Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter does not belong to me, let me assure you. I may be a high school graduate, but I'm not that intelligent... ;)

Fuller Summary: No one in Hogwarts can figure out who the Marauders are; a teacher? Unlikely. Students? Most likely, but who? The students' only clue is an emblem left after every prank that includes four different animal foot prints. Meanwhile, Lily Evans remains unimpressed with a certain James Potter's attempts to woo her; however, the one and only Mister Prongs has caught her attention by the mysterious, but nonetheless, endearing notes he leaves to her.

A/N: HOORAY! I graduated from high school! I'm so incredibly full of emotions that I can't even begin to describe them. So, welcome to my new story! I'm pretty darn excited for this one. Hopefully, you all enjoy it like you seemed to like Devil Wears Quidditch Gear (let me take a minute in silence to remember that faithful story...tear, tear...okay, I'm good). Well, this story is going to be written from Lily's point of view, first person, and I don't know how I feel about that...lol. A few weeks ago, I became totally obsessed with the Twilight series (shoutout to all of you Edward lovers out there!), and I think that's what probably inspired me to try a first person view. So, honestly, tell me what you think, and I'll go back and re-write everything in third person if I must (don't worry, I don't have that much written yet, so, really, be honest!).



And I could tell you
His favorite color's green.
He loves to argue
Born on the seventeenth.
His sister's beautiful,
He has his father's eyes
And if you ask me if I love him,
I'd lie.
--Taylor Swift, I'd Lie

Some would have said that I was obsessed.

Only the brave ones would have admitted—out loud—that I was hopelessly crazy.

In all honesty, I suppose I was caught somewhere between those two adjectives, flitting recklessly between them. Although, I suppose to be infatuated with a boy whose name was a mystery, a person would have to be a little bit of both. After all, isn't having an extreme obsession with something intangible always a first sign of insanity?

For all I knew, I could have had a one-way floo network to St. Mungo's with my name on it.

I'm not really sure how that—how should I put it?—interest of mine began. Really, I usually was not the type of girl to fall head over heels for a bloke. Actually, I had only ever had two boyfriends in all of my seventeen years of life. That very insignificant statistic was mostly due to my hatred for all things having to do with lovey-dovey shows of affection; I shuddered the first time David Clarke, my boyfriend when I was fourteen, held my hand on the way to Potions. Likewise, I purposefully knocked over my goblet of pumpkin juice into his lap the night he stupidly put his arm around me at dinner. I guess it goes without saying that we had broken up before our two month anniversary.

My second boyfriend wasn't much luckier; one Friday before Christmas holidays in fifth year, as we sat in front of the fire playing a game of Gobstones, he foolishly decided to lean over and land a wet one on my cheek. I mean, who does that? There we were, playing a bleeding game with marbles, and he just up and kissed me! No warning, no time for me to make up an excuse that I had a sore on my cheek, nothing! Poor Michael…he was a goner before I got onto the Hogwarts' Express two days later.

Then there was James Potter. I had never dated him, but he definitely suffered from my unnatural distaste for love for the time span of seven years. In first year, I guess I could say we were friends; we were eleven and still afraid of catching cooties, so the most he ever said to me was something along the lines of 'Pass the chicken' at dinner. Maybe that explains why we got along so well back then. Second year, Potter and his three friends—and the rest of the twelve-year-old population at Hogwarts, for that matter—delved into that hideous assumption that girls were stupid, and, therefore, not worth their time to talk to, yet alone acknowledge their existence.

Again, Potter and I got on pretty well.

It was third year when he started going wonky. It was third year when I proposed that too much summer sun had fried his brain. It was third year that James Potter became the first boy to ask me out.

At first, I blamed Sirius Black for pushing him off of his broomstick over the holidays, but when he continued to persist, I came to the conclusion that he was simply mentally deranged. I was thirteen, I had already decided on my non-interest for any physical contact from the opposite sex, and, therefore, I did not want a boyfriend. James Potter especially made it on my list of people who I should never date—even if I decided I ever was ready for commitment—because rumor had gone around that the summer after second year he'd been caught snogging a third year Ravenclaw in the back of Flourish & Blotts. Only a teenager for a few months, and already his hormones were unleashing themselves onto Annie Bean's lips…in a bookstore, for Merlin's sake. If that didn't say 'Danger: Stay Away' I didn't know what possibly could.

Fourth and fifth year passed along in the same kind of way; he continued to try to impress me, and I continued to believe he was even more of an idiot than I had first thought. Sixth year he went through another change that caused half the school population to wonder if I had dragged him off to an empty corridor and hexed his mouth shut at the beginning of term. This change was even more shocking than his puberty stricken, hormonal driven, period; Potter went back to ignoring me. Well, no, I suppose ignoring isn't the correct term…No, he was still there—he would always be there—but he made it terribly obvious that he considered me nothing more special than his every day average classmate. This baffled me more than anything else, but it worked to my advantage perfectly; I no longer had to waste my energy avoiding him or rejecting him.

Yet, no matter how hard I tried to stray away, Potter slowly started becoming a problem. Seventh year morphed into nothing less than a bizarre, unheard of miracle…

The imbecile kissed me.

And he survived.

Now, at seventeen years old, about to graduate from school and enter the real world, I'd never experienced my first kiss, something that didn't quite depress me as much as it would other girls my age. I'd never needed, nor wanted, to touch mouth with a boy. So, imagine my surprise when James Potter, the winning-obsessed Quidditch captain and the over-confident Head Boy, snogged me…and I didn't push him away.

My only guess was that I needed someone, a person who was tangible and there in the now, to release my pent up and repressed feelings for someone who would never be there…

It was the middle of fifth year that I changed almost as much as Potter would a year later. I had always guessed that my body was slow at developing, and the kick start that my hormones got two weeks after I had turned sixteen unfortunately proved that fact.

A boy jump-started my heart that year.

There was a group at my school, more pranksters than anything else, comprised of four blokes…well, at least that was what the students assumed (because girls couldn't possibly be that rebellious…). No one had a clue as to who the brilliant masterminds that were behind these massive pranks could be. Whoever they were, they had never felt the need to reveal themselves, which was probably a smart choice on their part considering Professor McGonagall was constantly after them like a preying feline.

However, for some unknown reason, luck fell upon me.

These pranksters were, indeed, all male.

And that wasn't the only secret that I ended up being exposed to—

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.


The way the name glided off of my tongue would always cause my lips to tingle pleasantly, warmly, as my mouth formed the single syllable slowly. And it was that name that led me to my whole obsessive disorder problem and the cause for my mental instability and, therefore, lack of appropriate response—aka: push him away—when Potter kissed me.

For some reason, after Valentine's Day during my fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Prongs took an interest in me.

And for some stranger reason, I took an interest back.

Bizarre, was it not? Do I even need to recap my hatred for all things love and lust?

To add further proof to my mental insanity, I didn't even know the guy. Well, actually, I think I knew him better than I had ever known a bloke in my life. I felt like I knew everything there was to know about him, from his favorite color (which was yellow, by the way) to his desire to one day see a world without You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters. The one thing I didn't know was who he was physically; was he taller than me? Pale skin? Short hair? Muscular? All I had was my over-excited imagination, filled with new feelings and desires.

I had never met him.

The Marauders preferred to keep themselves on a low profile.

Perhaps that's why I found myself falling for him so desperately towards the end of my fifth year. Maybe that's why I found him so appealing throughout sixth. We would never meet; we would never have that boyfriend-girlfriend status. There was no worry of having to pertain in public displays of affection. From hugs, to hand-holding, to kisses, none of that would exist with us. All that connected us were our owls, letters, and personality synchronicity. We completely complemented each other; honestly, if there was ever a guy for me, it would have been him.

At first, Emmeline thought I was one hundred percent foolish and reckless to infatuate myself with a bloke I hadn't even truly met. She swore that he was really some low-life scum who only wanted to get into my trousers eventually; Mary had even tried to convince me for weeks that Prongs might even be a female. Severus—the only male that I actually enjoyed being in company with, because he hadn't even so much as hugged his own mother (which was, is, quite sad when I think about it)—became cold and distant whenever I tried to talk to him about it.

But what could I do? My friends didn't know him like I did, and no matter how absurd their theories became, nothing would keep me from running up to my dorm room after every prank that the four boys would pull, anxious to rip apart the seal (the Marauders' emblem: four very different footprints varying in sizes) to read the words that he had formed with his very own ink and quill.

I hopelessly, and completely, fancied the pants off that boy.

Looking back, I'm convinced that I really did need to be shipped off to the mental ward in St. Mungo's hospital. It probably would have been better for my psyche if I had. I had lost all of my rational reasoning, rules and walls that I had so carefully and thoughtfully constructed since the tender age of eleven.

And while my boundaries cracked and crumbled down in front of my very own shocked eyes, I began to fall.

And I fell hard.

If you've made it down here, thanks for reading! Please leave me a review and let me know what you think; be as honest as you want. Even if you just want to drop a note off saying how much you love Twilight, I won't mind! (haha, I'm the only girl in my family, and my brothers refuse to read them, and only one of my friends have read them, so I have no one to talk to! Quite the dilemma...lol) Anyways, in all seriousness, thanks for reading this, and hopefully it was alright!

Until next time!