It's Snivellus and Prongs, with a splash of good ol’ Padfoot on the side, and you really can't believe that you're stuck in the same position as Peter--sad, sorry Peter, with his chubby cheeks and grimy, power-hungry hands.

Paralyzing guilt and unrequited lust and quiet desperation all war against each other as you sit and watch Lily wind her sticky fingers around their hearts and pull, leading her men to her like yo-yos jumping back.

They always jump back, depraved little boys that they are, with tongues lolling out of open mouths and glazed eyes wide with want.

You wish she'd taint you like she's tainted them, but you mean nothing to her and you don't know why.