Author's Note

This story firmly ignores the canon that James Potter's parents were most likely in their old age—or at least, the Wizarding equivalent of old age—when James was born. Instead, Astraea and Reynard Potter are about twenty-four to twenty-five years old when this blessed event happens.

I'm also playing around a bit with the canon concerning the Longbottom family. In one of the books it is mentioned that Minerva McGonagall knows that Neville's grandmother failed her Charms O.W.L. Now, I'm planning on making Augusta Longbottom a contemporary of James' parents, which means, in this story at least, that she was at school from 1948 to 1955, but McGonagall only started teaching at Hogwarts in 1956.

Now if you were to adjust Augusta Longbottom's age so that she would be taking her O.W.L.s in 1956, that would mean she was only fifty-five or fifty-six years old during the events of DH—hardly a 'little old lady' as Neville described her.

So let's just pretend Flitwick loves to gossip about his students' O.W.L. scores, okay?

Argh, my head hurts…

SPECIAL CREDITS! Thank you very much to SuperSpy, who allowed me to borrow her idea of the 'thought spell' and the 'story mode' from her own story, The Diary of Lily Evans. If you haven't read it yet, GO READ IT. It's bloody brilliant, I tell you.

Haha, I used the word 'bloody'. –grin–

Okay, enough prattle. Go on, read, and don't forget to review!

Summer, 1976

"Padfoot, you prat, that was my foot!"

"Sorry, Moony."

"Ow! That was my other foot!"

"Keep it down or Mum'll hear us!"

Four teenagers were slowly creeping up a winding staircase in the Potter mansion, dressed in only their pajamas. They were doing their best to keep quiet, although as anybody could plainly see, they were failing miserably.

"Well," said Remus waspishly, "if this gormless pillock would just quit trodding on my feet—"

"And if you didn't have such bloody big feet—"

"Quiet!" hissed James. "We're almost there. Just got to get past Mum and Dad and we're home free."

All four of the Marauders tensed as they tiptoed down the third floor corridor. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were unusually adept at detecting any mischief being performed in their house—much to their son's dismay.

As they passed by the set of ornate French doors leading to the Potters' bedroom, soft laughter and the rustling of crisp sheets reached their ears. The Marauders froze, pressing themselves against the wall.

"Should've brought the Invisibility Cloak," muttered Peter. He was quickly hushed by his three friends.

And then the sound of a throaty moan floated out into the corridor, followed by an almost inaudible whimper.

Mingled expressions of disgust and alarm crossed each of the Marauders' faces. Without being prompted, each of them ran down the hall like Voldemort himself was on their heels. They were urged on by Sirius, who kept hissing under his breath, "Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!" interspersed with frightened sobs of, "Ew, ew, ew, ew…"

Only when they had scampered up the staircase to the attic and safely locked the door behind them did any of the Marauders breathe. "Merlin's beard, that was upsetting," said Peter dryly. He was sweating profusely, and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his damp face.

"'Upsetting'?" echoed Sirius, who was leaning against the door. "Try 'traumatic'."

"Hoy, at least you didn't actually see anything," muttered James.

"Merlin's underpants, Prongs, are you saying you actually saw…?" Sirius' expression was nothing short of terrified.

"No, no, no," James interrupted hastily. "Holy Circe, I'd be scarred for life! No, I saw them snogging in the kitchen, is all."

"Oh."

There was a silence, thick with embarrassment and tension.

Then, Remus said, "Getting over the fact that we've just heard Prongs' parents shagging—"

"Moony!" James cried.

"Just had to say it, didn't you?" Peter groaned.

"Bloody werewolf," grumbled Sirius.

"—what'd you want to show us?" Remus finished, looking at James.

Immediately, the disturbing mental image of his parents doing…things…vacated James' mind, to be replaced with the memory of a certain object he had found earlier that morning. "I was clearing a space up here for us to get plastered the night before we leave for King's Cross—"

"Typical," muttered Remus. "In celebration of our seventh year beginning at Hogwarts, we get trashed."

"—and," continued James, ignoring Remus, "I found this." He whipped out his wand and said, "Accio diary."

A handsome, blue leather-bound book flew out of an open trunk and zoomed straight into James' hands, nearly knocking Peter on the head as it zipped by. James opened the diary to the first page and read aloud, "The diary of Astraea Selwyn, September 1955 to August 1956."

"Bloody Merlin, Prongs, you dragged us all the way up here for a bleeding diary?" said Remus incredulously.

"We had to hear your parents…" Peter trailed off and turned a violent shade of red, making a vague gesture with his hands. "…for a diary?"

Sirius slapped a hand to his forehead in disbelief.

"Not just any diary, mates," said James, grinning. "My mum's old diary, from when she was in Hogwarts."

"So your mum wrote a fat lot about your dad. Big deal," said Sirius grumpily.

"No, actually," replied James, casually flipping through the book.

"So what, then, did your mum write about?" asked Peter.

James put on his blandest smile. "Well…things."

"Okay, Prongs, I know that smile," said Remus accusingly. "You've found something in that diary. Out with it."

The look spreading across James' face could only be described as wicked. "Let me put it to you this way, gents," he said. "After we read this, my mum will never be able to scold us about foul language, mischief-making, and casual sex ever again."

Typically, the words 'casual sex' was what had caught the Marauders attention.

Three pairs of eyes widened, and three jaws dropped.

Sirius straightened up and brought out his wand, then began conjuring up mattresses, sheets, blankets, and pillows.

"Sirius?" Remus asked weakly. "What are you doing?"

"Conjuring up bed things. What does it look like I'm doing?" said Sirius. "We are not leaving this attic until we finish reading that book." He dropped onto one of the mattresses and stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest. "Well?" he said, looking round at the rest of the Marauders. "What are you waiting for? Make yourselves at home."

Chuckling at Sirius' antics, the Marauders made themselves comfortable on the conjured-up mattresses. James created a small hill of pillows and perched on top of it, pompously rifling through the diary's pages.

"What on earth are you doing, Prongs?" asked Peter.

"Being a proper storyteller, of course," replied James. "You can be the silly grandchildren who scuttle all about their grandmother's feet."

"Would that make you the grandmother then?" asked Remus dryly.

"Hush! Do you want me to read this or not?"

"We would've done perfectly fine reading it all on our own."

"But ah, dear Moony, you forget," said Sirius slyly, "Peter here can't read."

"Hey! I can too read."

"Relax, Wormtail, Padfoot was joking."

"Wormtail wouldn't know a joke if it bit him in the—"

James cleared his throat loudly. "If you're quite finished," he said, sounding an awful lot like Remus, which prompted the Marauders to laugh.

"Get on with the bloody reading, then," said Sirius.

"Right." James turned a page, and began to read. "1st of September, 1955…"

1 September 1955

Hogwarts Express

This must be the stupidest thing I've ever done. Keeping a diary, I mean. But according to Mum, it'll 'provide an accurate record of your last year at Hogwarts for you to enjoy in your old age' and 'serve as an outlet for that explosive temper of yours, dear'.

I do NOT have an explosive temper.

I have…an attitude problem.

That's DIFFERENT.

But my mum just won't LISTEN.

This will be my absolute downfall if anyone finds this.

I tell this to my two best friends, Augusta Madrigal, and Livy Stratford, who will categorically and cheerfully murder anyone who dares to use her full name of, 'Silvia'.

"Astraea, dear, if you're so convinced that the discovery of your diary will lead to your utter ruin," says Augusta, quite reasonably, "then it's a simple matter of keeping the thing hidden."

Oh, yes. Now why didn't I think of that?

Livy grins. "You're wearing that 'now why didn't I think of that?' look of yours," she tells me.

I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her and settle for a very dignified glare.

Augusta rolls her eyes. "Play nice," she warns, before returning her nose to her book. Augusta's a very scholarly sort. I've never seen her without a book within easy reach.

Right, then. Details. I suppose I should expound and so on. 'Proper documentation' and all that rot.

My name is Astraea. Astraea Eurydice Selwyn, but only Mum's allowed to use my middle name. I have two sisters and a brother. Cassandra is in her third year, this is Penelope's first year (and Merlin's bollocks has she been bothering me about the Sorting, but I'm certainly not telling her about it), and Hyperion just graduated last year.

Yes, yes, we have all names from Greek mythology. It's a family tradition. My ancestors were off their rocker. And apparently so were my parents.

Well, in fairness, I have it better than my brother. Hyperion. Honestly.

Merlin's bollocks, when I've got my own sprog he or she's going to have a nice, plain name. Like James. James is a good name. (Jamie for a girl, I suppose…)

I'm in my seventh year, have I mentioned that? I'm in Gryffindor, and a Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I generally get good grades, but I tend to get in trouble quite a bit, and I'm pretty sure Professor Meek hates me.

Bloody woman has no sense of humor, let me tell you.

Well, to be fair, I wouldn't think it quite amusing if someone released several mice with Engorgement Charms placed on them in my classroom.

Augusta! Who the bloody hell gave you the bloody right to magic your thoughts in MY diary, hmm?

Language, Astraea, darling. I was curious. You seemed very interested in that little book of yours. Who taught this spell to you, by the way?

My mum. She was the one who suggested I keep the diary in the first place.

And you went along with it, why?

Well, I had nothing better to do.

Merlin's beard…

All right, already. I'm being completely idiotic about this. Now Augusta, GO AWAY. You're DISTURBING me.

Aw, does this mean I can't join in?

LIVY!

I was wondering why you and Augusta suddenly looked like you were constipated. Clever little spell, this.

We did NOT look like we were constipated!

No, I suppose not, you looked like you had diarrhea.

Side effects of the thought spell?

Hmm…I suppose so. Well, just in case, once we get to school I'm going to find a way to make the spell undetectable.

By the way, we're all in one compartment, so why are we conversing in Astraea's diary when we could just talk?

"Good point," says Augusta, and re-buries her nose in her book. So it's just me and Livy now.

This'll be dead convenient for passing notes in class.

True, that. So how does it work on your end anyway? I know you cast the spell by pointing at yourself then at the place you want your thoughts to go, but how do you see the words in the diary?

Oh, it's quite clever, really. This little window appears on a flat surface of your choosing, and you can see the words appearing on the page in that little window. AND no one else can see the window.

You're right, that IS dead clever. Where's your window?

On my lap. It's quite amusing to see words crawling along on my skirt.

How come you and Augusta know so much about this spell anyway?

We've got our own diaries, though we've since stopped keeping them. Not every girl has your strange aversion to recording one's thoughts and secrets, you know.

Be it on our own heads, then. Now get out of my diary.

Or what?

Or I'll charm it so you can't think in it anymore.

I'd like to see you—

Haha, that's got her there.

Livy just stuck her tongue out at me. I smile superiorly and return to my diary.

Augusta Madrigal and Livy Stratford. Some days they're the best friends any girl could ever ask for, others they're a right pain in the arse.

I think I've mentioned before that Augusta's a very scholarly sort. She gets the best grades in our year (except in Charms, haha), and has mastered the art of dry wit. She's a prefect, too, and really quite pretty, but a stickler for the rules and very bossy.

Livy is her exact opposite. I've never met a louder, more rambunctious person than her (except for Reynard Potter, but I'm NOT going to soil my diary with thoughts of that prat). She loves to have fun and doesn't quite care for studying, but manages to scrape by with pretty okay grades.

Oh, look, there goes John Lupin. He's a nice bloke, quite cute, also a Gryffindor and in my year, and he's a prefect too. He sees us and waves, and we all wave back.

Suspiciously, Livy's cheeks turn this brilliant shade of red.

Hmm…

OH MY DEAR SWEET SUGAR QUILLS!

MERLIN'S BOXERS, LIVY STRATFORD! YOU LIKE JOHN LUPIN!

Livy's glaring at me now.

Oops, did I say that out loud?

Apparently I did.

"Relax, Livy, I don't think John heard that," Augusta says soothingly, though by the way she raises her eyebrows at me I can tell she's rather surprised too.

Merlin, what a development! Loud, prank-happy Livy Stratford liking quiet, studious John Lupin? I never thought I'd see the day.

And there's Dorian Longbottom. Also a nice bloke. Personally I think he fancies Augusta. And I think she fancies him too. Both of them are bloody blind, if you ask me.

Ugh. And with them is Reynard Potter. Unlike his friends, he is NOT a nice bloke. He is the EXACT OPPOSITE of a nice bloke.

Merlin how I hate him.

I suppose I'm going to soil my diary with thoughts of him after all. Sigh.

Reynard Potter is the bane of my existence. He is a gormless oik. A bigheaded prick. An arrogant loser. An egotistical bully. A conceited toerag. And many other insulting things besides. Usually this'd be a clear-cut case of 'you stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours'.

But NO. For some unfathomable reason he's made it his personal mission to make my life at Hogwarts a living hell.

No need, Potter. EVERY TIME I SEE YOUR BLOODY FACE IT GIVES ME BLOODY NIGHTMARES.

And he's smirking at us through the compartment door window.

OH NO HE'S OPENING THE DOOR.

Can I please curse his bloody head off? IT'S BLOODY TOO BIG ANYWAY!

"Hullo, ladies," he greets us, in what I'm sure is meant to be a suave voice.

Augusta and Livy completely fall for it. "Hullo, Reynard," they chorus, in a very friendly voice.

Traitors.

"Mind if we sit in here?" he asks.

Just as Augusta and Livy say, "Of course not," I say, "As a matter of fact, I do mind."

Potter smiles at me. "Oh, Kitten, you have no heart."

"When I'm dealing with you, usually I don't," I reply coldly. I bloody HATE his stupid nickname for me. 'Kitten'. It's so DEMEANING. But nooooo! Augusta and Livy think it's CUTE.

"There aren't any other compartments," says John, sticking his head into the compartment. "For once, this isn't some stupid ploy of Reynard's to try and piss you off." He glares at Reynard as he says this.

"Emphasis on the 'for once'," mutters Dorian deprecatingly.

Then Augusta and Livy turn pleading eyes on me, because Livy fancies John and wants him to sit with her and Augusta fancies Dorian and vice versa only they don't want to admit it to each other. Stubborn blighters.

"Fine," I mutter.

Potter beams delightedly and brings in his things, followed closely by John and Dorian, also dragging their trunks.

"Hey, Kitten."

"What, Potter?"

Then the blithering idiot grins me at until I'm pretty sure his face is going to split. "Nothing," he says.

ARGH!

This is going to be one BLOODY LONG train ride.

Great Hall – Start-of-term feast

Penelope's been Sorted into Gryffindor.

That's two Gryffindors in the family.

Hyperion and Cassandra won't be best pleased (they're both Slytherins).

But that's only because they now owe me ten Galleons each.

Eh? There's Potter with his wand out.

What's he up to now…?

Girls' dormitory, after dinner – Potter. Must. DIE!

I AM GOING TO KILL POTTER.

I AM GOING TO KILL HIM DEAD.

Oh dear. Trouble on the horizon.

Oh, I quite agree.

AUGUSTA, LIVY, GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT OF MY DIARY. I'M TRYING TO PLOT POTTER'S ULTIMATE DEMISE HERE.

And why, dearest Astraea, are you plotting Reynard's ultimate demise?

MERLIN'S LEFT BUTTOCK, LIVY, ARE YOU BLIND? DID YOU NOT SEE WHAT THE BLOODY GIT DID TO MY BLOODY HAIR?!

Oh, you mean the singing rainbow hair thing?

An extraordinary bit of magic, wouldn't you say? I especially thought the birds were a rather nice touch.

OF COURSE YOU BLOODY WELL WOULD. YOU WEREN'T ON THE RECEIVING END OF POTTER'S AMUSING LITTLE JINX.

No need for such violent capitals, my dear rainbow-headed friend.

Remember, grasshopper, one must not play pranks with anger clouding one's mind.

I AM NOT A BLOODY GRASSHOPPER. NOR AM I YOUR RAINBOW-HEADED FRIEND.

Now, Astraea, we'll be laughing at this someday, I'm sure.

ARGH. POTTER, YOU'RE DEAD.

Or not.

I suppose I'll have to write—er, think—down what happened at the start-of-term feast, since Astraea's too busy 'plotting Potter's ultimate demise'. Anyway, nothing seemed amiss while we were on the Hogwarts Express. Dorian went straight to sleep, John and I were both reading, Reynard and Astraea were mostly ignoring each other, and Livy was eating her tremendous haul from the food cart (as usual).

Hey!

Who's telling the story here?

What do you mean 'as usual'?

I mean, Livy darling, you are a pig, and are seldom found without edible material in your mouth.

Am not.

Are so.

Am not.

Childish, too. Now shut up. I'm trying to tell a story here.

Fine. Be that way.

Livy's just stuck her tongue out at me. Oh, real mature, Livy.

Anyway, so we got off just fine at the station, and Reynard, Dorian, and John snagged their own carriage, so it was just Livy, Astraea, and me. Good thing too. Astraea was beginning to twitch. I don't know what would've happened if she and Reynard had been forced into close proximity for an extended period of time, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have been pretty.

So anyway, we got to the Great Hall, and everything was just fine. The Sorting went by, Professor Dippet made his start-of-term speech (to tell the truth, I've always been interested in what sort of speech Professor Dumbledore would make, seems like the sort to be more interesting, and anyway I've heard talk of Dippet retiring and Dumbledore taking his place), and the feast began.

Just when I was beginning to think we'd be able to get through one evening without Astraea trying to kill Reynard (or vice versa), suddenly Astraea's hair turned all the colors of the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink.

Then a flock of yellow canaries appeared out of nowhere and began flying in a circle around Astraea's head. Then they started singing: "Red and yellow and pink and green, purple and orange and blue, I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too!"

So of course this got the entire Gryffindor House singing along, while the rest of the students just laughed and laughed.

And this is where it gets lethal.

Astraea practically FLEW across the table for Reynard. She knocked aside plates, tureens, goblets, spilled food and drink all over the floor. The students in the immediate vicinity just got up and started egging her on, because she'd straddled Reynard, gotten her hands around his throat, and started choking the life out of him.

Professors Slughorn and Camden managed to break up the fight, and Professor Dumbledore's given them both detentions. Reynard and Astraea, I mean, not Slughorn and Camden.

Those detentions? On the same night. At the same time. In the same place.

I always knew Professor Dumbledore was a bit of a loon, but to give Astraea Selwyn and Reynard Potter simultaneous detentions?

Two words: DEATH. WISH.

If Astraea doesn't blow up the school trying to kill Reynard, then Reynard'll blow up the school trying to kill Astraea.

Hogwarts is doomed.

EDITED! May 14, 2008: Gawd, I can't believe I didn't see that... In the prologue where the Marauders finds James' mum's diary, James' reads the dates on the page out loud as "September 1950 to August 1951". It's supposed to be "September 1955 to August 1956". As you can see, I've already corrected it, but if you've spotted my error, good on you!