Disclaimer: All rights go to JK Rowling. Anything you don't recognize is mine.

Confession: I love the Marauders too much. I physically cannot stop myself from writing about them. Thus, this story was born.

Chapter One: Mudbloods and Other Assorted Curses

I was staring at him – again.

It was by sheer accident though, totally harmless and innocent, an honest mistake. At least, that was what I kept telling myself, though the argument started to lose its integrity after I had repeated it to myself for the fourteenth time since finishing my exam.

The large hourglass at the front of the Great Hall was running low, the sand trickling into the bottom at an alarming rate, and those who weren't finished with the essay portion of the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam were beginning to scribble furiously, rushed for time. I flicked my eyes away from him long enough to catch a glimpse of Severus Snape with his hooked nose pressed nearly flat against his parchment, his pale spider-like hand twitching his quill rapidly to form words, and I balked as I noticed he had written almost two whole feet of parchment. I had only managed one and a half, and I was slightly miffed about it now that I saw how much he had written.

"Five more minutes!"

I jumped at the sound of Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice; the Hall was completely silent, save for the mad scratching of quills and the occasional rustles of papers, and his voice was like a tiny trumpet call in the great room. Those who were still writing became harried and flushed, and I watched them in some amusement, drumming my fingertips on top of my desk.

I had finished my exam almost twenty minutes ago, which was why I wasn't cramming sentences together like a lunatic (ahem, Snape). I was a little bit nervous that I had finished so quickly, and I couldn't help wondering if I had gotten everything wrong despite thinking it was one of the easiest exams I had taken this week. Maybe it was easy because I was wrong. Or was it easy because I knew all the material already? Maybe I had gotten my concepts mixed up. There was that one question about the distinguishing traits of a werewolf that I hadn't been so sure about…

Enough, G, I scolded myself internally. You're freaking out over nothing.

I made a visible effort to relax myself, letting out the breath I had been holding and rolling my shoulders, trying to get the stiffness out of them. My brothers liked to joke that my posture was so straight because I had fallen on a meter stick when I was a child and it had gone up my…well, you know where, but they'd be as stiff as I was if they had had half the pressure placed on them as on me. I was the perfect child, the Ravenclaw, the prodigy. Anything less than flawless was a great travesty in my parents' eyes, but since my brothers were all Gryffindors, they got the free pass.

I glanced around the Hall out of boredom, determined to keep my eyes away from him. Two rows to my right and three behind sat my best friend, Florence Bellchant. She was staring at her parchment, unblinking, and several of her chestnut curls were sticking out at odd angles, probably from when she had gripped her hair desperately, as she did whenever she got too nervous. I had to roll my eyes at her antics; we had spent the last two nights revising for this exam, and I knew she had understood all the material, but I also knew that that wasn't going to stop her from worrying. It was practically a part of her personality at this point.

My eyes swept from desk to desk, pausing on anyone I knew or glossing over them completely. Discreetly tilting my head left, I let my gaze drift over the boy sitting two seats away from me, trying not to make my observation of him too noticeable. Remus Lupin was another Gryffindor and fellow Prefect, but also my competitor; we had been battling for the top spot in the class since our first year, and I glared at him from where I sat, watching him reread his answers as he scratched his chin with his quill. He looked a bit pale and peaky, and I felt smug at this, hoping his nervousness was costing him – not severely, of course, but just a few points to ensure that I had the better score.

Not too far away from Lupin sat mousy Peter Pettigrew, who was chewing on his nails and occasionally darting his eyes to his neighbor's paper, adding something new to his parchment after each glance, but I wasn't surprised; Pettigrew lacked talent, and after catching him cheating off me in Transfiguration third year, I had disliked him ever since. At first it had been a mystery to me as to why he hung around blokes like Lupin, who were so far out of his league, but I had to give the Gryffindor credit; if you were going to be insignificant, you might as well find some mates who made you look better than you really were.

A loud crack drew my attention away from Pettigrew, and I looked to see another one of his more talented friends, James Potter, seated further in front of me, tilting his head from side to side and popping his neck. He set down his quill and reached up to rumple his already messy hair, and after sneaking a glance at Professor Flitwick, he turned around and grinned at a boy sitting four seats behind him, and two before me.

Bugger.

Of course, he would look at him. It was like the messy-haired boy had read my thoughts and was now taunting me with the one thing I had told myself to stop doing. I couldn't help myself though; I had to see.

I shifted my gaze to the back of his head, my stomach experiencing the same sharp jolt it got whenever I saw him – Sirius Black.

He was lounging casually in his chair, tilting it back on two legs, and he shook out his mane of wavy black locks, my heart skipping several beats at the motion. He gave the thumbs-up to Potter, and I found myself staring at his hand, marveling at the olive tone of it and the graceful elegance of his fingers. They looked like they belonged on a piano player, but they were far too rough for that, calloused and worn from being a Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

He dropped his hand as Professor Flitwick turned back around, and I shifted my gaze away hastily, hoping no one had seen me practically drooling over the dark-haired boy. I doubted anyone had actually noticed; Florence was the only one who knew of my guilty little pleasure, and I intended to keep it that way.

Let me be absolutely clear about one thing: I did not fancy Sirius Black. In fact, I'd rather have a fascinating fixation of fanged puffskeins than him. It was no desire of mine to shack up with him in a broom cupboard at night like he was rumored to do with a new girl almost every week, and even so, he had no idea who I was. I had never spoken to him before, and the only contact we had ever had was in second year, when all this madness had started: he had bumped into me in the corridor once, barely sparing me a glance before muttering, "Sorry," and trotting off with his mates. Ever since then, I had made cringeworthy efforts to seek him out, only to admire him from afar.

I was perfectly content with him not giving me the time of day. It would spare everyone in the vicinity considerable embarrassment. He was just someone you couldn't help noticing, like a star twinkling out at you from the vastness of space and being the only thing you saw for hundreds of miles. His devastating good looks, his Quidditch talent, his brains, his charm…he had it all. Unfortunately, he knew it too, and that was why I kept far away from him. I didn't need someone like that to wreck all my life's plans on a whim; he was a rebel at heart, and no one could change that. I needed stability and sanity, and he needed… Well, someone who wasn't me.

"Quills down, please!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! Accio!"

More than a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick's outstretched arms, knocking him backward off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows, and lifted him onto his feet again.

"Thank you…thank you," panted Professor Flitwick, waving his wand and vanishing the pile of papers to somewhere they would be graded. "Very well, everybody, you're free to go!"

I jumped to my feet, hastily stashing my quill and the exam question paper into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I watched as Black stood and stretched luxuriously, and I'm sure an audible sigh escaped my lips as he went to join Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew.

"I knew I should've expected to find you making heart eyes at Black."

I turned quickly at the sound of the voice, my face flushing as Florence raised her brows at me, a half-amused, half-exasperated smirk on her face.

"I wasn't making heart eyes," I insisted, casting a nervous look around us, but no one was paying any attention.

"Please, I'm surprised you could even focus on your exam with him sitting two seats in front of you," she said, rolling her eyes as the talk in the Hall swelled, people beginning to stream out in great crowds.

"It was a challenge, but I rose to meet it with grace and resilience," I said, and she laughed, shaking her head.

"C'mon, stalker, I see Hess and Sera."

We wound our way through the rows of desks until we caught up to the other two girls who shared our dorm, Hestia Jones and Seraphina Selwyn. Hestia waved when she saw us, but Sera was chattering on as we approached, her voice reaching an octave that resembled Professor Flitwick's squeak.

"I know I messed up on Noval's Theory of Counterproductive Defensive Spells – my mind just blanked! And question thirty-eight I didn't understand at all — "

"Florence, Georgie!" Hestia said, cutting off Sera's rambling with a relieved expression. "How'd it go?"

Florence shrugged. "Not too shabby."

I scoffed, nudging her shoulder. "You were practically pulling out clumps of your hair at one point, Flo. Don't act blasé."

"I'm sorry that not all of us are at the top of the class, Miss Perfect," she said, rolling her eyes, and I only gave her an indulgent smile in return.

"Well, I guess we'll all find out our scores over the summer, after we take Transfiguration first, of course," Hestia said, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. "This means that we're almost done with OWLs! We should celebrate!"

Sera perked up at the word 'celebrate.' "Soiree by the lake?"

We all exchanged a glance, not even needing to confirm our unanimous answer out loud, and we giggled, falling into place amongst the exiting students and speculating what kind of party the fifth year Ravenclaws would be having later that week due to the blessed end of OWLs.

I snuck a quick glance over my shoulder, a shock of excitement going through me when I saw that the four Gryffindor boys were walking behind us, laughing uproariously at something that Lupin had said. I could see students all around us gazing to the famously dubbed 'Marauders' as we herded out of the Great Hall, their expressions hopeful, as if they wished to be noticed by them. Not one of them saw me, comfortable to be on the outside looking in, complacent in the knowledge that I would never be seen like the rest of them wanted to be.

In my staring spell, I hadn't noticed how close behind Hestia I had gotten, and I stumbled when I stepped on the back of her shoe, causing the other girl to trip and grab on to Sera's shoulder to keep her balance.

"Bloody hell, Georgie!" she said, turning around to eye me in exasperation. "Watch where you're stepping!"

"Sorry," I said, adjusting my bag strap awkwardly and hoping the boys still walking behind us hadn't noticed my blunder. They were still laughing away though, totally oblivious, so I was in the clear.

We made our way out onto the grounds, the summer breeze blissfully cool against the beating rays of the late afternoon sun, and the expansive lawn was filled with gamboling students, everyone taking advantage of the good weather. I followed behind my three friends, hearing the Marauders' chatter fading, but I tried not to feel disappointed about it.

"Merlin, it feels great to be outside again," Hestia said, flopping down onto a patch of grass near the lakeshore and kicking off her shoes, wiggling her toes.

"I almost forgot what fresh air tastes like," Sera agreed, sprawling on her stomach while Florence and I sat beside them. Florence followed their lead and stretched out on her back, but I remained crisscross, discreetly angling myself to where I could see the Marauders lounging underneath their signature beech tree.

Potter had brought out a struggling Golden Snitch from his pocket, and I wondered how he had gotten his hands on one since they were supposed to be locked up in the school's broom shed save for Quidditch practices and games; then again, after all the feats he had achieved over the years, I wasn't too terribly shocked at this one, but I couldn't help frowning as I watched him release it, only to snatch it back every time, Pettigrew's fawning evident even from where I was sitting, well out of earshot. Every time he grabbed the Snitch, he would rumple his hair even more and glance down to the water's edge, where another gaggle of girls sat cooling their feet in the shallows, and I snorted to myself when I saw the vivid flash of red hair that had to be Lily Evans, the target of Potter's affections since the first year.

"What about you, G?" Sera asked, pulling me away from my observation of the Marauders, and I realized with a faint flare of guilt that I hadn't been listening to their conversation at all. "Any special plans this holiday?"

"Not really," I said, shrugging and beginning to shred blades of grass I had plucked from the ground. "Just the same things I normally do. My parents have been writing me about early internships at the Ministry though, so I might have to do that."

"Yuck," she said, wrinkling her nose, and I shrugged again. "Well, if you ever get bored being a goody two-shoes, you can always come stay at my place for a week."

I gave her a faint smile. "We'll see."

I had nothing against Sera, really; she was sweet, despite being high-strung and slightly neurotic at times, but her family was what made me wary. The Selwyns were a highly regarded pure-blood family, part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and they were rather…outspoken in their views of blood purity in the wizarding world. Sera seemed completely indifferent to it all, which was reassuring, but I was sure her family would look down on me if I were to visit; although I had been born to both wizard parents, I was still undeniably a half-blood, and to the new regime, I was lesser than a pure-blood because of it.

"All right, Snivellus?"

The shout echoed across the grounds as if Potter's voice had been amplified, and I turned to see him and Black on their feet, staring at Severus Snape in avid anticipation as the sallow boy walked back toward the castle.

At the sound of Potter's voice, however, Snape had plunged his hand inside his robes, almost as if he had been expecting the attack, and his wand was halfway into the air when Potter shouted, "Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and landed with a little thud in the grass behind him. Black let out a bark of laughter, and my eyes darted to him quickly before I looked away, feeling Florence's gaze on my face.

"Impedimenta!" Black said, almost lazily, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet after making a dive toward his own fallen wand.

Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feet and were edging nearer, their faces ranging from apprehensive to entertained. My friends were in the former category.

"Why do they have to pick on the poor boy so much?" Hestia said, worrying at her lower lip. "I get that he's a Slytherin and that he runs round with a bad crowd and all, but they torment him almost daily! What's he ever done?"

"Who knows what goes on in those deranged Gryffindors' heads?" Sera said, running a hand through her platinum hair and trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, but I could see her fiddling with the sleeve of her robes uneasily.

Florence stayed silent, and my face began to heat as her eyes flicked between the scene unfolding before us and me, and I knew she was carefully gauging my reaction.

Snape lay panting on the ground. Potter and Black advanced on him, wands up, Potter glancing over his shoulder at Evans still by the water's edge as he went. Pettigrew was on his feet now too, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a better view while the sandy-haired boy pretended to be absorbed in his book. I couldn't help but to give him a scathing look; after all, he was a Prefect. Then again, so was I, and I turned away from him at the reminder, focusing back on the scene before me and making a half-hearted vow to intervene if things escalated.

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said Potter.

"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Black viciously, and I winced at his tone. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."

Several people watching laughed, and Snape's sallow face burned red. Pettigrew sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but he was clearly still winded from Black's jinx.

"You – wait," he panted, staring up at the two boys with an expression of purest loathing. "You – wait…"

"Wait for what?" said Black coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us? Tell your mean, scary pals to rough us up a bit?"

Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but with his wand being ten feet away nothing happened.

"Wash out your mouth," said Potter coldly. "Scourgify!"

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him —

"Do something!" Florence hissed at me as Snape began thrashing on the ground. "You're a Prefect!"

My eyes were wide, transfixed on what was happening before me, but after a hard nudge from Florence I got to my feet uncertainly. Taking a deep breath and steeling myself, I stepped forward, opening my mouth.

"That's enough — "

"Leave him alone!"

Potter and Black looked around. For one wild second, their eyes landed on me, and I felt my resolve waver, but the next they had looked away and were now focused on something over my left shoulder. Potter's free hand jumped to his hair again.

"All right, Evans?" he said, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature. I didn't have to hear a name to know who was approaching; only one person had that kind of nauseating effect on Potter, and it definitely wasn't me.

"Leave him alone," Lily Evans repeated vehemently. She was looking at Potter with every sign of great dislike. "What's he done to you?"

"Well," said Potter, appearing to deliberate the point, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…"

Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Black and Pettigrew included, but Lupin, still apparently intent in his book, did not, and neither did I or my friends or Evans.

"You think you're funny," she said coldly, her eyes flashing, "but you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," Potter said quickly, and I internally groaned at his stupidity. "Go on… Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

Behind him, Snape had finally managed to catch his breath. He began to inch toward his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled, and I teetered, unsure of what to do. It seemed that nobody else was noticing Snape, too engrossed in Potter's futile attempts to woo Evans, and after casting a nervous glance to the standoff, I slipped my wand into my hand.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," said Evans haughtily, and I tensed as Snape neared his wand, the crowd letting out low whistles around them.

"Bad luck, Prongs," said Black briskly, turning back to Snape. "OI!"

Snape had made a sudden dive for his wand, directing it straight at Potter as I raised my own; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of Potter's face, spattering his robes with blood.

"Expelliarmus!" I shouted, aiming my wand at Snape, and for the second time it flew out of his hand. Before I could do anything else, there was another flash of light, and suddenly Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants, with Potter's wand pointed right at him.

Many people in the crowd watching cheered. Black, Potter, and Pettigrew roared with laughter, and even I had to stifle a snort at the sight.

Evans, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, "Let him down!"

"Certainly," Potter said and he jerked his wand upward. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, snatching up his wand, but Black directed his own at him with an unfriendly sneer, saying, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Snape keeled over, as rigid as a board, and Evans's eyes nearly shot sparks.

"Will you – LEAVE HIM ALONE!" she shouted. She had her own wand out now. Potter and Black eyed it warily.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," said Potter earnestly.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

Potter sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse.

"There you go," he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, "you're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus — "

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" Snape spat, and the watching crowd grew still. I sucked in a sharp breath.

Evans merely blinked. "Fine," she said coolly. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."

"Apologize to her!" Potter roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

"I don't want you to make him apologize," Evans snapped, rounding on the other boy. "You're as bad as he is!"

"What?" Potter yelped. "I'd never call you a – you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can – I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me sick."

She turned on her heel and hurried away.

"Evans!" Potter shouted after her. "Hey, EVANS!"

She didn't look back.

"What is it with her?" he said, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," said Black, clapping him on the shoulder, and Potter's jaw tightened.

"Right," he said, now looking furious, "right — "

There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air.

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

There was another cheer, but I had seen too much.

"That's enough."

I strode forward, flicking my wand and muttering the countercurse. Snape went sprawling in the grass again, but my glare wasn't directed at him.

"And who are you?" Potter sneered at me, obviously angry that I had interrupted his show, but his tantrum needed to be reined in, and since Lupin obviously wasn't going to do anything and Evans had stormed off, that task was left to me.

"Ravenclaw Prefect," I said coldly, tapping the silver badge pinned to my robes, and I saw his hazel eyes, hidden behind two circles of glass, flicker uneasily. "And unless the two of you want to spend the rest of your term trapped in detention, then I suggest you let him go."

I pointed to Snape, who was now trembling with rage, and my next words were aimed at him. "And if you even twitch that wand in this direction, I'll make sure you get the same treatment. Now leave."

After a slight hesitation, in which Snape glared at me poisonously, he stowed away his wand and collected his bag, throwing one last look of loathing over his shoulder at the two boys before stalking back to the castle, disappointed murmurs and jeers to the pale boy erupting amongst the gathered crowd.

I turned back to the two boys in front of me, trying not to let my eyes stray to Black as I eyed Potter with the most authoritative glare I could muster.

"Show's over," I said to the crowd at large. "Go back to whatever you were doing before I start docking points."

There were several groans and complaints at this, but people started to disperse, already dissecting what had happened, and I knew that by dawn tomorrow there'd be a hundred different rumors.

"As for you two," I said, facing the two boys once more, "fifty points from Gryffindor for instigating an attack on a fellow student."

"Fifty points?" Potter echoed incredulously. "You've got to be joking! We're at a tie for the House Cup with Slytherin!"

"Fifty points can be made up easily," I said coolly. "Would you care to make it one hundred?"

Potter blanched. "No," he mumbled, and I nodded briskly.

"Good," I said. "You should get yourself to the hospital wing, Potter. That gash looks deep."

He started, reaching up to touch his cheek where Snape's curse had hit him as if he had forgotten it was there.

"Er, right," he said. He jerked his head at Pettigrew and Lupin, who had conveniently emerged from his book after Snape had gone, and the two boys obediently came over to him. "Let's go, mates."

With a last disgruntled look, Potter set off for the castle, the three boys trailing after him. I studiously avoided looking at Black until I was sure he was far enough away before chancing a glance, only seeing his retreating back. In all honesty though, it was better off this way. After this, I only had to suffer two more years before I could graduate and never see him again, and that shouldn't be too hard.

I wish I'd known back then how laughable of a statement that would turn out to be.

Please review! Any and all feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

xx