For some reason Gwen could not begin to understand, the majority of the sixth-year Gryffindors had grown incredibly attached to blasting Muggle bands twenty-four seven throughout the school, whenever they got the chance. And when Gwen reached earshot of the Gryffindor Common Room, she wasn't sure what else she'd been expecting than a non-magical tune reverberating around the whole perimeter.

"What even is this?" asked Jackie, her nose scrunching at the sound. "What's their obsession with Muggle bands? I just—I don't get it."

     "Oh, Pettigrew told me about this one," said Maxwell, excited to have known something the others didn't. He puffed out his chest and smiled to himself, telling the others, "This is BABB. Mia's Mother. Mary's favorite, she probably requested it."

"Bloody annoying, is what it is," muttered Gwen, as Jackie offered the Fat Lady's portrait the password that Sirius had provided to everyone invited through a shared note. At first, Gwen hadn't been fully sure they could trust Sirius to truthfully get them into the party, but the portrait swung open without fuss and the full force of the party hit them.

The repetitive song playing over the entire party was impossibly louder than it had been only a moment ago, leading Gwen to believe somebody had attempted (and only part-way accomplished) a silencing charm over the function to ward off any skepticism. Red and yellows streamers were tied from the ceiling and hung practically every which way. Confetti littered the ground. A banner was strung up above the center of the room, reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PADFOOT! in messy lettering.

"Oh," said Jackie, looking displeased. "Had I known this was a party for Black, I wouldn't've come."

"You're already here," Gwen pointed out. She nodded to the cupcake in Jackie's hand. "Take that to him for me, would you? I wasn't sure what else to get him. And I've got to get these to Remus, I think.." She held up the cases of Muggle beers, scanning the room for the lankiest Marauder.

"Oh, sure." Jackie scoffed. "Send his bloody ex to give him your own gift. Great friend, you are, mate."

"Yeah, love you, too," said Gwen, only half-way listening as she was lured off to the corner she'd spotted Remus in. "Lupin!"

He looked over, his height providing a vantage point to easily spot her in the crowd. He'd been sitting on the sill of an open window, lit cigarette in hand, but when he saw Gwen his face broke into a smile warmer than she'd ever seen from him. He reached out to take the cases from her.

"God, Graham," he said with a groan, setting the cases down and flexing his arms uncomfortably. "How much conditioning do they make you do for Quidditch? Jeez."

Gwen smiled, amused at the languid conversation starters of a tipsy Remus Lupin. "How much have you had to drink tonight, Remus?"

"Three shots," he said, holding up four fingers. "Had to use something to act as a buffer between my ears and this god-awful mixtape. I mean, hell, they call this music?"

"You can say that again, mate." Gwen bent down and cracked open the top case, picking up three bottles and easily popping each of them open on the edge of the wood. "You seen Potter around?"

     "Last I saw..." Remus's eyes drifted off to the furthest corner of the room and he nodded, taking one of the bottles from Gwen and pointing to the bottom of the staircase to the boys' dormitory. "Over there, with Mary. 'F I were you, I'd go swing in before they get a little too absorbed with each other, it y'know what I mean..."

     Gwen raised her eyebrows. She'd made to go and find James, give him his first Muggle beer, but Remus stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to him with a raised brow.

     "Sorry?"

     But he was gone, completely enthralled in his cigarette, Gwen a long-forgotten conversation in his twisted mind.

     "Oi!" grinned Sirius Black, stumbling over from the blonde Hufflepuff he'd only momentarily ago been all over. "Gwenny-goo. Didn't know you were coming!"

     Gwenny-goo cringed horribly at the nickname, shaking her head in immediate disapproval. She nodded behind Sirius to the Hufflepuff. "What happened to Mary?"

     "Oh." Sirius waved a hand, and he nearly fell over in the process. "Broke up."

     Gwen's lips formed an O. She nodded. "Sorry, then."

     "Don't be," he said, eyeing the beer bottles in her hands. "Oi, one of those for me, then? The birthday boy?"

     "Your birthday's not for another four days, mate." Gwen jerked her chin over to the cases. "Y'can go get one for yourself, though, if you want it that bad."

     He curled his lip in a mock-scowl. Then, as though he were seeing her for the first time, his eyebrows shot up on his forehead and he put his hands on her shoulders. Gwen felt dangerously close to becoming the next blonde Hufflepuff or Mary Macdonald, but Sirius's eyes were wide like he'd only just remembered something.

     "You!" he said, nodding vehemently. "Right. I was supposed to... James. Right. Yeah. Prongs is looking for you. He's... Well, I don't know where he is now, but—"

     "Thanks, Black," she said, patting him once on the chest. "You get back to drinking your brains out, mate. Happy birthday."

And she left him to his own devices, which she figured wouldn't've been a good idea, had Remus not been four feet away from him. She trusted Remus to stop him from doing anything too bad.

As Gwen made her rounds through the party, not trying too hard to get caught up in any conversation for too long, she observed each small interaction she passed like a true Ravenclaw. Marlene and Grant were talking on the red plush couch in the center of the room, both looking a bit too cosy for it to be a family-friendly conversation. Peter had found his Hufflepuff girlfriend and was coddling up with her in the corner, almost acting like a guard dog if any boys got too close. Jackie and Sirius had rekindled their past connection, it seemed, as they were snogging each others' brains out in the far corner. Lily and Sybill were engaged in what looked like a very uncomfortable conversation at the base of the girls' dormitory staircase. Mary was now smoking out the open window with Remus. Maxwell and the other younger students had started up some sort of drinking game that looked of Muggle origins, and Maxwell looked quite interested in the redheaded Slytherin at his side.

"You just going to watch everyone?" came a familiar voice from behind her, and she turned to find James leaning against the wall in the portrait tunnel leading out to the hallway. He raised his eyebrows. "Or are you going to engage in the party?"

     "I was told you're looking for me, actually," she said, offering him a tight-lipped smile. She held one of the bottles out towards James, stepping into the stone tunnel with him. "For you."

"Aha!" James grinned, taking the bottle from her and inspecting it closely. "Muggle beer. You're brilliant for this, Graham. I've never tried it before."

She took a sip from her own. "I can't believe I'm introducing you to Muggle liquor. I deserve a bloody medal for this, mate."

He held up his bottle, and she clinked the top of hers to the bottom of his. "Cheers," he agreed, then knocked back at least half the drink in one swing. Gwen watched him, growing more impressed the longer he drank. When he came up for air, he whooped happily, throwing a fist in the air.

"So?" Gwen asked, laughing.

"Holy Merlin," he said, eyes sparkling like he was a first-year and it was his first time in Zonko's. "That's bloody brilliant! Where has this been all my life?"

"It's not that good," she said, tilting her head with leniency. "You're just so used to Firewhiskey. But wait until tomorrow morning, and we'll see what you think."

"Why?" he asked, eyes wide with excitement. "Don't tell me it gets better? Oh, Muggles are wonderful!"

She stifled a laugh, lips parting in speechless amusement. "You know... I'll just let you find out for yourself."

James smiled, watching her fiddle with the ends of two streamers, his eyes following her hands. He paused for a moment, the smile falling from his lips and shifting into a faint look of what seemed like respect. "You're not who I thought you were, you know."

"Oh, bloody..." She sighed, taking a long drink from the bottle and shaking her head. "If there's one thing I hate, it's deep drunken talks. Let's keep this surface level, please, Potter."

"But I'm not drunk," he said defensively, a hand on his chest. He sloshed the drink. "This is my first. Now, unless you've been going at it harder than Padfoot without my knowledge, neither of us are drunk, and therefore this is not a deep drunken talk."

She exhaled a laugh, rolling her eyes. "You're incredibly stubborn."

"No, I just care about things." The words were cocky and, had it been anyone else saying it, Gwen would've laughed in their face; but Potter said it casually and with the tone that made her think that he truly meant it. "And anyway, I don't know anything about you, to begin with."

"That's not true." She dropped the streamers and glanced up at him, offering a smile. "We've gone to school for six years, James. You really don't know me at all?"

"Not the way I'd like to," he said, truthfully. He raised his eyebrows, then leaned back against the wall, drawing in a long breath. "Alright, here's what I do know. You and Moony get along, which tells me two things: one, that you can't possibly be that insufferable. And two, that you have good taste."

She scoffed a laugh. "Good taste?"

"Good taste," he repeated, and did not elaborate. "You're a brilliant Seeker, and you'd probably be the best in the whole school if it weren't for me. Also," he said, ignoring her tipsy cackle of disapproval, "you captain your team well, and I can tell that next year will be a good one for Ravenclaw. You're doing just okay at Potions, your marks in Defense are down, and you got the lowest score in the class on the Transfiguration essay—"

"The hell is this leading up to?"

"—and yet," he said, followed by a dramatic pause, in which he held up a hand, "you got near perfect scores on the O.W.L.s, which tells me that either something changed over the summer or you've just given up on school. And since I also know your dream is to work as an Auror, I can safely say it's not the second one. Oh, and your favorite color is the one the leaves on the Whomping Willow turn in the spring."

At the last fact, Gwen raised her eyebrows, a perplexed smile on her face.

James exhaled a sigh. He gestured loosely to his eyes. "Colorblind."

Her lips parted, a look of almost amused shock shifting into her face. She wiped it away, though, and nodded, offering him a casual shrug. "Sure. Mhm. That's.. not weird. I won't make any comments about that."

     Despite himself, James laughed. "You'd better not; you're the only person I've told."

     "Not the rest of them?" She scoured her brain for those stupid nicknames the Marauders used for each other. "The... Moby... and... Patchwork and Prongs?"

     James laughed heartily at that—his head rolled back, and the sound spread warmth all throughout their quiet little cove beside of the party. He laughed for a good moment, and Gwen laughed with him.

     "Moony," he corrected, breathless and still grinning. "And Padfoot. Wormtail. I'm Prongs."

     "Ah." Gwen nodded as though it all made sense, when in actuality she knew she'd forget the correct names the moment she walked away from the conversation. "Okay, so do I get to know why you lot have those stupid names, or no?"

     James shook his head. He crossed his hand over his heart. "To the grave. And anyway, I can tell you're just trying to avoid my incredibly accurate psychoanalysis of you, so let's get back 'round to that."

"Smooth," laughed Gwen. She lifted a shoulder, then dropped it, wordless for a few seconds as she focused, really, on everything James had said. She'd never realized how much he paid attention to her. Or anyone, really—she'd always seen him as a self-righteous prat who didn't care about anyone in the world except for himself. But knowing that he wasn't, and that he actually cared about quite a lot—it came as a wake-up call to Gwen. James Potter was not the prick she'd always thought he was.

"I don't know," she admitted, after a moment. "I haven't been meaning to. Drop my marks, I mean. It's just, the war, and everything. I spend half my nights at my desk instead of sleeping so I can be ready if an owl comes and my parents need my help. Which I know is daft, but it's all I can do while I'm at school."

"Not daft," said James. He smiled, "Quite brave, in my opinion. You know how many people here would ever think they're supposed to be protecting their parents, instead of the other way 'round? Good judge of character, I say."

Gwen laughed again, though it was more hollow, faker. Her shoulders caved in on herself and she dropped the smile. "My mum's a Muggle. Means my family's higher-risk. That's what the Ministry's saying, at least. Did you ever get that, from all those years you were stalking me?"

His eyebrows raised. "No, I..."

He didn't finish his sentence—but he didn't have to. A bitter taste overtook Gwen's mouth. She turned herself away from him. "Right," she said, nodding. She went to stand. "Of course. Almost thought, for a second, that people could look past blood statuses. 'Course not."

She patted her lap off and picked up her beer, ready to forget the whole conversation and drink her mind away, but James grabbed her hand and stopped her from walking off. He stood, too, and met her eyes.

"I'm a lot of things," he said lowly, "but I'm not.. one of those. I would never judge you, Gwen."

It was only when her eyelids fluttered and she glanced down to his lips that the both of them realized how close they were to each other. But neither made a move away.

Gwen swallowed. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "You're not bad, James."

His lips danced into a smirk. "And neither are you."

It happened in a split second—one of them leaned in, but it was unclear who. Maybe both of them, at the same time. Their lips were close. His hand reached up to her face, but in the haste, his beer had gone completely forgotten, and it upturned from his other hand, spilling all down the front of her shirt.

"Shit," he exclaimed, as Gwen shot backwards. His eyes widened as he watched the liquid seep into her shirt. "Oh, bloody—Gwen, I'm sorry, I—"

"Hey," she said, waving a hand and putting on a calm façade, "it's fine, mate. Don't.. don't worry about it."

"No, here.." He set down the now-empty bottle, wasting no time before taking off his Quidditch jumper and holding it out to her. When she didn't take it immediately, he held it further out. "Come on, it's the least I can do."

     With a sigh, she accepted, tossing the red and yellow stripes over her head and sliding into it as though it was something she did every day. When she emerged, she looked at James, eyebrows raised.

     "How do I look?"

     He laughed at her tousled hair and flushed cheeks, but it was with no malice. "Like a true Gryffindor," he admitted. "Ow!" he added, when she punched his shoulder. He rubbed the sore spot.

     Gwen's attention caught on something over James's shoulder, and her face dropped. "Your pal Padfoot looks like he's enjoying this party a bit too much," she said, nodding to where Sirius was climbing up to the balcony so he could 'crowdsurf'.

     James's eyes widened as he turned around. "Oh, shit. I should.. go stop that," he said. "I'm sorry, but–"

     She shook her head, waving a hand. "Don't be. Go save your mate from killing himself."

     As James rushed through the crowd, Gwen watched Sirius pump a fist into the air from the balcony, yelling "I watched David Bowie do this once! Everyone CATCH ME!"

The party died down soon after Sirius hit the floor like a sack of flour and Remus and James had to carry him up to the dormitory. Everyone filtered out, the exhaustion of the night and their non-stop festivities finally catching up to them.

Jackie found Gwen not much later, sporting a big, red kiss mark on her cheek and a tacky top hat. She had clearly indulged herself plenty throughout the night; whether that be in Firewhiskey or Sirius.

"Nice sweater," she told Gwen, giggling. "D'd you and Potter... do it?"

"If by 'do it', you mean spill beer all over me," said Gwen, "then yes. C'mon, Maxwell can get you back to the common room safely... Oh, where is that boy?"

"Maxwell?" Jackie pointed over to the games closet. "Found himself a lady-friend. He's incapacitated at the moment."

Gwen gagged. "Okay, fine. Then you can go with Grant."

"I'm sober," said Grant, who was very clearly not. He nodded slowly. "I am sober and can soberly take Jackie back to the common room. Soberly."

     "Right," said Gwen. "Okay, then. I'll see you both there. I've got to... Oh."

     Grant and Jackie had gone before she'd even looked up. She frowned; the Gryffindor common room was entirely empty, save for herself. But she wanted to return James's jumper. She thought about only setting it on the back of the armchair and calling it a day, but then she wondered if any of the younger Gryffindors would try to take it as their own, so she thought it best to deliver it to James personally.

     While Gwen had never been in a boys' dormitory or a Gryffindor dormitory before, she figured that the sixth-year room was a pretty messy example of the average one. There were ties strewn haphazardly across the floor, bedposts cracked, bottles rolling around beneath the beds.

     She frowned and knocked on the half-open door, pushing it open when one of the boys called out their approval. She first noticed the retching from behind the closed bathroom door, and then the snoring of Peter Pettigrew's unconscious body.

     "Oh." Remus, sitting in his bed, didn't have a shirt on. He scrambled for his jumper, talking through the fabric as he pulled it over his head, "What are you doing up here?"

     Gwen held out Potter's jumper. "Came to return this. Where...?"

     Remus emerged from the jumper and nodded towards the bathroom. "Padfoot had a bit too much tonight and needed to hold a hand. I wouldn't go in there, if I were you."

     "Right," she said, nodding. She pointed to Peter's unconscious frame. "And him?"

     Remus eyed him for a second. "He seems alright. Breathing, at least."

     The door to the bathroom swung open, and Gwen caught a glimpse of Sirius's limp body coiled over the toilet bowl, groaning and moaning. James shut the door as swiftly as he'd opened it, sliding out elegantly.

     He was in his undershirt, untucked from his pants, and his tie was around his forehead. His glasses were askew. It took him a moment to register Gwen's presence, but when he did, his cheeks started glowing a deep red color and he straightened out his glasses.

     "He okay?" she asked, nodding to the bathroom.

     James frowned thoughtfully. "Not physically or mentally, but on some level, yes. What are you here for?"

     She held up his jumper again. "Thanks for letting me borrow this."

     He nodded to her shirt, stained a gross beige by the beer. "Did I ruin that, then?"

     She looked down, peeling the shirt from her stomach, and scoffed. "No, of course not. I quite fancy this design, actually. Don't you?"

     He smiled. "You make it work."

     A silence fell over them, in which Peter let out a loud snore. Remus tossed a pillow over to land on his head.

     "Right," said Gwen, nodding. She handed James his sweater, though made an effort to keep as much distance between their bodies as possible. "It's late. I should make sure Jackie and Grant made it back okay. I'll see you lot around."

     "G'night, Gwen," said Remus, waving. His nose was buried in a book.

     "Remus," she acknowledged on her way to the door. She glanced one time at James and did not wave nor smile; she just tightened her lips and turned her back to him. The door shut on her heels.

     Through the wood, she could hear James throw himself onto his bed and Remus's (not at all subtle) "That was just painful, mate."