It's the fact they get in the way of her job that makes her consider it. She likes her work because it's about people, and making connections with others (after a little Firewhiskey to smooth the way).

But the way the girls eye her with jealousy doesn't make her feel human at all - they only see her as a threat. And the way the blokes almost never manage to drag their eyes up to her face is even worse.

Between that and the way her back aches at the end of a night, it's decided. The tits have got to go.






Remus was unsurprised to learn that Sirius was somewhat ... skittish on the subject of visiting Ireland. No doubt his parents had views on the Irish that placed them well below ordinary Muggles or even blood traitors on the Black family "unnatural filth" scale. And as James had pointed out, St. Patrick's banishment of all serpents from the island no doubt compounded the inherent offensiveness of the Irish in the eyes of Slytherins everywhere.

Sirius, though, had a history of overcoming the prejudices of his family when the proper stimulus was offered. Remus suspected the Guinness brewery would qualify as 'proper'.






It's raining again, which suits Lily just fine. She sets out the rest of the pastries her mum brought over and pours herself some of the tea she's just brewed. As if by rainy Sunday habit, she drifts towards the bookshelves, but hearing James stir, she shifts her gaze from the novels to the lowest shelf, where a pile of jigsaw puzzles is gathering dust.

By the time James appears, dangerously rumpled, and grabs his own pastry, she's put three-quarters of the edge together. "You know," he says, "there're charms that'll-" "I know," Lily answers. "But this way's better." "Mmph," he replies, mouth full of eclair, selecting two pieces of the sky, seemingly at random, and joining them. "Stop that," she says, with feigned irritation. "You have to finish the edge first, everyone knows that." "Sorry, my talents lie elsewhere. The edge is boring. Do these two look right?" He holds up another two sky pieces. "No, and I wish you wouldn't jam pieces together any which way."

For a few minutes they continue on like this, familiarly, amiably, but gradually they lapse into silence, sips of tea, nibbles of pastry, and the 'snick' of pieces slotting into their proper places.