If you had sat fifth-year Gwen down and tried to break the news that at the start of next term she'd be working together with James Potter to craft a love potion, she would have laughed you straight out of the room and hurt your bloody feelings while she was at it.

But sixth-year Gwen wasn't feeling anywhere near as confident. Not as she was sitting in the library next to Potter, anyway.

He'd dragged her from the courtyard during sixth-years' free, which she'd planned on spending drilling Jackie and Walker at the pitches, all the way up to the library, ignoring her complaints and insults all along the way.

"I didn't even know you knew where the library was," she'd admitted, defeated, as she rested her chin in her palm. "I figured you'd just keep dragging me until I offed myself."

"Didn't realize that was an option," he responded blithely, his head four shelves of books higher than her as he scoured the entire section for anything they could use. She'd tried to tell him not to stand on the desktop, but he'd only used her shoulder as a grip to push himself off the ground.

"Can you come down already?" she called up, scowling. "I'm tired of speaking to your groin, Potter."

Wordlessly, he resurfaced from the top shelf, holding two books in each hand, and hopped off the desk. He held them out to her with a raised eyebrow that said 'look at what I did while you were complaining.'

     "Brilliant," she replied dryly. "Books that only one of us can read."

     "I can read, you know," he said, slamming the stack down for emphasis. "And not to mention how consistently you've been insulting me this whole time—notice how I haven't once retaliated with hatred? Kill them with kindness, I always say."

     She wanted to smack the teasing smile off his face.

     "James Potter," she declared, dryly, "always chivalrous."

     His eyes narrowed from behind his glasses. "If I knew what that word meant, I'm sure my feelings would be hurt. But since I don't, your joke is pointless."

She blinked up at him in disbelief, shaking her head. "You make it too easy, Potter."

"Anyway," he said pointedly, as he realized he was fighting a losing battle, and he pointed to the first book in the stack. "I found this one first: Advanced Potion-Making for Beginners."

"Redundant title," she muttered, reaching out to pick up the book.

"And this one seemed alright," he continued on, picking up the next one. "Amortentia and its Consequences: A Study on Love-Making."

She choked out a laugh, her eyebrows shooting up on her forehead. "Blimey, that's not real."

He held up the cover. "Read it and weep, Graham."

"Good thing you picked that one up, then," she said casually, reaching for the next one. "Know you need loads of help on that front."

"Oh, shut it!" he said, but he couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"Hey," said Gwen, her smile falling from her face as she registered the title of the third book. She held it up to James, brow furrowed. "Why.. Why're you picking up this one, Potter? A Werewolf's Guide to Everything Secular?"

When she looked up, James had gone sheet-faced. He wet his lips, eyes flickering over the cover as he thought up a lie to spit out. He'd always been a terrible liar; this was a fact known school-wide by their sixth year. So when he swallowed and lifted a shoulder, trying to tell her "I'm just worried—with all the attacks..", she had no intention of believing him.

     "James," she said, her voice low. She held up the book again. "You're reading this just because you're worried? You except me to believe that?"

     "Look," he said. Gwen had never, ever known him to sound so genuine. Ever. He leaned in, his eyes clouding over with something that looked like guilt. "I can't tell you, Graham. I really.. I wish I could, honest. But I promise you—you have nothing to worry about. It's nothing. I swear it."

     She regarded him for a moment, eyes flickering over his face for any semblance of a tell she could blame on lying, but he had never been more truthful. Besides, if she knew one thing about the Marauders, it was that they would die before they broke a promise.

     "Okay," she decided—a response which she figured she may have regretted later on, but one she thought would settle James enough to get them back to the topic at hand. "Fine. I'm trusting you, then. You say I have nothing to worry about, I'm going to believe that."

     "Okay," he agreed, with an earnest nod. "Good! Good. Right. Okay, erm.." He cleared his throat. "Back to love-making, then?"

     She couldn't help the laugh that brushed past her lips; James broke into a grin at the sound.

Maybe, Gwen thought, working with Potter wouldn't be all that bad.

Their study dates—if you could call it that—weren't too often, as they had both made it clear that they could only stand each other once every other week. So at the end of their first meeting, they set specific times when they could interact, practically forged an entire calendar of when they could or couldn't see each other.

     Only a week after the first meeting, though, Gwen found herself itching to track James down and get going on their potion already. She'd taken a peek at Lily's potions notes during History of Magic, and it looked like she and Snape had already nearly done their whole assignment. They'd made it out of the theorizing stage.

Well, really, there shouldn't have been a a theorizing step in the first place; one should just get straight to making the potion, if they knew what they were doing.

     "Ms. Graham," called Professor Mcgonagall, as the Ravenclaw brushed past her in the hall; she watched the young witch rush down the corridor, following her with her head, giving a disapproving glare. "You know better than to run in the corridors!"

Her voice carried down behind Gwen as she made it further away from the professor; she offered Mcgonagall an acknowledging, over-the-shoulder wave. "Sorry, Professor!"

But she was in too much of a groove to slow down. Besides, she wasn't even going that quickly, anyway—just enough to speed past the rest of the students who were walking much too slowly down the corridor. She just couldn't stop her feet from carrying her halfway across the school, from the Ravenclaw common room all the way to the Great Hall.

"Jeez, Gwen," said Sybill, shaking her head in disapproval as she sped past. "Slow down, will you?"

"You seen Potter?" she asked, skidding to a stop before her. "Anywhere?"

"Oh?" Sybill raised her eyebrows, her thick glasses glaring with the sun as she tilted her head to the side. "Rowena Ravenclaw is rolling in her grave, if Gwendolyn Graham is actively searching out James Potter."

     "Oh, shove off," said Gwen. Sybill had a point, though. She ignored it. "Have you seen him, or not? We've got to work on our—"

     "He's with the rest of them," Sybill replied. She waved a listless hand over her shoulder. "His little gang. Think they were headed down to the lake, if I had to guess."

Gwen nodded, growing unsure of herself—did she really want to confront all four Marauders, just so she could steal James away? If they even let him leave in the first place, she could be pretty much guaranteed to be their next prank victim. Was it even worth it?

Then Snape glided past her shoulder, brushing harsh contact right with her bone. She scoffed, stumbling over, as he headed right past her.

"Rumor has it, you and Potter haven't even started your project." He didn't even turn around to face her. "Slacking off, Graham? Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then."

     Gwen pursed her lips, inhaling sharply through her nose. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

     "Oh, nevermind." Snape lifted his greasy shoulders with a mockingly innocent air. "Just that... I shouldn't say, should I?"

     Sybill glanced between the pair of them, her eyebrows high on her forehead. "Quit being a git, Snape."

     "Seconded," said Gwen, crossing her arms. She stared Snape down so hard he could feel it through the back of his head, forcing him to turn around and face her. She raised an eyebrow wordlessly.

     Snape's lips twitched in a furiously smug way. He lifted another shoulder, quirking an eyebrow with it, playing the part of the nonchalant bloke. "You mustn't've seen the most recent issue of the Prophet, then, have you?"

"Merlin, Snape!" Gwen threw her hands in the air, her frustration and confusion taking over. She scoffed a disbelieving laugh. "You're mental! Can't you just spit out what the hell you're on about?"

This time, Snape actually gave off a laugh, shaking his head at her stupidity. "Just give the Prophet a little looksie, Graham."

     And then he was off, prowling down the hallway like a greasy menace ready to wreak havoc in his wake.

     Gwen rounded on Sybill, her brow furrowed furiously. "D'you know what he was talking about? What's new in the Prophet, Trelawney?"

     She hadn't noticed at the time, but once Snape had mentioned the Prophet, Sybill had drawn her lips together tightly and not uttered a single word again. When Gwen rounded on her, though, her big eyes widened all the more, and she shook her head, her lip quivering in what looked like worry.

     "It's.." She wet her lips, shaking her head again, regarding Gwen with her big, sad, bug eyes. "The Ministry.. they've been.. You know, with all the attacks... They had to... There's a list, in this week's... of all the... The people who they had to..."

Gwen inhaled sharply through her nose, losing patience; her voice held a bitterness to it that she couldn't hide. "Can't you just spit it out, Sybill?"

"It's not bad, or anything," she added quickly, waving her hands. "It's just.. Well, they've fired your dad, Gwen. That's all. It's... just the matter of them publishing it for the whole world to see that's the problem."

To be frank, Gwen had been expecting a lot worse. The way Sybill ramped the whole spiel up had made her think her father had been attacked. But fired? Sure, that was unfortunate. At least he was still alive.

"Oh." Gwen nodded in understanding, her lips pressed tightly together. "And now Snape's never going to let it go, is he?"

"Doesn't sound it," agreed Sybill quietly. She regarded Gwen for a moment, her lips twisted to the side. "I'm sorry, Gwen."

"Psh." Gwen lifted a shoulder with a casual sense, but her eyes were far away, lost in thought. "It'll be alright. Thank you for letting me know, Sybill. I'll see you later?"

Sybill nodded and, after offering her one more meek smile, headed off in the same direction as Snape.

Fired. The term wandered throughout her mind, and she found herself picturing her father, stood outside of the Ministry of Magic, a dejected cardboard box in his arms and his wand tucked behind his ear. He'd be beating himself up, she was sure; her mother was only a part-time Muggle tutor, so her father had been the breadwinner of the family... He'd have to find other ways to support his wife and daughter. No doubt, he'd already started looking.

But it was a bad time to be out of a job. There was a war brewing, and everybody knew it. Half-blood and Muggle-born families were being attacked at every turn. Knowing who to trust was a joker's gambit. The only way to get along was by watching one's own back, and trying to watch one's whole family made every little thing trickier and more dangerous. Gwen's father had always been her biggest hero, but the going was getting tough, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to rely on her parents for much longer.

"Graham."

She blinked. James Potter was in front of her, Remus at his side. The latter waved awkwardly.

"Graham," James said again, more forcefully. "You alright there? Thought you'd been cursed, or something, love."

"Not cursed," she said, her lips tugging down in a slight frown. "My dad's been fired. You hear?"

Remus's eyes turned glum, and Gwen was horribly afraid both of these boys were going to stand in front of her and feed her with pity—but James spoke first.

"I saw it," he said, casually, as though referencing the weather. "Can't believe they've published an entire list of who'd been fired in the Prophet, right? Made everything ten times worse, I think. But Dad's wrote me, and he said that they finally got rid of that grumpy old podger who ran the Department of Underage Misuse of Magic, so that's good news, but not much else on that front. Ooh, except for that he also told me the first Hogsmeade visit is two weeks away, so that's brilliant. And—"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Gwen's eyes were wide, complete incredulity written across her face. "Merlin, you could go on for ages, couldn't you?"

"He's trying to make you feel better," said Remus, tilting his head to the side. He eyed James. "That's what he does. Mate's not good at the whole talking-your-feelings thing, but he's got the highest degree in talking-your-ear-off."

Gwen's lips fought to smile. She cocked an eyebrow. "You're trying to make me feel better, Potter?"

He exhaled a scoff, shoving Remus's shoulder. "Not because we're mates, or anything. Just thought you could use a bit of good news, is all. And I know you like Hogsmeade trips more than anyone in our year—"

"This is true," added Remus with a nod.

"But also," continued James, raising a hand to get both of the others' attention; he smiled coyly. "I've just remembered something else that'll get you back to yourself in no time, Graham."

"Oh, yeah?" Gwen crossed her arms. "What's that, Potter?"

"The Halloween party." James grinned as though he'd just delivered the best news in the world. "It's next week, mate. That oughta get your hopes right on up, yeah?"

     Remus's eyes went wide, and he slapped himself on the forehead. "Oh, bloody hell, Prongs. That's why we're down here, anyway. To get the booze."

     "Oh!" James's face lit up. "Right. Completely forgot, Moony; that's my fault. Let's get going, then..."

     "Right," said Gwen, nodding with them. "You know, now you've got me thinking about it, I can bring along some Muggle beers and things to the party. I mean, only if you two think I—"

     "Blimey," said James, who'd gone slack-jawed. "Yes! That's brilliant, Gwen. That would be brilliant."

     "Where d'you know to find Muggle alcohol around here?" questioned Remus—though not in a way that made Gwen think he'd snitch on her. More in a way of someone who would take the knowledge and use it for himself.

     "You've just got to know who to ask and what to say," she said spritely, smiling. "Right, then I'm off, boys. You both have fun trying to sneak your cases of Firewhiskey up the stairs without Filch catching you."

     James returned the grin, cheekily. "Oh, we've got our ways."

     "Sure, and I don't want to know," Gwen responded. She nodded to the both of them, then headed off past them back to the Common Room.

     It was only when she stepped foot through the door that she realized why she'd been meaning to track down James in the first place, and their potion remained unmade for yet another day.

VIAS CORNER :)
sry filler chap :/ next chapter is my FAV OF THIS ENTIRE BOOK I LOVE IT so get excited