AN: Hey y'all! I'M BA-ACK! See, I've had this idea for a story called Peter Pettigrew's Fan Club (don't get your hopes up—at the rate it's going, you won't see it online for another year or two). But, while at my school's male beauty pageant (which my older brother won, by the way), I got the idea for this story, and it wouldn't leave me alone, so voila! In the past twenty-two days, I have been working on this story, and I am quite honestly shocked at how fast it was finished. Enjoy!

Mr. Hogwarts

"Why would I be in a beauty pageant?"

"Because we're short one person," Remus said, looking hopefully at his fellow student.

"And you came to me first?"

"Well… I wouldn't say first…" Remus mumbled, embarrassedly.

"But you came to me because…?" a wary Severus Snape asked, eying his nemesis suspiciously (or rather, eying the friend of his nemesis suspiciously. Because Potter was so much worse than Lupin in every way possible. Except for the lycanthropy. But for all Snape knew, Potter was a vampire—no, the girls all loved those now—an Inferi or something).

"Because Slytherins are rather underrepresented in the pageant right now. We've got Caradoc Dearborn from Ravenclaw, Amos Diggory from Hufflepuff, and James, Sirius, and Frank Longbottom from Gryffindor. The Slytherins are lacking. Even if is because every time I approached Avery or Mulciber or one of them, they hissed and ran away."

"And you're sure you aren't coming to me because you think Sirius and James can easily beat me?"

"…what?"

Snape sighed, and untucked his hair from behind his ear, letting it fan out over his face. He looked way emo that way—and all the girls were shitting themselves for the skinny emo vampire dudes these days. "You know what I'm talking about. The whole school does. The only reason you're doing this whole Mr. Hogwarts thing is because Potter and Black can't decide who looks more like a girl."

"Hunkalicious."

"Excuse me?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"They want to know who is more hunkalicious."

"Merlin, I can't believe Dumbledore is cool with this."

"He said it was perfectly all right, and that in these hard times it could help students get around any bigotry and bond through an American muggle tradition."

"Does Dumbledore happen to have a new bag of those muggle lemon things, by any chance?"

"Three."

"I rest my case," Snape said, a final tone in his voice.

Remus sighed. "Fine. I'll find someone else. You were the last Slytherin male. S'pose Bellatrix would do it? She's male enough…"

"Hey!" Snape exclaimed, indignant. "Hey! Are you giving my place to someone else? To Bellatrix Black?"

"Who do you want me to give it to? Regulus Black? He's more of a girl than Miss Head Girl Lily Evans herself!"

"I never said I wouldn't do it."

Remus smirked. "You heard Lily would kiss the winner, didn't you?"

Snape blushed. "How many lemon drops did you pay her?"

"And she kisses the frog, he turns into a prince, they get married, and live happily forever after," Lily concluded, swinging her arms back and forth, as she pulled open all the broom closets, and all the couples scurried away.

"She kisses a frog? Not very hygienic, huh? Muggle stories are weird," James chuckled, giving a thumbs-up to Sirius as he strutted by, in only his boxers, grinning at the girl he had on his left—and the one on his right.

"Hey, at least in this story she's not wearing glass shoes."

"Merlin, glass shoes? Did you ever wear glass shoes?"

Lily giggled. "No. And I've never kissed a frog either."

"Well, I should hope not. What if it backfired? And you became a frog? I don't know if I could get half of the paperwork done if the Head Girl were a frog."

"Hey Frank, Alice," Lily waved to her friends, who were dashing out of the recently opened closet. "You can rest assured I won't be kissing any frogs anytime soon. I don't understand why anyone would kiss frogs, waiting for one to turn into a prince, when they could just go find a ready-made prince."

"Don't all girls like fixer-uppers? Someone they can change for the better?"

"Well, not this one. I like my handsome princes—they have to be handsome—to come prepackaged like a T.V. dinner."

James gave her a blank stare. "Like a what?"

"Muggle thing. Forget about it."

"Already forgotten. But, Lily, I bet you wouldn't even kiss the prince if he was already in human form."

"I said he has to be handsome, didn't I? I'm not kissing a prince who looks like a frog."

"Even if he was handsome. Lily, face it. You wouldn't kiss him."

Lily rolled her eyes, and elbowed James. "Just because I never kissed you doesn't mean I wouldn't kiss a handsome prince. Again, if he's handsome…"

"Are you saying I'm not handsome?" James pouted, striking a pose with his hand behind his head, and his hip jutting so far out that it knocked out one of the escaping snoggers.

"I never said that," Lily snickered. "You're just not the most handsome guy in this school."

"Right… Sure you did—Hey! Ow!" James squealed as Lily punched him in the arm, and he slapped back, gaining momentum until they were in a full on slapping war.

But, it's always funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's hilarious. So, after Lily stopped laughing from giving James a black cheek, the aforementioned victim, while grimacing and holding his cheek, looked Lily in the eye, and said, "I bet you wouldn't even kiss the most handsome guy in this school."

"Hey! I would!" Lily protested.

"In fact, I dare you to kiss the most handsome guy in the school, as proof."

"Oh, and how are you going to prove he's handsome? Isn't handsomeness objective? You probably think you're the most handsome guy, huh? Face it James—we're just friends; I'm not kissing you."

"I never said it was me."

"Then who's the most handsome guy?"

"The winner of Mr. Hogwarts."

Lily gaped at her fellow head. "Mr. Hogwarts? Really? I have to kiss Mr. Hogwarts?"

"Merlin, Lily, it's easy. The Head Girl's already a judge, so you have it easy—you can help choose your victim. And it's not even like you have to do it. It's just a dare."

"Just a dare?" If Lily's mouth could open wider, it would have. "Potter, you are talking to a me, Lily Evans. There is no such thing as 'just a dare'."

"Then it's a deal?" James asked.

"It's a deal," Lily agreed, offering her hand to the messy haired boy besides her.

"Good evening! And welcome all to the first annual Mr. Hogwarts competition! Here is the one and only place where you can watch fellow classmates make fools of themselves—or, that is, compete for the title of Mr. Hogwarts. I'm Peter Pettigrew—"

"And I'm Marlene McKinnon, and we shall be your hosts tonight, guiding you through the journey of these seventh years as they fight to be the most beautiful. Also joining us are our judges-Professors Slughorn and Flitwick, and our wonderful Head Girl, Lily Evans. They shall be deciding the winner based on a combination of talent, answers to questions, performance quality, character—"

"And of course, good looks. Now—"

"Shut up, Pettigrew. I'm talking. Now, tonight, we have several…."

Snape dropped the curtain, and his head. There was no way he could win. Why did he let Remus talk him into doing this? The hosts didn't even mention anything about that kiss from Lily Evans. Was it even going to happen? He was so stupid. Remus probably had people spread the rumor to convince Snape to do it. What a vampire, Snape cursed to himself. How could he win against all the guys surrounding him?

Gorgeous guys who didn't seem worried at all. Sirius and James were messing around behind Frank, who was talking with his girlfriend (Ariel? Alexa? Alice?), and Amos and Caradoc were playing exploding snap, without looking worried at all that suddenly they could be faceless—which would ruin their chances at winning. Or maybe it'd only ruin Snape's chances (though Bellatrix would beg to differ, saying that no face would make him much handsomer).

Maybe there was time to slip out the back door, and run away into the woods, and live forever in the Forbidden forest, living off of flobberworms, and trying to avoid werewolves. Or not. Snape cursed, pushing past the guys around him. Were the hell were all the paper bags?

"…Caradoc Dearborn, Amos Diggory, and…" Snape could hear Peter announcing, as he rooted through Diggory's backpack and rummaged through Black's make-up bag. Where in Atlantis was he supposed to find a paper bag? Or anything to cover his face?

"SNAPE!" a voice growled behind him, positively dripping with venom.

"Yes, Bellatrix?" Snape asked, spinning around suddenly, a sheepish smile plastering his face.

"They called your name," Bellatrix snarled. "Almost a minute ago." There was a pause. "Are you listening?" Another pause. "MOVE." Snape scampered away to the curtain, after pulling the paper bag he'd found over his head. "And do the Slytherins a service—don't mess up. Or else."

Snape gulped, and galloped lopsidedly onto the makeshift stage, which had been hastily set up in the Great Hall that afternoon.

"Ah, there you go, ladies," Peter announced. "You can rest now, Severus Snape has finally made it out… with a pair of boxers on his head. Is this some new fashion statement Snape is making?"

Snape's eyes widened. Curses. That hadn't been a paper bag. What was wrong with him? No way he was winning now.

Marlene sighed. "Peter, you are oblivious. Anyway, these gorgeous guys would like to dance a special dance for you all."

Oh my poor heart, where has it gone?

It's left me for a spell…

The music had turned on, and as soon as everyone realized it was Celestina Warbeck, there was a collective groan (with a bit of a dissenting cheer).

Snape could care less, as he lined up next to Longbottom. What was the next step? Cross the right leg, step left—no right—snap the fingers, stomp twice, spin three times, crap, it was twice, and Snape spun out of control, tripping over himself. Looking up, he saw Bellatrix from behind the curtain, glaring evilly at him, miming a gory death that—as far as Snape could tell—involved blood, her wand in an uncomfortable place, a spoon, more blood, a steak and kidney pie, a eagle feather quill, lots of blood, and hamsters.

Needless to say, Snape hurried back to his place in line, wait, no, it was now a triangle—a circle? Why was Black in the circle? And he left? And Dearborn's in the circle? Do they expect him to be in the circle? And dance? By himself? Why are they glaring at him and pointing to the middle of the circle? Son of a banshee, why didn't Snape pay attention during the rehearsals?

…and now you've torn it quite apart…

Snape agreed with Celestina, if he kept on dancing, he'd be torn apart. And if he stopped, he'd probably be torn apart then, too. Crap, crap, crappity-crap-crap.

I'll than you to give me back my heart!

A hand smacked Snape over the back of his head ("Stop dancing! The song's over, idiot!"), and Snape turned to stick his tongue out at the perpetrator—who turned out to be Black. Black didn't like that at all. Thank Merlin Potter pulled Black into line, before he could notice a Snape to take advantage of.

Snape sighed, as he shuffled ashamedly to his place behind Dearborn. That moment taught him a lot. But, that happens a lot when your life flashes behind your eyes. Anyway, Snape realized much during those few seconds. He probably should have been closer to his dad, and he was stupid for letting Lily go—maybe winning the competition and the kiss could get her to realize that they were meant to be—and now he owed James his life, which sucked, but if Snape could kick Potter's ass in this competition he could let out some of his inner frustrations, and Snape shouldn't give up on this competition like he's given up on so many things in life. But, the most important thing Snape realized was that his cat didn't run away—his mother just lied to him to soften the blow because the cat was really just buried beneath the dead dandelions in the backyard (even the weeds couldn't survive in that dark, dank, pathetic excuse for a garden), since his mother had forgotten to feed the cat, had found a dead, half decomposed cat in the farthest corner of the basement, and realized that was why she hadn't seen the cat in eleven months.

That was a long paragraph. Whew. Snape is going to stop thinking now. That was never good for him, anyway. Onwards, to the next scene!

BAM!

James scattered as the door to the empty classroom was in clattered open, to reveal one Lily Evans.

"Oh," they both said. (And neither of them said jinx—how 'bout that? What a waste of opportunity. Americans should be displeased.)

"I… I—I really don't have an excuse," James shrugged, backing up on to one of the desks he had pushed back around the room.

"Oh, it's fine," Lily hastened to reassure. "I, I just heard noise coming from here. I thought it might be some fifth years learning about biology in all the wrong ways. But, it's not. What are you doing, anyway?"

James ruffled his hair, out of nervous habit, let's say. Interrogation always got his nerves racing. "Er… I know this sounds stupid, but we've got to do this opening dance, and I was practicing."

"Hm… well, for the second I saw, it didn't seem too bad. But, for some reason, I don't think the opening dance is a solo waltz. It might just be pathetic to see six guys up on the stage doing that by themselves."

"My talent may or not be the waltz," James admitted, looking at the ground. "I know what you're thinking—not as cool as The Hippogriff, and everything that the others are doing."

"I don't know much about what the others are doing, but I think that ballroom dancing is perfectly fine—sounds rather dashing, in fact. And I can't believe that I'm the muggle, yet between the two of us, you're the one who can waltz."

James laughed. "Well, believe it or not, wizards have balls too, and we don't always stand around talking about work. That's just the older Aurors. I grew up doing quite a bit of dancing."

Lily nodded. "I suppose I could believe that. Wizards do tend to steal a lot of things from muggles, you know. I know that most younger wizards are glad to wear muggle clothing instead of robes."

"Muggles may have invented it, but we perfected the waltz. I mean, come on; you can't even dance, but I know plenty of witches and wizards in this school who are even better than me at ballroom dancing."

"Cocky today, aren't we?" Lily teased.

"You're just saying that because you haven't experienced me yet."

"...experienced you?"

"Urgh. That came out wrong," James groaned, hand to his forhead. "What I mean is, will you dance with me?"

James bowed to his fellow Head, offering his hand to her with an extra flourish.

"I don't know—I'll probably trod all over your toes."

"Trust me, I can handle it. I'm a real wizard."

Lily looked at him. "Pft. You sound like Pinocchio."

"What? Is that another of your muggle things?"

"Yeah."

"A good muggle thing?"

"I hate Pinocchio."

"Ah. Well, are you sure you don't want to dance?"

"Er, why not?"

Lily seized James' hand in her own, clutched at his shoulder, and firmly planted her vision on his feet.

"You're not going to fall, you know."

Lily blushed. "Yeah, I know. I'm not stupid."

"And it's not a long way down to the floor. Besides, I'll catch you. Trust me."

James could feel the tension of her grasp loosen and saw her eyes rise to meet his.

"Okay, lead me away," Lily exhaled. "Just—just be careful, alright?"

James chuckled, and with a hand on her back guided her out to the center of the classroom floor, one foot in front of another, slowly until she caught on to the melody and the rhythm, and stopped pouncing on his feet.

"Ow…"

Lily winced. "Sorry."

"It's fine," James smiled. "You've actually managed to refrain from stepping on my toe for a while."

Lily punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Hey, didn't your mother teach you to be nice to girls?"

"I'm being nice to you, aren't I? I'm teaching you the valuable skill of dancing."

Lily gave a small, half-smile and continued on twirling and spinning with James.

"Next up we have the hobby section! Excited, aren't you, Marlene? Black and the boys are quite good Quidditch players, and those uniforms are getting tighter and tighter every year!"

"Yes, I am getting excited. Not as excited as you, though, Peter. But I'm even more excited that you aren't in this competition. Gobblestones don't make you any sexier, darling."

"Darling? Did you just call me darling? Are you—"

"I'm British, Pettigrew. I can call you whatever I want to call you."

"Oh… okay. I… I guess that's cool. So, first up is Sirius Black, a beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who enjoys snogging, broom closets, and the Astronomy tower."

Snape grunted, watching Sirius fly around the Great Hall, wishing he could punch the smug bastard. (He was having a muggle moment—like dumb blond moments, only, not as stupid).

Fortunately, Frank Longbottom seemed to have the same point of view, as he rushed out, throwing his handy-dandy bludger at Sirius.

"Oh! Look, Marlene, it's Frank!"

"Yes I can see Peter. I'm not blind, and I'm not you."

"Okay. Hostile, today, Marlene, huh?"

"Yes. I am. But maybe it's that time of the month? Ever consider that?"

"Oh. OH. I'm sorry. Do you want me to get you…uh…Madam Pomfrey?"

"You're so stupid. Who said it was THAT time of the month? You stupid idiot. So oblivious. Anyway, Gryffindor's second beater, Frank Longbottom likes long walks on the beach, giving people flowers and chocolates, and his girlfriend Alice."

Snape sat back, and leaned his head against the wall behind him, looking at the long line of Quidditch players before him, as Longbottom and Black exited the stage, pushing and shoving playfully. Of course they forgot there was a bludger floating around.

Until it hit Snape. Oops, there goes any chance of having kids.

"Hey, protects the world from any more greasy bastards like Snivellus," Sirius sniggered.

Snape groaned and fell to the ground, clutching his genitalia. He could feel it shrinking already. Withering up and oozing some disgusting pus. Ugh. Snape rolled back and forth, grasping his injured limb, as Caradoc, the Ravenclaw keeper, James, the Gryffindor chaser, and Amos, the Hufflepuff seeker, all went out and flew around and did some tricks (and liked reading, "Head duties" or Lily Evans, and having children who end up being portrayed in muggle movies by ugly vampire dudes respectively).

It wasn't till Bellatrix kicked the internally bleeding lump of pathetic Slytherin-ness, that Snape leapt to action (or, rather, stumbled painfully and drunkenly up to his feet), dragging a cauldron onto center stage, to the evident confusion of the audience. He could just hear them asking where the hot Quidditch player was.

Snape grunted, pretended to stir a potion in his cauldron, and started to drag off the cauldron, producing a loud (and excruciating) sound and long, deep scratches in the (formerly) gorgeous, polished wooden floor.

"That was Snape, who, apparently, enjoys making potions, being bitter about losing his former best friend, and being ostracized by the rest of the school. Hey Marlene, so Snape likes to be an ostrich?"

There was a pause, and Snape looked back, to the stage.

"I hate you, Peter Pettigrew. I swear, one day you will wake up dead."

"Late again, Potter?" Lily drawled. "This seems to be a habit, huh?"

"Er… I'm sorry, Lily. Quidditch practice. You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"Kill you? Who do you think I am? Marlene? 'You will wake up dead one day'? That's dead—she says it way too much."

James laughed. "Really, I am sorry. With Wood gone, we have to train Bagman to get to his level, and I… it's really no excuse."

"It's alright. As long as Gryffindor wins the cup. And if we don't…well, just don't expect to live long."

James snorted. "Okay. That's a lot of pressure, but I think I can handle that."

"Because James Potter works best under pressure. That's why you always procrastinate."

"Oh, Lily, I didn't know you felt that way for me—you truly care enough to figure that out?"

Lily blushed. "Most everyone in this school is like that."

And with that, she picked up the pace, leaving the confused Quidditch player behind in her tracks.

"Today we shall make pineapples tap-dance," Amos Diggory squeaked, from down on his knees.

"Oh-hoo! My boy! Professor Flitwick, I should be very appreciative if you would stir up some crystallized pineapple for me. It's my favorite!" Frank Longbottom boomed back, hand on his pushed out belly, and receiving many laughs from the audience (the loudest from his girlfriend, whom Snape had the acute misfortune of standing in front of. Not only would there be no Snape babies to carry on the line, but he would be going prematurely deaf. Why did he sign up in the first place? Bellatrix would have done a much better job).

Snape sank farther into his cauldron. People weren't going to get him; he wasn't funny, he wasn't athletic, he wasn't sexy (though his mother said he was), and he definitely wasn't winner material. Of course he had already established this-but reinforcement is always good—to be sure, you know? If only Snape could sing or dance, or anything to get him votes.

It never crossed Snape's mind that he could take part in the pageant for fun—that he didn't need to win everything (not as if he'd ever won anything). But the image of Lily puckering her lips danced in his head, like a muggle sugarplum, unreachable, unattainable, unassailable. This was the way to get her heart, Snape was sure, and his talent had to help.

His speech, his dramatic monologue probably hit just the right speech with Slughorn and Flitwick. Double, double, toil and trouble probably tugged right at their heartstrings, remembering their childhood and the stories like Babbitty Rabbity and her cackling stump. Adder's tongue and wool of bat? Could there be anything more true to the heritage of the wizarding world? Anything more capable of making a true wizard or witch's blood boil with pride? And the fact that it was the classic Shakespeare speech had to win some points with Lily and her muggle backgrounds (silly muggle-borns, wanting to think that Shakespeare was a muggle). Despite the fact he was still going to lose (and everyone found it necessary to point this out several times), Snape felt strongly that his performance had achieved a certain level of class that none of the others had come close to.

The other contestants didn't seem to appreciate the finer things in life, though Potter had a good attempt at being sophisticated with his waltz. But waltzing by yourself is just plain dorky. And then having the nerve to ask Lily to dance with him? Who does that? Who shows the judges how unprepared they are? That was definitely docking Potter some points.

Dearborn also danced, but it couldn't even touch Potter—what could be more depressing? It was to that Weird Sisters song—"Do the Hippogriff". The "hippogriff" may have been a popular dance, but it looked more like Caradoc was "doing" the hippogriff, to put it euphemistically. Too much hip thrusting.

Then there was Amos Diggory and Frank Longbottom's joint talent. A vile talent, not one Snape would even deem the honor of calling a talent. It was no better than burping in public, the impersonations they were doing. How distasteful, insinuating what Dumbledore and McGonagall were doing behind closed doors—and calling her Minnie! What happened to respect for your elders and where did those good old Confucian values go? Agrippa, these boys were just begging to be disposed of.

And now they were even attacking the Heads. (Potter, that was no problem for Snape—but Lily? To defile Lily's sweet name and holier-than-Merlin reputation?)

They must have been egged on by Lily's "laughter". But Snape had been her friend for nine years. He knew it was not the laughter everyone thought it was, but really depressed weeping. And someone had to save her from that inferno of mockery—Lily could never be a laughingstock!

But it was not Snape who was destined to save this damsel in distress. He wasn't very big, and on the makeshift stage were two very big Quidditch players. Rather, Snape sunk down even farther, to the very bottom of the cauldron, listening to the despicable fake heads pretending to snog, and wishing very much he could Avada Kedavra the real Potter's inevitable smug face.

The peace the bulwark cauldron was not to last; soon Snape found him extricated from the cauldron, dumped unceremoniously onto the cold, stone floor.

(I know you're thinking "but the floor was polished wood!" Well, deal with it. The floor changes to fit the author's need. And I need a cold, stone floor. Merlin you guys are stupid. Don't you know anything about fiction?)

Groggily, Snape looked up to the evictor of his nice, resting location and found a positively evil looking Sirius Black hovering above him, like a spaceship intent on abducting him.

"Hope you don't mind, Snivellus," Black spit at the greasy boy, in desperate need of a mop, or at least a house elf, to clean him off the floor. "But, I need to borrow your cauldron—what did you name it? Betsy? Irene? Or the-cauldron-who-could-never-replace-Evans?—for my act. Thanks darling!"

And Black pranced off into the sunset (or, that is, onto the stage), carrying the cauldron with every inch of elegance and poise that Snape never had.

Snape growled at the retreating figure, glaring and spitting onto the ground where Black had left his special brand of cooties, and as Diggory and Longbottom brushed past him he spit on them too. It was all part of his plan to spread evil among the world. When he spits on others, they spit on more people, and on and on, until the world is an abyss of saliva! That, or Snape was just rabid, and therefore spitting mad. (hahaha, get it? That's a pun. But you probably didn't get it, so never mind).

Black paid no attention, sweeping on to the stage, gracefully placing the cauldron before himself.

"I'd like"—

"And here we have Sirius Black, who"—

"Shut up, Peter. Black was talking. You don't interrupt the Sirius Black."

"Oh, no fair! You're just in love with him! If I was Sirius Black, you wouldn't mind."

"But you are not. And I said, shut up!"

"But"—

"NO. I said SHUT UP."

"I"—

"No. No talking."

There was silence.

"Okay, Sirius, you can continue now. Sorry about this imbecile."

"Thanks Marlene," Sirius said, with a wink that made the whole audience (and Amos Diggory—no wonder his son sparkles) sigh. "As I was saying, I'd like to sing a song for all the ladies out there. Except you, Olivia. Remember, guys, Olivia Baskerville is a whore."

"She shouldn't have dumped him," Amos muttered from behind Snape. "Why on earth would you dump Sirius Black?"

"But she isn't a whore!" Caradoc protested. "I would think I knew my own friend."

"Yeah, she's smart and all," James piped in, "but apparently all she does is drool at cute guys, and she only likes older men."

"Hard to find older men when you're a seventh year," Amos snickered. "Now, where's Frank?"

"With Alice, what else?" James replied, gesturing over his shoulder at the aforementioned seventh year, whom Amos wasted no time in rushing over to.

Snape could truly care less. Olivia Baskerville was just a snobby, intelligent, and bossy girl who should have been a Slytherin, not a Ravenclaw.

But, speaking of wasted potential for Slytherin, Sirius Black had started to sing. Oh, what torture could endure?

Oh, come and stir my cauldron

And if you do it right

I'll boil you up some hot, strong love

To keep you warm tonight

"Hm…. Hm….hm hm… dah, dah, dah-dah, dahhhh…."

"And I'll boil you up some hot, strong, love toooooonight!" Lily finished.

James raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, James. I may be a muggle, but I've been in the wizarding world long enough to know the words to that song," Lily laughed. "Besides, I wasn't the one humming it. And now, thanks to you, I will have that song stuck in my head for the rest of the week."

James snickered. "I am so sorry to have provided you with such an inconvenience."

"Well, you should be," Lily said, rather crossly. "…but now I'm curious. Why were you even singing it? Been listening to some late night wizarding radio?"

"Ha ha, very funny. Actually, Sirius happens to be singing it for Mr. Hogwarts."

"Oh, my ears… I better treasure them while I still have them…" Lily muttered to herself (though, really, we all know it was to James too).

"You are just feeling cruel today, aren't you?"

"I'm channeling Marlene—I was studying with her this morning."

"Well, anyway, Mrs. Mean, Cold, and Soulless as Stone, I—"

"That's Ms. Mean, Cold, and Soulless as Stone. I wonder how Mrs. Mean, Cold, and Soulless as Stone ever got married…."

"You really are feeling cruel, what with being awful to yourself and all."

"Bleh." Lily stuck her tongue out at James.

"Whatever."

Lily waved to the passing Professor Slughorn, in his velvet slippers and precious crystallized pineapple in his hand.

"So, what were you saying earlier? About Sirius?"

"Oh, yeah. He's making me practice with him. I have to sing. I don't know why—how does it help him at all? But, it's not really my choice. He threatened to…to throw away my dancing shoes."

Lily smiled. "Well, give me your dancing shoes. I'll protect them for you."

"Thank you, Li—"

"And that way you can stop poisoning my mind with that wretched song."

"And there I was thinking that you were doing something nice for the sake of it. You really are channeling Marlene."

"And if I spend enough time with her, I'll slowly become her."

"I truly hope that'll be after we graduate."

"Hey!"

James smirked.

"Well… you suck…"

"I know, I know. It's my best quality."

Lily stuck her tongue out at him once again, and skipped ahead to check the Astronomy tower.

"Oh, come and stir my cauldron…. Damn."

"Now it's time for the part you've all been waiting for! The formal wear section, complete with escorts. Now all audience members of the male persuasion can sit back and relax to some true beauty."

"Unless you're Peter Pettigrew," Marlene continued. "But let's avoid that lengthy tangent, and instead continue on to the part that leads us to wonder what went on behind the scenes to get these escorts to agree to the parading they're doing tonight. Gossiping about sexual favors always does get our primitive and instinctive voyeuristic nature going, huh?"

Peter stared at her (along with everyone else in the vicinity, and whispered (though the final effect was not so much of a whisper due to the sonorous charm) "Have you had too much Firewhiskey?"

With a scoff, the questionable drunkard waved off the concern, and continued, "No. I'm feminist. And am wondering how in the world Severus Snape got Bellatrix Lestrange to escort him."

"By the way," Peter added hurriedly, "that's our first couple!"

Snape swallowed, hoping to diffuse the backup of phlegm in his throat, took Bellatrix's outstretched arm, and walked out, blinking at the brighter, and hotter seeming lights. Lily wasn't going to assume that he was together with Bellatrix, right?

"Next is Frank Longbottom, on the arm of none other than Gryffindor's own Alice Longbottom—I mean, Prewett!"

Snape loosened his hand from the crook of Bellatrix's arm, and after making sure she wasn't glaring at him, dropped his hand to his side completely. If they were a couple, surely he would still be holding on. Lily would know that.

"Caradoc Dearborn is looking dashing as ever, but probably even more so with the stunning Emmeline Vance. What an adorable couple… Don't you think, Marlene?"

"Sure…"

But then again, Lily had never had a boyfriend. Flobberworms, she wasn't even a casual dater. How would she tell the difference? She probably thought that Caradoc and Emmeline were dating, even though it was clear, as Snape knew from listening backstage, that they weren't going to be just boyfriend and girlfriend for much longer.

"And speaking of dashing, here's Sirius Black with Mary McDonald."

But Lily surely knew that Mary McDonald was dating that Wood guy, and that even though she was still holding Black's arm they weren't together. Everyone knew that Bellatrix and Lestrange were betrothed, and since Snape wasn't even touching her, she had to understand they weren't together!

"Now look at Amos Diggory in those robes! They're almost putting poor Dorcas in the shadows."

Snape tightened his bow tie, and it fell off. Should he pick it up? Or maybe just leave it down there, looking like it was on purpose? Snape compromised by scooting even farther away from Bellatrix.

"And last, but not least, we have James Potter, who seems to be going stag tonight! What a maverick!"

"Please, just go away, Peter."

Snape scoffed. At least Lily wouldn't mistake him for someone who couldn't pick up girls.

"Guess what!" Lily hopped around James. "You will not believe what I jus heard!"

"What?" James asked, stifling a giggle at the antics of his fellow head—he hadn't known how enthusiastic she could be until this past year.

"Well, I guess you probably heard it already. Yeah, you know it."

"What?"

"Mary MacDonald is going to be Sirius' escort! For Mr. Hogwarts, that is."

"Hm… I actually did not know that. How did you find out before me?"

"I heard her saying yes to him in the common room as I was leaving to do the rounds with you."

"And you expect me to know that already? I've never studied legilimency, you know."

"What? Legili-what?"

"Mind-reading. Dark magic thing."

"Oh."

There was a pause as James stopped a second year headed to the kitchens for a midnight snack.

"So... you were saying? About Sirius and Mary?"

"Well, I just can't believe he got her to go with him. It's Mary!"

"Maybe he told her he'd go to the broom closet with her a few times?"

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Really? I doubt it. That sounds more like a reward for Sirius, not Mary."

"I don't know, Evans… Sirius is pretty darn good in the sack."

"And you would know this from…?"

"Personal experience, obviously," James finished for her. Lily gaped.

"Nah… It's just, when you've heard enough sobbing girls after break ups, and you compare that to his low moral character, you put two and two together."

"So sex is the only good thing in a relationship?"

James blushed. "You make it sound so clinical. But, we're teenagers, I guess so."

"How many broom closet trips did you pay your escort?"

"None," James replied.

"None? You must be pretty bad in the closet—wait… are you a virgin?"

"I never said that," James said, pulling at his collar.

"But it's totally implied—you're not paying any sex because you want to stay a virgin. Though I would think most virgins don't want to stay that way. You must be waiting for the right girl, am I right?"

"I…uh…please, I just… yeah."

Lily smirked. "Well, then what are you paying your escort?"

"I don't have an escort."

"You don't? Well, you don't have much time to get one—not like that'll be too hard. You can't be too desperate; you haven't asked me yet."

"I'm not asking anyone."

"Are you using that legilimency thingamajigger?"

"I'm going stag."

"What?"

"Beauty is not just the conglomerate of classical and striking features one has on the outside, it is the balance between that appearance and the arguably more important inner-beauty—brains. It—"

"You totally stole that from Witch Weekly, Pettigrew. I can't believe you read that hippogriff dung."

"Hey, you must have read it too—otherwise you wouldn't know it was from Witch Weekly!"

"I'm not denying that, but there's one difference between the two of us. I'm entitled to read Witch Weekly. I'm a witch."

"Really? Are you sure? This is news to me," Peter grumbled.

"Very funny," Marlene snarled, but her composure snapped back quickly. "Anyway, to content whiny, ugly girls like Peter here, we have to judge the contestants by their brains too. Meaning we don't have to listen to Peter any more, because the judges are taking over, and interviewing the contestants for us. First up is Frank Longbottom."

Frank smiled, kissed his girlfriend on the cheek, and walked over to a stool in front of the judges.

"Hey," he waved to the judges.

"Hello to you," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Excited, I guess you could say. Was that one of the questions?" Frank asked, in a cheeky manner that Snape could only wish he had the ability to pull off. None of the teachers would like him if he were cheeky. They only liked him because he had the unique ability to shut up while the teacher was talking. And the students? Ha. He tried being cheeky once, but she had slapped him and stormed off. Who knew that calling Lily a mudblood would be so bad?

Flitwick chuckled (but due to his high-pitched voice, it sounded more like the buzzing of a pixie). "No, it's not one of the questions. But that leads me to my first question; what do you think would be the perfect question?"

Frank's eyebrows furrowed. "Hm… I don't know. I guess you mean for this pageant? Well, I suppose I'd say 'when do you do your homework?' because whether a person procrastinates or does it the second they get their homework tells a lot about a person."

Snape rolled his eyes. What an awful question. You ask people what they think of politics or a class, not some stupid question about homework. Homework was such a small part of life; how does it correlate to anything?

"Okay," Flitwick sqeauked, scribbling down something on his notes. "Now, then, when do you do your homework?"

Frank laughed. "Um… I used to do it almost the second I got it. During class sometimes, actually. But, lately I've been procrastinating more."

Flitwick scribbled down some more, and said, "Thank you Mr. Longbottom, you can rejoin your escort."

"You're very lucky to have her," Slughorn added in, with a chortle. "Mr. Black, you're next."

Sirius grinned, letting go of Mary, and strutted to the stool, with a self-absorbed attitude that made Snape go crazy. He had this strange urge to turn green and huge and start smashing things; he was considering going to the nurse.

"Let me say, I think the question I would choose would be 'who should win this competition because they are so completely gorgeous?' because the answer is obviously me."

"Um… no Black," Lily replied, raising her eyebrow. "We weren't going to ask you that. And you're lucky we aren't, because I think you just failed that question miserably."

Sirius pouted, to the cheering from the audience. "You're a judge, you're not supposed to say that. You're showing favoritism! Hear that, guys! She shouldn't be a judge, she's biased!"

"No one cares, Black," Lily continued, and Snape's face look constipated from the mental high five he was trying to give her. "Now, we're actually very curious about how many hair products you use in the morning."

"Er…It depends. On a good morning, only four, but on bad hair days, it can take anywhere up to seven or eight. Then, if I'm going for very sleek and styled hair, it can take more, while it will only take two or three products if I'm going for a messy bedhead look. I try to balance out the looks, though, so, on average, it takes about five or six products a day, including mousse, gel, special shampoo, regular shampoo, cream, hairspray, spiking gel—"

"You use spiking gel for your hair, Black?"

"Well, of course. I know I don't have those ugly big spikes or those weird little spikes in my hair, but I've found that spiking gel is really good for fixing split ends. You might want to invest in some, Evans."

"You don't say that to a lady!" Flitwick piped in, his face turning red, which was a strange look on the small professor, making him resemble a wrinkled tomato more than anything else (the white hair completed the look, resembling mold). "I have half a mind to kick you out of the competition right now!"

Snape agreed. Black was hard competition. Kicking him out would help Snape's chances—and he wasn't the only one who must have been thinking this way. Potter was glaring at Black, like he was trying to burn holes through him. See, even James Potter was self-conscious; he knew that Black was likely to win.

"Thanks, Professor," Lily said, patting Flitwick on the arm to calm him down. "But it's alright. Now, Black, for your second question, how do you sleep at night?"

"Who says I sleep?" Black smirked, with a wink at Lily, before sliding off the stool, and returning to an annoyed Mary McDonald.

"Alright," Lily said, obviously trying to get a disturbing image out of her head, just like Snape was trying to do. "Caradoc Dearborn, your turn."

As soon as Caradoc was up there, Slughorn turned to him, and said, "You know that I'm the Potions teacher. According to you, which Potion is the most important achievement for wizardkind?"

"Er…" Caradoc stumbled, trying to remember a potion. Snape laughed loudly in his head. Of course the idiot wouldn't know—he dumped Potions as soon as he could. "That one… the one that makes people tell the truth, er…"

"Veritaserum?"

"Yeah! That one! Varietysyrup. It's solved a lot of crimes and stuff, you know?"

"Alright, now, if you could have any historical figure for dinner, who would you have?"

Caradoc smiled, in a way that scared Snape. "Oh, that's easy. I wouldn't have any one. Eating people is wrong."

Slughorn blinked. "Okay… Amos Diggory?"

Diggory barreled upwards, pushing Caradoc off the stool. "Cool, what's my question?"

"Lately parents have been complaining that a fifth of all recent Hogwarts graduates do not know how to complete simple household spells," Lily said. "Why do you think this is?"

"I personally believe, that Hogwarts wizards are unable to do so because, uh, some people out there, in our school don't have houses, and, uh… I believe that our education like such as in Beauxbatons, and the Durmstrang, everywhere like such as… and, I believe they should uh, our education over here, in Hogwarts, should help Hogwarts or should help Beauxbatons, and should help the Durmstrang and definitely America so we will be able to build up our future, for us."

"And, what do you think about werewolves in wizarding society?" Lily asked.

Amos' eyes widened. "Well I think it's great that wizards are able to choose one way or the other. We live in a land where you can choose to know werewolves or not. And, you know what, in my country, in my family, I think that, I believe that wizards and witches should be just a man or a woman, not a wolf too, no offense to anybody out there. But that's how I was raised and I believe that werewolves are not real wizards."

Snape nodded. The guy had a point, though Potter and Black seemed murderous towards the guy. Just watch as Diggory's sparkly kid's girlfriend cheats on him with a werewolf. But that was besides the point, and Snape shrugged the theory off as he proceeded up to the stool, where the bright lights were beating down on him, causing him to break down into a sweat. But that may have been because of Bellatrix's glares. Thank Merlin the lights blocked Snape from seeing anyone, though.

"Severus," Slughorn cleared his throat, "What is masculinity to you? What's femininity?"

Snap swallowed. What sort of question is that? It's a stupid question, that's what.

"What was that?" Slughorn asked, sticking his ear out to Snape, as if that would really help the old croon hear better.

"What?" Snape asked.

"What did you say?"

"I said something?"

"Yes, about it being a stupid question, isn't that what you said?"

"Er… yes."

"Why?"

"Because masculinity is different for everyone, and so is femininity. Obviously it really just means what type of genitalia you have. After that, whatever you do is masculine or feminine, depending on what gender you are. Which is stupid, because, I mean, why do we define people by their gender? It's so limiting. And why are there only two genders. It's hard to imagine more, but, really, why not? There are so many ethnicities, and only two genders. It's kind of unfair, to limit all someone is to what they have underneath their robes. But what's more stupid is calling a general behavior masculine or feminine, and saying that certain guys are feminine or girls are masculine. Why can't they be? If feels so derogatory when people say that, like we're supposed to stick by these preconceived notions of gender. Don't you think?"

There was silence for a bit.

"Well, you can go, now Snape," Slughorn said, dazedly.

"What about my second question?"

"Oh, that wasn't two questions?"

"It was one."

"We'll just say it was two," Slughorn said.

Snape blushed, slipped off the stool, and dashed back to Bellatrix, who was looking positively dumbstruck, looking back and forth between the stool and the pathetic, greasy, little boy standing to next to her.

"And Mr. Potter, we have arrived at your turn," Slughorn said, shuffling a few papers.

James strode over to the stool, and conquered it, sitting lazily, and looking as if he was just relaxing after classes.

Flitwick took charge, projecting his tiny voice, "Who or what motivates you?"

"Almost everyone, quite honestly. I've always looked up to my parents, and have always wanted to do well so I could be an auror like them. All of the professors here inspire me too, because you care so much about your subject, I want to please you, and care about something as much as you. My friends, definitely. They're nowhere near perfect"—(there was shout from Sirius)—"but they are great people, and I find myself trying to be more like them. And more recently, my fellow Head Girl has motivated me. Yes, you, Lily. You really care about your work, and I want to do well for you. Partially so you don't scream at me, but also because I want to have the same passion for the job as you."

Flitwick beamed (he seemed to really care about Lily—should Snape be jealous?). "And, last question: who would you dump, date, and marry, if you had to choose from the judges?"

James paused. Probably taking a second look at the judges table, Snape guessed. If he married Lily—

"I'd have to marry you, Professor Flitwick. No contest."

Snape smiled. That's right. Lily was HIS.

"Then, I think I'd want to date Professor Slughorn, and I guess that means I'd dump Lily."

Snape shook his head. Who would dump Lily Evans?

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I think you made the right choice. I'm not the type to marry," Slughorn beamed. "Now back to Marl—"

"Wait!" Lily protested.

"What is it Ms. Evans?" Flitwick asked, concernedly.

Lily paid no attention, and looked straight at James.

"Why?"

"You mean, you actually watch muggle pageants?"

"Why so antagonistic about it?"

"It's degrading and demeaning to women!" James protested.

"But it's fine if it's degrading and demeaning to you guys," Lily drawled.

"Er… well, guys have been on top for so long…"

"You know, a lot of the muggle women in the pageants think that the pageants make them more equal."

"But—"

"I know it sounds stupid, and it's not true, but if it's what they like, why not let them do it? I mean, so many wizards love that Hot, Strong Cauldron of Love song, but it's really all about Amortentia. I mean, how about teaching kids to use Amortentia to get through life? It doesn't make sense, but I'm not about to deprive them of it."

"Er…"

"And besides, the interview section is hilarious."

"The interview section?"

"You know, the part where they ask the girls questions? To find out about brains, so it's not all about outer beauty. It's hilarious how stupid those girls are—but they're Americans, they're allowed to be stupid."

"There's an interview section?"

"Yes…" Lily replied, slowly, not understanding the Head Boy's confusion.

"I mean, are we doing to have to do that?"

"Yes…"

"Crap."

"Look James, I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Quiz me!"

Lily burst into laughter. "No, I'm not quizzing you. You're a smart kid, you don't need me to quiz you. And if you answer wrongly, I don't mind giving you my vote if you're funny enough."

James pouted. "I don't care. I am totally blackmailing you until you quiz me. I'll boil you up a cauldron of hot, strong loooooove!"

"That isn't blackmail—that's torture!" Lily exclaimed, clapping her hands over her ears. "But, remember, I'm protecting your dance shoes!"

James paused. "Nah…totally worth it. Oh, come stir up my cauldron toniiiiiiiiight!"

Lily groaned. "I hate you, you know that, right?"

James pouted once more, eyes big and shiny, with his bottom lip protruding more than a certain limb of Sirius when he's surrounded by girls.

"Merlin, I can't stand that face. Fine. If you could only bring one thing to a deserted island, what would you bring?"

"Oh, that's easy. You, Lilykins."

Lily snorted. "Be serious, Potter. What would you bring?"

James' face fell. "Er… my wand, then."

"Oh, I meant, not including wands."

"Um. A raft."

Lily shook her head. "Ah…this is useless. Okay, if you don't win, who do you want to win, and why?"

"Well, you. Because you are clearly the most beautiful in all the school."

Lily chuckled. "Flattering the judge will get you nowhere. And you just said I'd win a men's beauty pageant."

"Well, true beauty transcends gender, Evans."

"You know, James…. I'm really glad you're my friend."

Lily slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing what she had just said, blushed, and hid behind Flitwick. Or tried her best to do so. Flitwick is kind of small.

Marlene raised an eyebrow at her friend, but quickly announced. "Er… I think we will be having a short intermission now, while the judges deliberate."

"But, Marlene, this wasn't in—"

"Shut up, Pettigrew," Marlene hissed. "Merlin, just shut up for once in your puny life."

Snape shrugged at the antics before him. Now he could go sit down and forget about everything for a few minutes, instead of worrying about the results constantly.

Crap. The results were next. That meant there were only a few minutes till he knew if Lily was to kiss him. More than likely she wouldn't, but, what if? Snape could feel the metaphorical flobberworms in his stomach—they didn't feel so good. He needed to find a trashcan. Or Black.

There were no trashcans, and Black was probably in the backroom, hitting on some girl (Mary McDonald looked very alone and bitter at the moment). However, there was a James Potter, quietly and pensively remaining on that wretched stool of inquisition.

Close enough to Black, Snape figured in his delirium of sudden illfeelingness.

And that was how James Potter ended up with blue-tinged sick all over the front of his dress robes.

"Oh," he said softly, examining the damage that had lifted him out of his trance.

Snape sighed. He was the king of stupid, wasn't he? "Flobberworms, sorry Potter—I didn't mean to—I'll just go…"

Snape embarrassedly brushed past Potter, who quickly called at him, "Look, Snape, it's alright! Don't worry about it!"

Snape snorted, knowing it probably was, that spoiled boy. And Mr. Hogwarts would never puke up their dinner on someone else. It was never meant to be, Snape sniffled, as he pushed past Evans, the girl he'd never get, who had her wand up, ready to help out Potter. Everyone helped Potter, but who would help out greasy old Snivellus? No one.

"Go away," he mumbled angrily to the approaching Bellatrix. "I know I failed. Just go the hell away."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but, nonetheless, left (after a surprisingly out of character pat on the back).

Snape clutched at his hair. Why did he let that stupid lycanthropic Lupin talk him into this? Why did he think he had a shot at the competition? At Lily? Why did he think that the extra time before the results would be good? That the anxiety of the future would slowly creep up his spine, crawling to all corners of his consciousness, eating away at him until he was nothing but nerves?

Why couldn't they just tell him he'd lost and get over with it?

"Oh…wow," Lily murmured, approaching James, who was covered in what seemed to be the night's steak and kidney pie.

James grimaced as Lily pinched her nose. "I don't blame him, seeing Sirius all hyped up about this makes me want to vomit."

Lily smiled, and pointed her wand at James' soiled dress robes. "Scourgify,"

The mess vanished, and James was looking as prim and proper as ever.

"I'd still burn those robes," Lily said.

James shrugged. "If I don't, Sirius will."

Lily looked down at her hands, examining her cuticles, not knowing what to say.

James sighed, and finally pulled himself to ask her, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you ask why?"

"For the question? Oh, I'd forgotten all about that," Lily said softly, avoiding eye contact once more.

"Sev?"

"Sev?"

"Sev, are you okay?"

Snape blinked, opened his eyes, saw Lily Evans standing over him, and scattered. Quick.

"Snape! Wait!" Lily sighed.

Snape regained his senses, and duly returned to the woman he loved. He shouldn't have ran away—she had returned to calling him Snape. Just great.

"Yeah, Lily?"

"You stayed back here the entire intermission, right?"

Snape blinked again. What did this have anything to do with her inevitable declaration of love for him?

"Yeah, I was. Why?"

"I have the results," Lily said, brandishing a folded piece of parchment, causing Snape to consider snatching rewriting the results, and obliviating Lily. But then he'd wipe all of her memories of proposing to him, and that probably would not be the best. Lily was more important than any stupid title.

Speaking of Lily being important, back to what she was saying.

"—and Peter wasn't there either. And I need to give the hosts the results, right? So, I thought you might have seen one of them."

"Peter and Marlene?"

Lily nodded vigorously. "Yeah, one or both, and if worst comes to worst, I'll have to give the results myself. Which stinks—I hate public speaking."

Snape smiled, remembering the time back in fifth year when Lily was giving an announcement about Hogsmeade to the third years, and gradually turned green throughout the process, until, at the end, she had to dash away to the nearest bathroom. Snape had to hold her hair, and it had smelled of coconut and almond. Ever since, Amortentia has smelled overpoweringly of coconut and almond. Strange thing was, though Lily was more nervous about public speaking than a third year was approaching a hippogriff, she had no qualms when it came to yelling at people at the top of her lungs, with the whole school taking advantage of the fact that they were in listening range.

Which was exactly what had happened the last time Lily had ever considered herself as a friend of his.

"Snape? Are you listening?"

"What?" Snape asked, his attention snapping back to the beautiful redhead.

"I said, did you see one of them?"

"One of…?"

Lily sighed. "Peter or Marlene?"

"Oh! I saw Marlene slipping behind that curtain over there," Snape said, his arm lazily pointing out the general whereabouts of the aforementioned event.

"Thanks," Lily said with half-hearted sincerity, and headed over to the folded curtain, lifting it to the side in the hope of finding a host and preventing her ultimate nauseousness.

As it turned out, Lily accomplished all of these, but with a nice loud screech on the side, attracting people from all around, including Snape, the other contestants, the judges, and the escorts.

There, sitting embarrassedly behind the drapery were two guilty hosts, intertwined and embracing each other, with disheveled clothes and lipstick all over their faces.

Snape nearly fainted, so disturbed was he.

Marlene straightened her skirt and leapt up, a hostile gleam in her eye, and a very pointy looking wand in her hand.

"This is not leaving this room," Marlene hissed vehemently, looking around in order to make eye contact with all. "You better swear."

Of course everyone swore on Merlin not to tell anyone. Of course everyone in the school and almost everyone in Hogsmeade had heard the news by the time Marlene and Peter had stepped on the stage again. And of course the fact they had forgotten to clean up again confirmed the speculation.

"No, Peter and I are not actually soul mates, nor have we been betrothed from birth and hated each other until this moment. And no we're not James and Lily in disguise. Haven't you guys realized they aren't together yet? That's later, stupid. And we are definitely not reincarnated half dragons half vampires and half veela who are going to save the world with our love. And our baby is not going to defeat Voldemort!" Marlene growled as soon as she had the audience's attention (which she had as soon as she stepped up on the stage—everyone wanted to see a real half dragon, half vampire, half veela witch).

Lily coughed.

"You know what? I could have made this interesting, but now with you guys sucking royally, I'm not dragging this out any longer."

Marlene grabbed the parchment from Peter, opened it, and read, "Second runner up is Caradoc Dearborn. Runner-up is Frank Longbottom. And the winner of Mr. Hogwarts is Snivellus."

Marlene scowled, and then turned to yell at Peter, who was scrambling around to deliver the right flowers and crowns to the right people, "PETTIGREW! They can get their own crown! Snape has legs, let him do it. Come on!"

Peter nodded and quickly followed Marlene out the Great Hall at her heels, amid many wolf-whistles and clapping from the students.

Snape blinked. Who won again? Oh right. Him. It was all him. And James Potter didn't stand a chance to his gorgeousness. Neither did Black, who was currently complaining to anyone who would listen that he hadn't even go third runner-up and how was that fair? And, besides, the whole point was to get confirmation that Sirius was more beautiful than James, but how would they ever now if neither of them got a position?

Snape blinked once again. Lily's kiss was his.

Lily Evans leapt up onto the stage, her gaze locked upon one James Potter.

"I'm sorry you didn't win," she said ashamedly.

James shrugged. "Sirius didn't win either. I might still be more beautiful than him, you know?"

"Ah, well, I don't think Sirius has enough beauty on the inside to beat you any day," Lily replied with a laugh.

"Are you calling me beautiful on the inside? Hear that, Sirius? I'm beautiful on the inside!"

"Hey, I might be calling Sirius ugly on the inside!"

"Oh, he's not that bad." James paused. "Emphasis on the 'that'."

"Ha-ha. Very funny. But… yes, James. You are beautiful on the inside."

James smiled, giddily. "Really? You think so? I can't wait to tell Remus! He'll be so proud of me! But, why so?"

"Are you kidding me? Have you been paying attention to yourself? You've been so polite, so congenial! You weren't rude to the other contestants or the judges or your escort, your talent was so…amazing—"

"You're just happy I asked you to dance with you."

"Maybe. But can I finish?"

"Maybe," James answered, deviously.

Lily shook her head in amusement. "Anyway, the way you answered your questions, and how you didn't even say anything when Snape threw up on you! You're Helen of Troy on the inside, Potter."

"Helen of who?"

"Muggle thing."

"Oh. Go on."

"You just want to hear me flatter you," Lily laughed.

"Please?" James asked, sweetly as he could.

"Fine. But there isn't much else to say."

"Then, answer me this: if I'm so wonderful on the inside, why didn't I win?"

Lily blushed. "I'd be biased if I let you win. Besides, you did win. Sort of. You'll see."

"Sort of. Is that going to help me beat Sirius? Or get a kiss from you?"

"Oh! The kiss!" Lily exclaimed. "I forgot!"

"Yes," James teased. "You must go turn Snape into a human with your magical kiss, Miss Evans," he added with a bow and flourish of the hand, pointing to the victor frog.

"But, before you go drastically improve your classmate's life, why did you say you'd be biased if you chose me?"

Lily blushed even harder. "Again, you'll see."

"Hey, Severus," Lily greeted kindly. "I guess, it's time for your kiss, huh?"

Snape nodded eagerly, pleased at the new use of his first name.

Lily smiled softly, and there was the puckering of her lips that Snape had been plagued with since he first entered the competition. Snape could feel his hands moistening at exponential rates.

And suddenly, there was the feel of her soft skin upon his. Her perfect pink lips upon his…cheek. For a total of two seconds. Two seconds of bliss, but that was besides the point. Two seconds? Really? What was he in the competition for, anyway? Life was wasted upon him…

"And, wait," Lily called, to all who could hear her. Snape could see her swallowing, to get over her fear of public speaking, and unfortunately, he could also see James closing in the space between himself and Lily. "Marlene forgot to announce something."

Quite a few people turned back to Lily, an impatient aura running through the crowd. They just wanted to get back to their dorms and do their homework (or so the excuse was…).

"Caradoc and Frank are the runners-up and Snape did win. But there's also Miss—er, Mr. Congeniality. James Potter."

There was some feeble applause and the sound of Black cursing himself and his loss.

Then Lily grabbed James by the face, and kissed him on the mouth for much longer than two measly seconds.

The cheering was thunderous, Sirius was high-fiving everyone he saw, and Flitwick and Slughorn were sighing in the background.

Snape pouted. Mr. Congeniality got everything.

Well, at least one day Lily Evans would be an uber-hot MILF. And there was always Olivia Baskerville.

AN: Hey there, again. Did you like it? You better have! (Relax, I'm only kidding—or am I?). Reviews are very much appreciated (though not necessary, I understand the pain of having to actually work when you're just reading a story for a quick—or not so quick—laugh. Anyways, onwards). I'd love to hear your favorites lines and favorite parts!