paint my spirit gold

You have, but it still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to be reminded. 

I concede. I concede! You absolutely would have been able to help, and I should have told you sooner. I was trying to spare myself from the much-needed overabundance of pitying when I didn’t get into the program, which your girlfriend has since informed me was “stupid” and, I’m paraphrasing here, very in line with the typical male line of thinking. Quick! Someone get in touch with Orion and tell him that I am macho, after all. 

Yes, McG wrote me a lovely letter. She gave it to me sealed and said I wasn’t allowed to read it before sending it in, but I held it over a candle and was able to manage a few delightful phrases. Fingers crossed. 

Before summer for sure – although it’s not like you won’t have keys to the London flat. And a place to stay as often as you like. There’s another bedroom, and it’s yours for every drunken debacle and even for when Fleamont starts making real strides down the road to recovery. But the decisions come through in a few weeks, and then it’s a waiting game to find out if NEWT scores and final grades hold up. Bullshit on top of more bullshit, you know how these things work. 

Hmm. I was thinking a chat about your future actually. But yes on the firewhiskey and yes to enjoying the time we have.

Factitious. Factitious. I can’t believe you.

Well, as long as you concede that I’m right and you were wrong, I can dub the matter closed. Until I want to rub it in your face at every opportunity in the next year or so, of course, but I’d think you know to expect that after all this time of suffering through friendship with me.

Talking about my future plans will be an awfully short conversation, Padfoot. I’m assuming Moony’s already told you, by now, but I’m moving back in with Mum and Dad. My Auror Program acceptance letter is in ashes, and I’m officially mooching off of family money as of June. Dad’s not getting any better, Mum can’t keep up, and I owe it to them. And yeah, yeah, I’m a bloody idiot, the most stubborn git in the universe, I shouldn’t be giving anything up to take care of my parents because they don’t want me to ...  I’ve heard the lecture from both of them and Moony, too, so no need to beat a dead horse. 

Yes? Good. Now, about the party. Gryffindor Tower, obviously. Just us lion-hearted, or are we being kind enough to invite the rest of the castle to our last hurrah? If I’m drunk enough, I might be able to ignore bad company, but after my last drunken hexing idiocy, Lily might confiscate my wand -- really, it’s a toss up. I know we’ve all been busy being responsible and all that shite, lately, but it’s been months since we’ve done a proper prank, and how can the Marauders graduate without one last showstopper? A party would be the perfect time, don’t you think?

I prefer to think of it as using your wonderful strengths against you, actually. For instance, everyone knows how good you are at sleeping. Plus, I wanted to talk to you when you were at your most relaxed and docile. Who can blame me for coming a little too close to the mark?

I wouldn’t be so sure. Don’t worry, I’ve made my peace with it! The whole thing is a big mess and it depends on teacher recommendations, attendance records – a whole lot of shit that we didn’t think to care about. Or, I guess Remus did. And you, Mr. Head Boy. And Peter, but he sucks up to everybody. Just me, then! But it’s my bed, and I’ll lie in it, and the whole reason I didn’t tell you properly was because you’re too lovely and refuse to let me pity or doubt myself, even when I deserve it.

Now that you’re in the loop, though, we should plan on something. A celebration for Lils, a pity party for me, or some combination of the two. 

They made a boatload, cursebreakers. I expect Evans will be keeping you in the life of lavish comfort to which you are accustomed. 

I’ll write them, but only because I’m still waiting to have a conversation with you about said future, and I don’t want them taking up all your time and knocking me down the list. 

Fine! I accept. I accept wholeheartedly. You’re my best friend, and a proper lad. I know you know it, but you really are, and it bears repeating. (Did that sound grateful enough?) 

Have I mentioned that you’re a git, lately? 

It’s hereditary. Me’n dad both sleep like the dead, so it’s not my fault. And I don’t quite get why I needed to be docile to hear good news, but whatever. I fully admit that I can be a little overwhelming when I’m excited about something, so if you actually wanted to focus on the application, not telling me was probably smart. Even though I maintain that I might have been able to help! 

My attendance record isn’t any better than yours, mate, and we both know that Dumbledore had to have lost his mind when he named me Head Boy. But you’ve got McGonagall as a reference, yeah? That’s what Moony said. That’s got to carry some weight. And you’ll ace any testing on spells and shite -- so if you want to be pessimistic, fine, but I think you’ve got a real shot.

I’m always happy to throw a proper celebration! Or pity party, if you insist. When do you find out one way or the other? Before summer, or will Lils and I have to break into your place with Moony to celebrate? 

Er, you want to have more of a conversation about your future? I don’t know what else there is to cover, mate, but whatever you like! Can this chat involve firewhiskey? Because outside of being pleased for you, I’ve heard enough about everyone’s plans for after Hogwarts. Can’t we just enjoy the time we’ve got left? 

passing notes || @lily-evans-wil​

Although Lily had the good sense to the very class they were in to help transfigure the note to transport itself over to James, his was passed back with a little less finesse. She let minutes past before even looking over the note. Thank Merlin she did as everyone’s eyes were down when a deep red blush spread over her cheeks.

I would like to point out that there are plenty of hours before curfew as well, and broom cupboards are the same midday or midnight. Your girlfriend without any rest will however be different. Not so spry and healthy would be my guess.

Are you trying to turn my face completely beet red? My hair is already red enough thank you, I don’t need to stand out anymore.

James bit his lip as he watched Lily’s cheeks flush; he’d lost track of the lecture entirely now, and likely wouldn’t have noticed if McGonagall attempted to talk to him directly. It took long, dull moments for her to finally look at what he’d written; James tapped his quill impatiently on the side of his desk as he waited. It was worth it, though, when he caught the exact moment she read the innuendo. The two of them had spent quite a bit of quality time in a broom closet here and there, but they’d kept things fairly innocent -- but in a fit of daring, James had pushed the boundaries a little, and was simultaneously eager and anxious to see what Lily’s reaction would be. 

As soon as the note appeared back on his desk, James dragged it beneath his desk to read, smirking as he scanned the words. His response was scribbled beneath the desk on his lap, with shoddy handwriting: 

If I could actually get any of your attention during the daytime, maybe I’d take that suggestion ... but you won’t skip any classes, skive off studying or Head duties, and when you do have an evening off, I have to run Quidditch practice -- besides, isn’t it so much more romantic, sneaking around at night under the cloak? It’s a thrill! You’re young, you’re beautiful; that won’t change with bags under your eyes. 

Would you hex me if I told you that I was actually trying to turn your face red? (If the answer is yes, anywhere but the face, please!) I happen to like making you blush. I’d prefer to do it with a more, shall we say, hands on approach, but this is fun, too. 

Is that a yes to tonight after curfew, then? 

Moony, 

First of all, you need a night off. Studying this much has to be bad for your sanity, and I happen to like you with all your marbles. Come plot mischief and mayhem with me tonight instead - I owe Gudgeon and the Hufflepuffs a decent revenge prank after this morning!

- Prongs

Sirius didn’t flinch when he felt the ball of parchment hit his head, the sound of the impact muffled by his long hair. It fell to the floor with a papery swish, and Sirius kept well-trained eyes on McGonagall before he dared down to retrieve the note. He’d known by the delivery method that the message was from James, but he smiled when he saw the familiar handwriting anyway. That smile faded a little bit – into something more guilty, to be sure – as he read, but he was quick with his reply. Once written, he sent it back to James with an underhanded toss, timed for when McGonagall’s back was turned to scribe notes onto the board.

To be fair, I did mention it once. You were half asleep, and I said ‘Prongs, I might go out for cursebreaking’ and you said ‘what?’ and I said ‘I’m tired’ and then we went to bed? 

Jokes aside. It’s a million in one shot, and I didn’t think it was worth mentioning until I knew an answer for sure. Whether you knew or not, Lily’s got the better claim to the program, so it makes all the sense in the world that she have access to our family library. [The word ‘our’ is underlined three times, to match James’s point.] 

As always, I’m very aware and appreciative that you would have moved heaven and earth to make things happen if I’d told you. Didn’t want to waste the famous James Potter dedication and charm on such a slim shot.

It was difficult for James to do anything that didn’t draw attention to him; he was terrible at working unseen, even in something as simple as tossing a note in class. But he was as careful as he could be when he grabbed the tossed bit of parchment and slid it quickly under his open textbook. He shot Sirius a quick wink across the classroom, just in case it hadn’t been obvious enough in his note that he wasn’t bothered by the secret, and scanned the words quickly when the professor’s back was turned. 

I might count that as telling me if you didn’t know good and well that I don’t remember anything from when I’m half asleep -- using my weakness against me? For shame, Padfoot. 

A million to one? I think your chances are a bit higher than that, mate, and not just because I’m your best mate and biased. You’re a brilliant wizard, you’re creative and smart, and I’ve yet to see you fail at something you put your mind to. Give yourself some credit, here. Lils is undeniably brilliant and I love her, but you’ve got just as much of a shot as she does. 

You need to tell mum and dad! They’ll be pleased to hear and to brag on you for a while, you know.  And I promise I’m not only saying that because I would love for the conversation to switch from my future plans to yours. Even though I would. 

The letter, upon opening, is charmed to cover the recipient–James, naturally, in a bit of rivalry fun–in yellow and black face paint with a badger dancing for a few seconds over their head. It was a joint effort (Davey couldn’t spell it himself) with the team watching on from the Hufflepuff table and knowing full well they were starting something.

You look good in yellow, Potter.

- Davey

@goingxstag

James blinked down at himself in surprise as the charm worked, shocked to silence (for once!) It took a moment for him to realize what had happened, but when it registered, James just threw his head back and laughed, a wide grin on his face. Good pranks at Hogwarts were rare those days, now that the Marauders were too busy for much of it, and James couldn’t help but appreciate a good one, whether he was the butt of the joke or not. 

Once the charm had faded, James pulled a bit of torn parchment from his bag and scribbled a response back to Davey, still chuckling -- while his mind raced, already plotting revenge. 

I look good in everything, Gudgeon, but I appreciate the compliment! 

Also ... in case you were expecting to get away unscathed ... game on.

- JP

The note was written on a ragged, torn-off piece of parchment that was obviously once part of an old essay, and it was crumpled up into a ball and tossed across the classroom aisle at Sirius’ head, in typical James fashion.

Did I know that you were applying for Cursebreaking? Because I’ve already raided Dad’s library for his books on the subject for Lily -- obviously I’ll make her share, but you could have had first shot at them since they’re from the bloody family library. [The word family is underlined three times, for emphasis.] 

passing notes || @lily-evans-wil

Although Lily takes the note, she makes sure to shoot an eye roll James’s way so he can see it, even if it’s well after he’s passed the note to her because she’s warned him about doing this before but he just won’t listen.

If you continue to keep me up into the late hours of the night, how on earth am I supposed to get any sleep, oh James, bane of my existence. 

If we are talking humans, maybe I can transfigure you into someone who can’t speak. How will you woo me out of my chambers then, hmm? - LE

James smirked at Lily when her response landed on his desk; somehow, despite all of her insistence that they pay attention in class, she was better at getting it to him unnoticed than he was. He scanned the note and scribbled a quick response back, uncaring of the fact that McGonagall had definitely stopped giving notes and had instructed them all to put their quills down. There was a good chance he’d hear about that later.

Aw, come on, Lils! How are we supposed to have any fun at all if we have to stop at curfew? The broom closet isn’t nearly as exciting at midday! Besides, we can sleep when we’re dead. We’re young, we’re healthy, and we’ve only got a few more months in the castle -- now is the time for being up at all hours!

Lori, 

You know, you might’ve mentioned when you graduated last year that you were going to drop off the face of the earth -- I’ve got no decent connections for a bit of fun in the Tower anymore, if you know what I mean! Any suggestions? It’s nearly the end of the year, and I’m planning on our last Gryffindor party taking us seventh years off with a bang. 

Hope you’re well! 

James slips the note onto Lily’s desk in the middle of Transfiguration with a wink and an off-hand promise to McGonagall: “Yes, of course I’m paying attention, Professor! Wave wand, say spell, transfigure bird -- I’ve got it!”

Lils, light of my life, you’ve got to stay awake in class or you’re never going to let me drag you out at midnight for a bit of fun ever again and I will be bereft. Besides, complex transfiguration is loads of fun! Birds are only a few steps down from humans, right? Think of the possibilities!

It wasn’t as if James had expected his parents to like that he’d decided to put off his post-school plans to stay home and look after them. It had taken two days of Spring Break to talk himself into telling them early, so they’d have time to grow accustomed to the idea before he lived with them round the clock when summer came. So James had been ready for Fleamont’s insistence that he was fine, thank you very much, even as he stared up at him from with foggy eyes and an expression taut with pain that he couldn’t quite hide. He’d been ready for Euphemia’s tears, her reminders that she’d survived looking over James and Fleamont for decades, and would keep doing it. 

What James hadn’t expected was for their reaction to bother him as much as it did. The Potter house went eerily quiet when Fleamont was forced back to his bed, and James didn’t want to be there any longer. He’d made his decision, his first one as an adult, and he didn’t intend on allowing his parents’ pride to get in the way. For once, James was doing the unselfish thing, and he knew down to his bones that it was right, no matter what other people might think. It looked bad, yeah -- another pureblood mooching off of his inheritance -- but James, and the people closest to him, knew better. And that had to be enough. 

A few hours passed in silence while James puttered and paced in his room, finding small, fidgety tasks to keep him occupied, but eventually, enough was enough. He needed to get out, to let off some steam in a way that his parents’ home and their isolation in the country didn’t allow. And while his mates were undeniably great, they were also busy with their own plans over the break -- and there was only one person that James wanted to see at the moment. So before he could remind himself that he’d not yet met Lily’s family, or that honestly, he only sort of knew where her family lived in muggle England, he made up his mind. James wanted to see Lily, and he’d never been the best at impulse control. 

He apparated to the address he’d gotten off of one of Lily’s letters and paused in the drive for a long moment, taking in the strange peace of the quiet neighborhood where, as far as he could tell, magic was never used. It was strange to think about; James had grown up surrounded by magic. He used it every day, for things as simple as pairing his socks or cleaning his glasses. But here, in this neighborhood, people didn’t have that option -- and it was odd to consider. 

March, 1974: 

Dear (older, wiser, and hopefully more devilishly handsome) James, 

Since my memory isn’t utter shite, I hope you remember that writing this was a mandatory assignment for McGonagall in third year. I spent an entire evening scrubbing pots without magic for detention because I tried to get out of it with no luck, so I had to suffer through writing it and you have to suffer through reading it. (Is it sadistic to say that? Since you’re really me?)

I’m not really clear on what we’re supposed to be writing about here, or what the purpose of this assignment is, but I suppose it can’t ever hurt to read a list of things that make me happy, right? So, in case you’ve forgotten in the next few years, the top six best things in the world are: 

Sirius, Peter, and Remus (not in any particular order. Don’t be a tosser!) They’re all sitting around me while I’m writing this, so I might have to tear this entire thing to bits if someone peeks over my shoulder and sees that, but it’s true.

Quidditch! 

Snivellus’ expression when he’s enraged after being the butt of a particularly good prank. Yesterday’s was particularly good! I learned a new spell from one of Dad’s books, and he had to go about classes with giant boils on his equally giant beak until the healer got back from a training. It was brilliant! 

Evans’ hair in the sunlight

The way Evans has to fight a smile at some of your jokes

Evans’ smile in general

The way Evans’ face turns bright red when she wants to hex you in the middle of class, but can’t because she’s too afraid of landing in detention. She’d be so much more fun if she’d just unbend a bit!

Summer holidays at home with mum and dad (and Sirius, of course) 

Getting away with a particularly creative prank that you pulled off with all your mates. Doing it on your own is never as much fun, and you’re not as creative by half. 

Your birthday & all of the presents that comes with it. (It’s just passed, and mum and dad sent us the new Cleansweep! It’s bloody amazing! The handling, the finish, the acceleration -- well, I guess you know. But I don’t know how they’ll ever top that gift! 

There. That should’ve made you happier, even if you’re having a shit day. Though, this assignment would be a lot more fun if you could write back. I’d like to know what the future’s like -- feel free to nick a Time-Turner and pop back for a chat. I promise I won’t run mad if I see myself, or whatever it is the Ministry’s worried about. Because, seriously, if it’s near the end of 7th year like McGonagall said, are you training to play professional Quidditch? Have you already been scouted? Have you and the others figured out how to help poor Remus with his monthly problem, yet? Is Sirius any happier? Has Pete figured out how to transfigure a beetle into a broach without causing an explosion? Is Slughorn still the worst bloody teacher in existence? Does McGonagall’s stare-down in class still make you shut up, no matter how determined you are to keep talking? 

I guess I’ve got a few years before I find out, but I hope the answers are good ones. 

I hope life’s good for us by the time 7th year rolls around. I hope we’re happy, and still surrounded by our friends. I hope we’re still pulling pranks and being careful not to take life too bloody seriously, and that no one’s shoved a stick up our arse so we’ve forgotten to have fun. When you’re reading this, you’re almost free, and life should be amazing. Don’t screw it up! 

Sincerely, 

You. Me?