwell, I do fancy you. Who wouldnât? But youâre graduating, and Iâm stuck here another yearâŚand then God only knows what happens next with this war.
His grip tightened on the parchment.
I donât want to get my hopes up about us when⌠well. When it might not last as long as Iâd like.
He slowed to a stop again, feeling physically ill for a reason not attributed to alcohol.Â
Please meet me by the one-eyed centaur portrait on the third floor tonight? We can talk. Work things out. Or just⌠talk. I hate that you wonât even look at me.
Yours,Lily
James stood there in the middle of the quiet street, the cold air completely forgotten. The parchment trembled in his handsânot from the chill, but from something far worse. For once in his life, he hadnât the faintest clue what he was meant to do next.
And thatâmore than anythingâmade his chest feel painfully, impossibly light, as though the ground had dropped away beneath him.
âI do fancy you.â
Lily Evans wrote that to him.Â
The letter was dated 1977.
His seventh year.
Her sixth.
Merlinâs beard, the letter was delivered more than three years later?
He could see it all again, as clear as if it had happened yesterday. Gryffindor winning the first Quidditch match of the year, the tower in uproar, pints raised, voices hoarse with shouting. Heâd been buzzingâflying high, invincibleâand heâd asked her then, in front of everyone, because of course he had. James Potter never did things quietly.
And sheâd turned him down.
Publicly. Calmly. Kindly, evenâbut that hadnât mattered. Not when the laughter had started. Not when someone had made a joke about sixth-years knowing better. Not when his pride had taken a proper beating in front of the whole house.
Heâd been livid. Properly furious. Convinced sheâd led him on just to make a fool of him. After that, heâd avoided her like she was liable to hex him on sight. If she came near, Sirius or Remus would step in without being asked. Everyone knew the rule: keep Lily Evans away from James Potter.
Heâd told himself sheâd broken his heart.
Or so he thought.
âHoly shit,â he breathed.
Sheâd fancied him back.
All that time, sheâd actually fancied him backâand had been worried about a single yearâs age difference and a bloody war hanging over their heads. A war that, absurdly, had ended last term in one final, catastrophic duel that had taken both sides with it.
All that distance.
All that bitterness.
All that wasted, bloody time.
James stared down at the letter again, a short, incredulous laugh clawing its way up his throat. It came out sharp and breathless, edged with something uncomfortably close to regret. If heâd just stopped long enough to listenâif he hadnât been so wrapped up in sulking, so busy nursing a bruised ego and playing the heroâ
He cut the thought off with a sharp exhale and dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. His heart was thudding now, but not from cold or drink. This was something else entirely.
âWell,â he muttered to the empty street, voice rough but betraying him with a crooked smile, âthatâs just great, isnât it Evans? Your letter arrived three years too late.â
He stuffed the stupid, impossible letter into his coat pocket and immediately regretted it, as though tucking it away somehow made the questions louder.
Where was she now?
Muggle-borns hadnât exactly been safe during the war. He knew that much after two years of fighting in it. He also knewâhad knownâthat Dumbledore had recruited her into the Order. Potioneer. Duellist. Brilliant, stubborn, terrifyingly capable Lily Evans. But where had she gone on Dumbledoreâs orders? Who would even know now?
Most of the Order was dead.
âFuck,â he breathed.Â
The thought landed heavily. Had he seen her name? Had it been there, buried somewhere in those endless lists of the dead and missing? The names heâd skimmed too quickly because stopping had felt dangerous?
His chest tightened unpleasantly, and he forced himself to keep walking, not thinking.Â
The path from the village to the castle curled up into the hills, and the sun was only just beginning to burn through the morning mist. Hogwarts rose in the distance like a memory he wasnât quite ready to faceâbeautiful, imposing, and far too full of people who expected him to be sober, punctual, and vaguely respectable.
His boots crunched over gravel and uneven stone as he went, and he did his level best not to think about the woman heâd left tangled in the innâs sheets. Or the deeply unsettling possibility that he might end up grading essays for her daughter this term. Or the fact that he couldnât for the life of him remember the last time heâd eaten.
Dinner at the pub, probably.
If Firewhisky counted as a meal.
By the time the great stone gates came into viewâtall, ancient, and just as intimidating as he rememberedâhis hangover had shifted. The stabbing pain had dulled into something heavier, more insidious. A low, throbbing dread. The kind reserved for facing colleagues whoâd been tucked up in bed by ten, woken refreshed, and would definitely not be wearing yesterdayâs socks.
He stopped just short of the gate and straightened his coat, clinging to dignity like it might actually help.Â
âMerlinâs pants,â he hissed, scrubbing at it furiously with his sleeve until the evidence was at least mostly gone.Â
He took a steadying breath.
âAct professional,â James muttered, stepping onto the long stone bridge. âYou finally got the classroom you wanted. Transfiguration. This is your year.â
The castle loomed ahead, quiet but watchful. Hogwarts always held itself like this before term beganâstudents absent, corridors hushed, but the walls already moving. The great oak doors creaked open as he approached, heavy and achingly familiar. The smell hit him at once: wax, cold stone, old parchment.Â
Then the screams in his head started, he tried to make them roll off.Â
James squared his shoulders and arranged his face into something suitably neutral. Responsible. Respectable. Like a man who hadnât just trudged up from a one-night stand in questionable socks, a skull-splitting headache, and a letter in his pocket that threatened to tear his understanding of the past clean in half.
A portrait just beyond the doors clocked him at once. An elderly witch with a bun wound so tight it looked painful peered down at him through narrow spectacles, her painted lips pursed into a line of pure disapproval.
âYouâve been gone all summer, Professor Potter,â she sniffed, folding her arms.
James didnât so much as slow. He tossed her a dry smile and a casual little wave over his shoulder.
âSorry, Anita. Iâm a big believer in a proper summer holiday,â he said, already moving on.
The corridors whispered around him as he walked. Same twisting passageways. Same cool stone underfoot. Hogwarts smelled of dust and fresh polish, of old magic sunk deep into ancient walls. It still had shows of the battle. Whole corridors blocked off. Holes in walls patched poorly. With every step toward the staff room, the truth of it settled more firmly in his chest.
New year, new school, new life post-war.Â
Heâd finally landed Transfiguration. No more filling in. No more assisting or hovering uselessly at the back of someone elseâs lesson. No more chasing first-years through the dungeons for a handful of galleons and a pat on the head.Â
Heâd earned this.
So why did it sit so heavy?
The staff room was already filling when he slipped inside. He claimed a spot in the corner, leaning against the stone wall, arms folded. He still felt rumpled. Still felt late. A tray of tea hovered near the hearth, steam curling lazily upward, completely untouched. The air buzzed with nervous chatterâlaughter pitched just a bit too high, quills clattering to the floor, voices overlapping as introductions were made and remade.
Most of the faces were young. New recruits. Fresh from training. Half of them bright-eyed and keen, the other half doing a poor job of hiding their terror after surviving a battle that took out half the Professors.Â
And then there was McGonagall.
She stood at the head of the long table, back straight as a wand, gaze steady and assessing. Her robes were immaculateâdeep green, sharply pressedâand when she spoke, her voice cut cleanly through the noise, precise and commanding.
âWelcome back, everyone. For those of you returning, thank you for your continued service to this school. And for those joining us for your first full yearâwelcome. Youâre here because we saw promise in you. Promise, and purpose.â
James found himself straightening without meaning to, spine aligning as if he were sixteen again and not pushing twenty.
McGonagall paused, letting her gaze travel slowly around the room. She didnât smileâbut beneath the sternness there was something else. Not warmth, exactly. Resolve.
âI know many of you are young,â she went on. âSome of you barely older than the students youâll be teaching. And I know last year was⌠unprecedented.â
Her voice softened, just a fraction.
Even the fire seemed to quiet.
James swallowed. Candlelight flickered overhead, shadows sliding across faces he knew too well, and for a moment it felt as though the weight of the past year settled on them all at once. It was heavy, suffocating, unavoidable.
So many hadnât come back.
They appeared in fragments, uninvited. Alexandra Creevey, still so painfully young, eyes always bright even when her twinâs grief hollowed him out from the inside. Professors Sinistra and Vector, lost when the Astronomy Tower fellâbrilliant minds gone in a thunder of stone and fire. And Dumbledore. Always Dumbledore. Gone before the battle had truly finished, yet still woven into the bones of the place, a presence Hogwarts hadnât yet learned how to exist without.
James could still hear it if he let himselfâthe shriek of spells tearing through corridors, the castle groaning beneath the assault. Stone scorched black. Towers shaking. The sky above ripped open by curses and light and something far too final.
Voldemort had died that night.
Dumbledore had made certain of it.
But the costâit had been his first year teaching, taking over Quidditch after the previous Professor had died int he war. He felt like heâd lost a bit of himself last eyar when the Battle at Hogwarts took place. Theyâd lost on both sidesâkidsâparentsâeveryoneâŚ
Except him.Â
And a few others.Â
Sprout.
McGonagall.Â
Bloody Hell, was that it?
Yes.
Everyone else was new.
Fuck.Â
âThe war is over,â McGonagall said, sharp and steady, cutting clean through the memories. âBut our work is not.â
Her voice anchored them, dragged them back into the room.
âHogwarts remains a place of sanctuary. Of learning. Of purpose,â she continued. âThe students arriving tomorrow are not merely here to pass examinations. They are here to rebuild. To grow. And it is our responsibility to give them nothing less than the finest magical education we can offer.â
James exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening a fraction. The headache that had plagued him since dawn had finally dulledâno longer a spike behind the eyes, just a steady throb. A reminder of a night spent in entirely the wrong company with entirely the wrong priorities. He rubbed the back of his neck, watching torchlight ripple across the worn stone walls.
He had no idea what sort of teacher heâd be this year.
He didnât feel wise. Or polished. Or remotely like a man with answersâhell, he wasnât even sure he had the right questions. But he was here. Heâd survived the war. Heâd survived the losses. Heâd survived the long, quiet summer where everything had stopped making sense.
Still standing.
At the head of the room, McGonagall gave a single, crisp nod.
âYou will all do well,â McGonagall said crisply. âTerm begins tomorrow. Let us give them a year worth remembering, for Albus.â
Polite sighs of sadness rippled through the staff room, followed by a scatter of applause. It had barely begun to fade when a new voice cut cleanly through itâclear, warm, and confident without even trying.
âExcuse me,â the woman said lightly. âSorry to arrive to late. I was told to come here for orientation?â
Every head turned.
She stepped through the doorway, red hair pulled back with a yellow-and-green scarf that caught the light like a banner in motion. Muggle jeans fit her as though theyâd been tailored, paired with a soft purple knit jumper and scuffed boots that spoke of practicality rather than pretense. She looked utterly unconcerned about being underdressed for a witchâand somehow still managed to look different from everyone in the room.
Her eyes swept the roomâcurious, open, taking everything in at onceâand then they landed on James. For half a second, she simply stared. The smile faltered, just barely. Surprise flickered across her face, sharp and unmistakable, before she smoothed it away with practiced ease.Â
Oh.
McGonagall straightened, seemingly obliviousâor choosing to be as she gestured toward the newcomer. âAh, lovely to see you, Miss Evans. Iâd like to introduce the rest of you to our new Charms professor.â
The door clicked shut behind the young witch.
James didnât blink.
Lily Evans.
Not the Lily Evans he rememberedâthe sixth-year with scarlet skirts flashing as she danced through corridors, hair like moving wildfire, laughter ringing out after some minor catastrophe. That girl belonged to another life.
This was a woman whoâd changed in the three years theyâd been separated.Â
Still poised and self-assured. Radiant with the sort of confidence you couldnât fake, even if you were pretending about everything else. She crossed the room like sheâd always belonged there, her grin returning easily, her wave casual and warm. Not showy. Not arrogant. JustâŚcomfortable.
Her gaze flicked back to Jamesâquick, searching, openly disbelievingâand his stomach flipped hard enough to make him suck in a breath.Â
Some of the other new professors were her yearâor close enoughâand the moment the tension in the room eased, they descended on her like she was a long-lost cousin. Lily greeted them warmly, hugging two of them without hesitation, kissing each cheek in that polite, effortless way she had. She laughed, shoulders relaxing, slipping into the familiarity with ease.
One of them was Severus Snape, the new Potions Professor.
Heâd wanted Dark Arts, but McGonagall had cancelled that course for the year.Â
Snape looked like Christmas had come early when Lily hugged him. His sallow face actually brightenedâif such a thing were possibleâand he leaned in far too eagerly as Lily greeted him, murmuring something James couldnât hear. Snape straightened afterwards with the smug, satisfied air of a man who thought heâd just reclaimed something that belonged to him.
Jamesâs jaw tightened.
He shot Snape a look sharp enough to draw blood.
James didnât give a toss that Snape had switched sides during the war, or that heâd survived by the skin of his teeth. None of that scrubbed away the years of cruelty. None of it erased the word Snape had spat at her like a curse when sheâd been barely fourteen and already too clever for his comfort.
Mudblood.
James bit back a harsh, mirthless snort. As if Snape honestly believed he could just wander back into her orbitâold friends again, all forgivenâafter everything heâd said.
After everything sheâd seen.
Not a chance in hell.
McGonagall leaned towards him then, voice low but ironclad. âYouâll mentor her this term,â she said. âSheâs brilliant, of course. But young. Fresh blood needs guidance.â
James blinked, hauled abruptly back into the present.
âRight. Guidance.â He cleared his throat, painfully aware of how dry it felt. âIâll⌠do that.â
Brilliant.
That was one word for it.
He kept his posture relaxed as the meeting dissolved, arms folded, expression neutral. Inside, everything was noise. It was impossible to reconcile Lily Evans across the roomâthe woman charming the staff without even tryingâwith the girl heâd once known.
The last time heâd really looked at her, sheâd had rounder cheeks, an overstuffed rucksack that carried all her notes, and a habit of tugging her sleeves down over her wrists whenever she spoke up in class. Bright, yes (brilliant even) but unfinished and still finding herself at sixteen.
And now?
She knew who she was now. She was laughing with Professor Sprout, the sound curling through the air like a charm laced with honey. Sprout looked practically incandescent at Lily's arrival. Even the Headmistress, who usually scowled through staff meetings, was leaning in with an amused smirk.
James hated it. Hated how easily she belonged. Hated how the room seemed to tilt subtly in her direction, as though the castle itself had decided she was worth paying attention to.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.
Because the worst part?
He was already halfway in love with her againâand this time, he had a letter burning a hole in his pocket.Â
The Headmistress went over a bit more with the newcomers, James mostly drowned her out. As chairs scraped back and parchment was gathered, McGonagall flicked him a brief, assessing glance before sweeping from the room. James lingered near the tea tray, suddenly fascinated by the tragic state of the biscuits, just as Lily made her way over.
âJames Potter,â she said brightly. "As I live and breathe, is that you?"
He turnedâand failed entirely at hiding his surprise. âLily Evans,â he replied, managing what he hoped was an effortless grin. âOr should I say⌠Professor Evans?â
She laughed. âYou probably should. Though Iâm not convinced it suits me yet.â
âOh, it will,â he said easily. âGive it a week. Some third-yearâll try to turn you into a frog and youâll have earned it twice over.â
She laughed properly at that, the sound warm and unguarded, then tipped her head and studied him with open curiosity.
âYouâve changed,â she said.
James blinked. âIâll take that as a complimentâprovided you mean for the better.â
âWell,â she said, eyes dancing as they traced his face, âyour hair still looks like you just jumped off a broomstick. ButâŚIâm glad youâre alive. I wasn't sure if you made it.â
âJust glad?â He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offence. âHere I was hoping for relieved. Or impressed.â
She smiled, softer now. âI knew you were fighting underground for Dumbledore for a while. I was close to himâclose enough that news travelled, occasionally. About old friends.â
âFriends?â he repeated, raising a brow.
âI hope so,â she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "After all these years, why not start over? It's what Dumbledore would want."
He swallowed. âAnd here I was thinking youâd personally delivered the letter to my room this morning.â
She froze.
A blink between them
âWhat letter?â she asked. Then, quickly, âIâ I had no idea you were teaching here.â
James reached into his pocket and pulled out the battered parchment. A crumb of old wax flaked away as he handed it to her. Lily unfolded itâand then clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing in pure disbelief.
âOh my GodâJames. Holy shit. Where did you even get this?â
âSome owl dropped it off this morning,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Her cheeks flushed a vivid pink as she reread itâthank Merlin, because he was certain his own face was doing something similar. "It must've been lost in the owl post through the war."
âAnd here I thought you hated me for turning you down,â she said quietly, glancing up at him through her lashes. "It had just been lost. Unbelievable."Â
âI was furious with you, you know,â James admitted. âYouâd been flirting since the first week of termâwhat was I meant to think, Evans? That you were doing it out of charity?â
She huffed a laugh. âWhich is exactly why I wrote the letter,â she said, flicking the parchment lightly between them. âI assumed youâd read it, burned it dramatically in the fire, and told Sirius Black to tell me you didnât care anymore if I lived or died.â
âDidnât care if you lived or died?â He laughed, breathless, shaking his head. âI was head over broomstick for you.â
Her eyes went wideâthen softened. âWell,â she said faintly, âthatâsâŚthat's really good information to have.â
âEven now?â he asked quietly. âOver three years later?â
She held his gaze. âEspecially now.â
A beat passedâheavy, charged.
Then Lily glanced towards the door, where McGonagall was watching, and gently tucked the letter back into his hand. Her fingers brushed his in the process. Deliberately.
âI should go introduce myself to the others,â she said. Then she paused, eyes flicking back up to his. âButâJames?â
âYeah?â
Her smile this time wasnât polite.
No, it was warm, teasing, and full of promise.
âTry not to look so completely dumbfounded around me,â she said lightly, lips twitching. âIâd hate to spend another three years thinking you hate my guts.â
She turned awayâthen paused, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes glittered with mischief.
âWeâll talk later,â she added.
James blinked. âWe will?â
She lifted a brow, clearly enjoying this far too much. âI did read my welcome letter,â she said sweetly. âYou are my mentor, arenât you?â
âOh. Right.â James nodded once, dumbly. âYeah. Thatâd be me.â
She smiled like sheâd just won something, then disappeared back into the room.
James stood there a moment longer, heart lodged somewhere between his ribs and his throat.
She kept glancing his way as she made the rounds, introducing herself to each professor like they were old friendsâwarm handshake here, easy laugh there. Every time their eyes met, she smiled, small and knowing, like they were sharing a secret the rest of the room hadnât caught onto yet.
It was getting uncomfortably warm.
James cleared his throat, shoved his hands into his pockets, and made a tactical retreat into the corridor, heading for his office under the very sensible pretence of preparing it for term. The cooler air hit his face, and he let out a long breath he hadnât realised heâd been holding.
âFuck me,â he murmured to the empty hall.
And just like that, his first year as a real Professor was already unforgettable...
I love your art style! In your Rebel Padme AU, how do the twins deal with the whole âworst divorce of the Galaxyâ dynamics of Padme and Vader? How are theirs interactions with theirs super divorced parents? Do they pick up a side or just try to stop everything from burning? Iâd love to see Luke and Leia of this AU in your art style!
see i want to have seriousness/angst but I also want to have the sheer comedic potential, so i think as early teens it's like "mom how could you lie to us abt our father being an evil fascist sith all these years?!?!?!" and then by like age 17 it's like
He finds her sitting underneath a work bench in Greenhouse five. She looks like a flower, like spring come to life, her vibrant red hair framed on all sides by the peculiar looking plants Professor Sprout favors. He's surprised to find his approach doesn't draw her attention. Only when he braces himself on a table in front of her does she look up from the book she's burying her nose in.
"Black... what are you doing here?"
"Oh, just dropping by to check on the plants. You know me... I find them... fascinating."
In previous yearsâand even earlier today, he suspectsâthis would have drawn an eye roll or a scoff from the redhead. Now it earns him an upturned lip she can't seem to stop.
"I've seen you fall asleep in Herbology no fewer than a dozen times, Black. And that's just this last year."
"Then it would seem you have me all figured out, Evans. So I suspect you already know why I'm here."
Their gazes linger on each other for another second before Lily shrugs and readjusts the book on her lap.
"They are Transfiguration partners, Evans. Nothing more." Lily continues to ignore his gaze and Sirius holds back his own sigh. "He would tell you as much if you'd stop avoiding him."
"I'm notâ"
"Oh? Then tell me why you are holed up in a greenhouse while the rest of us are enjoying free period on the grounds. I'm not an idiot, Evans... nor is James." Sirius rises from the table, wiping the dirt from his school robes without thought. "But if you want him to know how you feel, ah, how you really feel about him, then you'll have to tell him." As he reaches the threshold, he glances back to see Lily still sitting there amid the greenery. Stubborn girl. "Trust me, Lily, you'll both be much happier for it if you just go out there and snog the poor bloke."
Sirius knows when to accept defeat. And so, without waiting for a reply he is certain will not come, he heads back to his friends.
Since Sirius & the Black family and Family Agenda where mentioned a bit in this chapter, what are some of your Sirius HCs?
I had to think about this one but it was actually such a helpful exercise for me to do this, so thank you, anon!! Idk if this is the case for anyone else, but I find that so much of my understanding of the characters is very subconscious? Like I just *get them* when Iâm writing them. But I donât always write out character profiles or hcâs like this, so this pushes me to articulate things I might otherwise not. So here we go!
Sirius Black Headcanons
He grew up in a very safe and sheltered, albeit stuffy, environment. He was not abused â he was adored. He was the eldest son and eldest boy in his generation of a dwindling yet historic family name. He was expected to carry on the Black family legacy!! He was spoiled rotten as much as he materially could be, and he wanted for nothing â save affection. In keeping with the British royalty-pureblood themes/connections, I see the Black boys growing up much the way royal children might: shut away, sheltered, served. But there is a parental separation there, a lack of warmth and affection, that would have changed Siriusâs psyche from, say, James, who would have grown up with just as much wealth and privilege but also endless cuddles, hugs, praise, etc. Sirius would not have felt adored the way James would have because Siriusâs parents didnât show their adoration, they created expectation. So Sirius is very much a textbook case of Oldest Child Syndrome, and I think his perfectionism translates into his intellect and overall excellence with magic.Â
Heâs naturally open-minded, but James is the key that unlocked the door. Sirius is like the kid who leaves a small town to go to college in a big city. He leaves the sheltered and stuffy Grimmauld Place for Hogwarts, and the moment heâs truly on his own, away from his parents for probably the first time ever on the Hogwarts Express, he has his whole worldview blasted open. But because heâs an Oldest Child, because heâs naturally curious, he doesnât react with fearâheâs just like, âWow, okay, cool!â Heâs instantly down for adventure.Â
His spent Hogwarts â but his early years especially â unlearning indoctrinated ideas. And there was a lot to unlearn. This definitely happened gradually, and took repeated effort on his part. And I think his friendship with Remus was a huge catalyst in how he came to understand marginalization and privilege, and after that learning curve with lycanthropy, combined with his own personal experience with/respect for Lily, he was able to more fully extend that education/understanding to Muggle-borns and see how fucked up the pureblood fanaticism was.Â
He didnât start exploring Muggle London until Hogwarts summers. I think James unlocked a lot of Siriusâs rebellious nature. Like it was always there waiting, but until his worldview was blown open it didnât come to the forefront. Remember, he was a sheltered Oldest Child! He was raised to feel a strong sense of responsibility to his family name and was kept from Muggle society. But once he got a taste of, oh, thereâs way more out there, thereâs way more to this, and also gotten his feet wet with exploring the castle with James, I think he came back from school way more emboldened to sneak out and explore the world outside his own front door. And because heâs a fiercely independent and secretive Scorpio, I think going off on his own and having his own experiences in London was a deeply profound and formative part of his coming of age. (Though he of course included James as they got older and did more wandering/exploring together.)
In another life, heâd be a wizardâs chess grandmaster. He grew up playing with Regulus before Hogwarts, and then in school he and James taught Remus and Peter. The four of them play constantly, but Sirius is definitely the best. He loves puzzles and strategy, and he has such a high intellect that itâs one of the few hobbies that fully captures his attention.Â
Heâs bi. Being the secretive Scorpio he is, his sexuality is something he holds extremely close to his chest. I donât think James even knows, tbh. I picture the romantic side of Siriusâs life being mostly concentrated in his summers, when he went off into Muggle London on his own. Just vibing and having his own experiences, wanting to explore himself and his interests without any strings. I think he would have been drawn to the music scene, and probably snuck into concerts and clubs and made passing friends with other Muggle students he met. (Somewhere in there he also got into motorcycles. I think he loved tactical outlets, anything that got him tinkering and problem-solving and being creative that way.) In terms of love interests or ships, Iâm not personally married to any one interpretation. I find this meta about canon evidence for unrequited Prongsfoot extremely compelling from a textual perspective, but to be perfectly honest the idea of Sirius having unrequited romantic love for James in fic is simply too depressing for me đ (If youâve been around awhile you know Iâm a wimp when it comes to angst lmao â my tolerance is the equivalent of likeâŚhalf a beer đ) I donât want him to suffer like that!! đŠ Similarly, I personally enjoy Wolfstar as a side/background pairing to Jily far, far more in Muggle AUâs than in canon universe, again because the implications of canon Wolfstar is a level of angst thatâs just so distressingly sad. I also think that Sirius is the type where 1) it takes A LOT to get his interest in the first place, 2) even if you get his attention, nine times out of ten itâs going to be something casual, and 3) he values his personal relationships and commitment to people so highly that itâs far more likely for him to develop a romance with an existing friend than a new acquaintance. So from all of that, the characters I like most as love interests for him are Mary Macdonald, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Benjy Fenwick (and/or Remus in Muggle AU's).
He plays Quidditch, but he doesnât care about it that much. He keeps up with it because itâs part of the culture, much the way people keep up with football in the UK or the NFL in the U.S. And I think he learns to enjoy it more through James, who lives and breathes it. But because he was so sheltered growing up in Grimmauld Place, I think Hogwarts was his first time flying. He loved it, and it was something else he and James had in common and could do together in their free time. I donât picture him setting out to play like James did, I think it happened more organically where there was a gap in the Beater position, and James was like, âWait, you could do it!â And it ends up suiting him because 1) itâs an outlet for aggression that is more cathartic than he expects it to be (especially against Slytherin), 2) itâs an easy enough skill that he can master it rather quickly, 3) it gives him the ability to actually protect his best friend and be part of the strategy of the game rather than just watch helplessly in the stands, and 4) it helps him feel normal. Going back to the very first bullet points, I see Siriusâs coming of age as centering around him breaking away from the sort of institutional expectations of his family. (Very Prince Harry in that way.) So not only being sorted into Gryffindor but being on the House Quidditch team is one of those things that makes him feel like heâs achieved his own life and found community where he belongs.Â
He has complicated feelings about family. As much as he loves the Potters, he never considers them his parents; never calls them Mum and Dad. (I feel like thatâs kind of a popular fanon thing, but I think itâs weird lol.) Theyâre his best mateâs parents, and even though they are pseudo-parental figures for Sirius at a critical age, the lines are still very much defined in his mind, and he doesnât want to impose on their hospitality a moment longer than necessary. Likewise, as much as he hates his parentsâ behavior and beliefs, theyâre still his parents. He still remembers his dad teaching him how to play chess, his mum adjusting his clothes and fixing his hair. There are a lot of complicated and painful feelings there that James canât understand. But this is where I think Sirius and Lily are able to connect and establish a deeper friendship, because Lily experiences those same complicated feelings with both Petunia and Severus.Â
He buys Shell Cottage with his inheritance money. This is something I made up a few years ago for a fic and have just ran with since. I love the idea of Shell Cottage (where Bill and Fleur are living in DH) being part of Marauders lore. I write Shell Cottage being not far from the Pottersâ property in Cornwall, which is how Sirius first learned about the area. It was vacant and dilapidated when he bought it, and he spends a lot of time fixing it up again (with James and Fleamontâs help!). Thereâs a lot of room for different options for how Shell Cottage is used in the First War that I wonât go into here in case some of them show up in fics of mine đśâđŤď¸ And then by the Second War, itâs fallen into disrepair again, and since he has Grimmauld Place now (which is big enough to serve as HQ for the Order, plus he wants to be involved in the action and be around people again), he offers Shell Cottage to Arthur as a safehouse/backup in the event the Burrowâs compromised. (And from there it becomes Billâs residence in 1997.) But for Maruaders purposes, it makes for a great summery, beachy location in both canon and canon-divergent settings, and I think fixing it up is a project that again is very tactile, engaging, and meaningful for him.Â
This feels insanely long so I'm going to cut it off here đ but may come back with more, who knows!
- Annabeth is in her final year of collage when she gets the idea to build a university for greek demigods
- it wouldnât be completely separate from the romans, only acting as a sister school for demigods who are unable to travel across the country (like Percy) or demigods who feel like they better suit the camp style of Camp Half-Blood instead of the more militaristic style of Camp Jupiter
- itâs goes great and architects and engineers from New Rome help out with the project and it turns into an entire pantheon wide collaboration. Roman demigods are fully allowed to attend, no problems, and vice verse for greek demigods living at New Rome
- once the collage gets established, a small town starts to be built around it, (affectionately called New Athens and New Athens University respectively)
- it starts out as just older demigods who want to stay over the summer but not want to stay in the cabins, but then small businesses start cropping up and business means more people so more housing and then people get married and have kids of their own and before long itâs turned into a little suburban community
- as for Percy and Annabeth, I think they live in New Rome straight out of collage, but once they get married (which is around the time New Athens becomes an actual possibility and not a pipe dream) they move back to New York
- they donât fully move into New Athens until their kids are past 18 and living on their own but they occasionally visit and check in on how things are doing
james forgetting to rub out lily's initials and all the hearts and the 'james evans' on his essay before mcgonagall takes them
she hands it back a few days later with a comment above the doodles "i understand young love can be very strong, but please refrain from using your work as an outlet. however, i wish you luck on your endeavours to woo miss evans and will be informing your parents about this event purely to have a nice laugh"
i will never tire of thinking about lily evans who doesn't really know james potter. lily who thinks he's just outgoing and dumb but who finds herself competing with him in every class. lily who's so used to him joking that she thinks he's making fun of her when he asks if she's okay. lily who ends up realizing too late that he was being genuine and pushing him away. (he comes back eventually. he never could stay away from her for long.)
It was strange, after more than half a century, to be cleaning up her office for the final time. To carefully wrap her trusty tea set in yesterdayâs Prophet, sift through the boxes of paperwork in search of what to archive, what to keep and what to finally bin.Â
As she sorted through an assortment of old assignments and Christmas cards from a bygone age, Minerva finds herself reminiscing. Once familiar faces and voices curled from the depths of her mind, a fond smile on her face.Â
The corners of her lips trembled like her aged hands when her fingers brushed along a script that gave her pause. Because even after all these years, all these hundreds of students, she could still tell whose penmanship this was.Â
The large letters crammed onto the parchment, like he knew he was going to run out of space for his sweeping tâs and large loops. The words slanting upwards as if wanting to escape from the paper.Â
She did not doubt that, at the time, that was precisely what heâd had on his mind, while stuck doing a detention assignment for her. It was supposed to be an essay, but in true James Potter fashion, heâd ignored the explicit instruction and instead composed a letter.Â
Dearest Minerva,Â
As we sit across from each other in your office, a pot of lapsang souchong between us, I am aware you are pretending to be cross with me. For the sake of posterity, I will pretend with you. Though we both know that they deserved every miserable second.Â
In the future, however, I will strive for a more creative solution. Even if I think turning their belts into snakes was quite a nifty piece of transfiguration. I will let you be the judge of that. Being the expert and all that.Â
Speaking of the future, I am supposed to write an essay about where I see myself next year. Which I could have answered effortlessly a fortnight ago. But things changed. Every paper is full of it now. And I refuse to sit idle just because I happened to have been born into a family that fits into their narrow view of our world.Â
One year from now, I will be as restless as ever. Using the privilege that comes with my name to help those who cannot help themselves. However, unlike before, I will not humour myself with the delusion that this can be achieved by mere words.Â
I will gladly put my wand with my conviction and face whatever is in store beyond the safety of these walls. Together with my friends, we will make a difference.Â
My friends and I are talking about getting a place together, somewhere nice and lively. We were hoping to travel, see some of the world. Those plans are on hold, at least for now. Though none of us will say it aloud, we hope that the four of us will be around for it.
So, we spend evenings talking about this trip, imagining places to go and things to do in the hopes that the four of us will get to go.
Hopefully, I will be dating Lily Evans. (Please donât tell her I said that.) I think she is finally coming round to me. She no longer glares in my direction, though I can still feel her eyes on me sometimes.
Maybe I am crazy, but I can tell it is her just from the way it feels. Her watching me is special somehow. Often I itch to turn to her, to catch her looking. To catch a glimpse of her smile or her fluster. Just the fraction of a moment where I can believe she might actually feel the same way.Â
Or maybe not the same way. I would not wish this complete and utter agony on her. If she does come to fall for me, I hope she falls softer. I hope that I am not too blind to see and catch her before the rough landing.Â
That is only if I will ever be lucky enough to be enough for her. To have grown into a person, she can depend on rather than the childish prick (I am so sorry, did not mean to curse.) I used to be.Â
I am afraid I am running out of space. I could fill several more rolls of parchment (Which is not me asking for more) with hopes and wishes for the year ahead. Some more achievable (Pass my N.E.W.T. s) and some more hopeful (Snog Lily Evans. Again, please donât tell her I wrote any of this.)
Your favourite student,Â
James PotterÂ
Her fingers crumpled the paper where she gripped it tight, a lump rising in her throat. Her eyes scanned the content of the letter once more before pressing it briefly to her heart before placing it atop her pile of keepsakes.Â
Minerva pushed herself to her feet, in dire need of a break and craving a cup of lapsang souchong.Â
"Black", Lily nodded to him, sitting opposite by the fireplace.
Sirius glanced up to her, "Hey, Red."
"What you doing?" She gestured to the paper and quill in his hands, "I know you're not doing homework."
Sirius laughed, "I'd never... it's a letter, for my brother."
"Right", Lily leaned back in her seat, "I didn't know you two still talked."
"Well I talk and he never fucking replies", Sirius bitterly smiled.
Lily nodded knowingly, "I get that. I used to send Petunia letters practically every day. She never sent a single one back, and I finally got the message by third year."
Sirius frowned slightly, "So I should 'get the message' and stop?"
Lily bit her lip, "Well, it's a bit different. Regulus is the younger one, and as a younger sibling, myself, we tend to look up to our older siblings a lot, either as examples of what to do or what not to do. And yeah, he's seeing you an example of what not to do, but that means he's still looking up to you, that he still cares about you and watches you from afar."
Sirius laughed, "Sounds a bit creepy."
"Oh, shut up, Black", Lily smiled back, "I just mean it's not too late, and he clearly still cares about you. And I would have done anything to get Petunia to send me a letter... so your brother is lucky to have you."
Sirius nodded, staring down at the letter in his hands and decisively folded it in half and slipped it into an envelope.
Lily moved over closer, leaning her head on his shoulder, "You're a good person, Black."
Sirius smiled down at her, leaning his own head on top of hers, "Regulus may be lucky to have me. But you know what, Red? I'm lucky to have you."
this has nothing to do with this poll. totally not trying to skew people into choosing sirius & lily and their friendship built on similar sibling issues & love for the potter family & shared genius, etc.
