When James Potter was six years old, he did not need a babysitter.

Six years of age was practically a man. James viewed himself as mature enough not to deal in trivialities such as bedtimes, eating his vegetables, minding his Ps and Qs, or chores begot to him by his parents; least of all, chores assigned while Mum and Dad were away by the pretty witch from down the road.

The point of a babysitter, to James, was benign. Six years of life are clearly and definitely enough to care for himself for only a few hours at a time. Hey, even Peter's parents sometimes left him alone for a few minutes or so! It wasn't unheard of.

But Euphemia and Fleamont were ironclad in their (retrospectively wise) ways of not deeming a six-year-old responsible enough to stay alone for long periods of time, and so they casted an advert across their little town, and immediately a response was sent by (thankfully) another Wizarding family. (Having to explain why their six-year-old could float objects across the room every once in a while would quickly turn into a pain).

Willaby Baird, aged fourteen, had deep auburn hair and a face that was quick to become a stern scowl when necessary. Her eyes were often traversing across the vast bookshelves of the Potter household, instead of watching James, perusing what book she should pick up in lieu of actually doing her job. Granted, she was only being paid in small sums, nothing actually worth doing true work on James's behalf, so it was nothing to complain of.

The third time Willa took care of James, it was on account of a Ministry-sponsored party extended to the entire British Wizarding World, meaning, of course, that Euphemia and Fleamont were among the invited—as were Charlie and Rosetta Baird.

Now, simple maths were not taught to James in the limited schooling his mum provided for him, but he did know how to add: Two sets of missing parents plus two unattended children of the age six equaled Euphemia and Fleamont capitalizing on reasons to pay Willa less. They suggested she bring along her little sister to play with James for a smaller sum, and, seeing as Charlie and Rosetta had not organised a babysitter for their young child, they took up the offer immediately.

Thus began the best night of James Potter's life. And Piper Baird's, for that matter.

No less than an hour into the Disapparation of their parents, Willa seated the two young children before her on the Baird's' couch and knelt before them like a schoolteacher. She gave them both an earnest look with those big brown eyes of hers that got her out of anything, even at age fourteen.

"I think you're both of good years," she told them, as if letting them in on a little secret. "Six is a very smart age to be."

"Thank you," James said immediately, looking entirely too proud of the false compliment. At six, Piper remembers him having lost two of his front teeth at once, leaving him with the slightest of lisps. She'd always laughed at it; he'd never appreciated that very much.

"So," Willa continued, having been used to James's untamable ego by her third night with him, "what's going to happen tonight is this: Neither of you will bother me unless one of you is bleeding or dying. If there is a fire, yell at me. I'll deal with it accordingly."

Piper—always the rule-follower, then even more so than now—raised her hand. "What about if we get hungry? Or thirsty?"

"You know how to open the pantry," was Willa's response. "Any other foolish questions, or can I go?"

"Yeah, I've got one." James jerked his chin like a roadie, acting much too tough for somebody with glasses that were too big for his face. "Where will you be? Aren't you supposed to be taking care of us?"

"I'll be caring for you from the confinements of my bedroom." Willa stood up, brushing off her knees. "Don't bother me, because I'll be on the Floo line with Ansel. What are the two exceptions, again?"

"Bleeding or dying," Piper chanted in response, nodding along. "Tell your boyfriend I say hello."

"I probably won't," said Willa, already halfway up the stairs to her bedroom. A few footsteps later, there slammed a loud, heavy door.

James and Piper turned to each other, still sitting beside one another on the couch.

"My name's Piper," she introduced, even though she was pretty sure James should have known her name by then. "And I'm six and a half, so I think I should be in charge."

"Woah, woah, woah," said James, crossing his arms. "I'm six and three quarters. I'll be in charge, thank you very much. Plus, I can already do some magic."

"I don't believe you," said Piper, mirroring him, doing (in James's opinion) a rather good impression of her sister's unimpressed glare. "When's your birthday? And what kind of magic?"

James puffed out his chest. "March twenty-eighth. And I set our cat on fire once."

Piper's shoulders sunk, knowing she was an August baby and hadn't so much as floated an object yet. "Oh... whatever. If you want to be in charge then you can be in charge. That just means you have to talk to our parents if anything goes wrong."

Bored now by the conversation, James only shrugged, hopping off the couch and meandering towards the kitchen. "That's probably for the best, anyway," he said as he made himself perfectly at home in the Bairds's refrigerator. "I'm pretty sure that I'm a better negoshigator."

"I think you mean negotiator," Piper corrected, already at his heels.

James jumped, glancing back over his shoulder, giving her a bewildered sort of look. "When on earth did you get there?"

Then for the first time, James Potter caught a glimpse of Piper Baird's smile, and he decided that absolutely nothing else could have mattered to him other than spending his life devoted to making sure he saw that same smile every single day of his life.

Now, newly formed friendships never truly culminated to much, in Piper's experience—an amiable sort of smile here and there, a neighborly wave when passing each other in town (and, soon enough, forgetting that you were ever supposed to be "friends" with them in the first place). At least, that was all of Piper's knowledge on the matter. There was no such thing as a true friendship, just tiny little people you meet every once in a while that you act like you're friends with. Then nothing.

But with James, Piper realised she had been entirely wrong on the matter. Friends actually... existed. Best friends, too. She just had never known the fact until she had met James Potter.

James changed a lot about Piper. He taught her some of his best pranks (of his small age, at least—they of course improved over the years), taught her good Quidditch technique from bad, that the only honourable Hogwarts house was Gryffindor, and bunches of other nonsense ideals that Piper outwardly disagreed with.

"But my parents were Ravenclaws," she'd argue when he tried urging his scarlet-toned dreams on her. "My sister is a Slytherin."

"Slytherin's the evil house," he said mindlessly, waving the comment off. "And Ravenclaws are all bookish and snobby."

"My family is evil and snobby?"

He just shot her a blank stare. "Have you met your sister?"

Accepting that as a point in James's favour, Piper scoured her head for another stab at his argument. "Well... well, yeah, I've met her, but she thinks that all Gryffindors are attention-seeming idiots."

"Seeking," James corrected. Then he frowned. "And we are not! Where on earth does Willa get off, saying that?"

"She gets off with a good ten Galleons for her time," said Willa Baird as she swept into the den on her way to the kitchen. Another babysitting job of hers at the Bairds' house where she spent the whole sum of the time sitting in her bedroom talking to her boyfriend. "And she'll put up with almost anything for that, if she's being honest. And, no, Potter, it's not because nobody else will hire me on the basis of I'm a Slytherin."

James slowly shut his mouth. Piper stifled a laugh.

Years later, they would find both their beliefs on Hogwarts houses appeased; James's, of course, would never die, and he would apparently forever stand firm on the opinion that Gryffindor was the best house.

And Piper would have to live with the fact that she had somehow been sorted into the same house as James Potter. She didn't mind much that she was a Gryffindor, anyway—it was just that, by age eleven, she had started to realise something about James Potter. Nothing big, of course. Nothing life-changing.

Just the fact that he was the love of her life and she would never have him.

It sounded just like the silly little hopeless beliefs of love-struck children, didn't it? Just the thoughts of a young girl hellbent on the fact that her best friend was the boy for her. It was just a foolish fancy that would wade off in a few months or so after she'd spent enough time around him.

Except that she was beginning to find, rather frustratingly, that the more time she spent around him, the worse her little affliction became.

Over the years, Piper grew to hate herself. She hated her love for James and the fact that she was so unable to shake it. She hated that James would never have wanted her back. She hated that James was in love with Lily Evans. She hated every little thing about James Potter, except for the fact that he was her best friend.

Phew. Living life as Piper Baird, in love with her best friend, miserable and hopeless and desperate for romance, was beginning to become exhausting.

But she couldn't help it. She didn't want to help it, anyhow. She loved James. James didn't feel the same.

She would just have to live with it.

After all, she already had, for the past ten years.

Via Chatter

Her hopeless ass omg

Calm luh prologue hope yall find it nice and entertaining and also intriguing and entice you to read this fic and interact with it and comment and vote and Not be a ghost reader