James Potter circled the pitch, the wind whistling in his ears and ruffling his already tousled hair. His team was down one hundred points- they needed him now more than ever. Suddenly, far across the field, he caught a glimpse of the snitch glinting in the distance. His broom surged forward, and he threw himself flat, arm outstretched. The other team's seeker had a head start but could not compete with James' flying skills. Soon he had overtaken his opponent, and now it was just a battle between him and the golden orb, fluttering just out of reach.
With a sudden snap of his wrist he caught it by a wing, and then crushed it into the palm of his hand. The announcer gave a jubilant shout, and the red and gold stands roared their approval. As he lazily drifted to the ground, where his teammates had clustered to congratulate him, he scanned the crowds for the face he knew would be there.
Sure enough, Lily Evans in all her glory was running towards him, green eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed. He dismounted casually and held out his arms for her embrace. She was almost there, her mouth opening to cry…
"POTTER! IF I SEE YOU PLAYING WITH THAT SNITCH ONE MORE TIME…" Madame Pomfrey snarled from her office, where she was dealing with a herd of distressed Hufflepuff first-years. James guiltily shoved the snitch back into his pocket, and shifted in the hospital bed with a melancholy and dramatic sigh.
Really, his life was descending into a tragedy of the most dismal proportions. Bad enough that he had been humiliated in front of the entire school by his goddess incarnate, the incomparable Lily, but now he was stuck in this awful room until the curse wore off, which would be another twenty-four hours at least. And then, to add insult to injury, the stalwart hero's most trusted companions had abandoned him to eternal boredom.
James ran a hand through his hair absently and frowned. True, they would not have left by choice, and it was hardly their fault if the game of Gobstones had gotten a little out of control. He could not blame Sirius for being overly enthusiastic in his hand motions nor did Remus intentionally place his potions essay so close to the board. And once the fire had started, poor Peter had only been trying to douse the flame with the nearest liquid to hand. Perhaps smuggling in the Firewhiskey wasn't such a good idea after all.
But that did not change the current situation, namely that James was more bored than he had ever been in his entire life. Had it only been five hours? Well, technically it had been four days since the run-in with Lily, but it was five hours to the minute since the unfortunate Gobstone incident that had led to his solitary confinement.
So when the door creaked open, James bounced up, determined to make the best of any company, no matter how grim. After all, anybody short of Snape would be better than the soul-crushing silence of the hospital wing.
"Hullo…" he began brightly, then abruptly trailed off as he saw who was walking into the room. "Lestrange."
The seventh year Slytherin in question looked at him blankly, as if a piece of the wall had begun talking. "Potter," he nodded finally, and then sat down to wait for Madame Pomfrey.
James sank back into his pillow in utter dejection. When he had thought anybody but Snape, he really should have been more particular. Because on principle, he loathed Rodolphus Lestrange for several reasons. In fact, he could probably list them in his head, since he had absolutely nothing else to do.
Reasons Not to Talk to the Stupid Git:
Lestrange was a Slytherin. Enough said. And French, which was even worse.
He was best friend of the insufferable Lucius Malfoy, Head Boy and Prat Extraordinaire.
He was a complete sociopath, who was aided in his homicidal endeavors by a bratty little brother in fifth year who abused his prefect privileges in a most shocking manner.
He was the captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, the same team which had recently beaten Gryffindor rather badly, due to the absence of a certain star seeker. Not to mention that as beater, he held the dubious honor of 'Most Fouls Incurred in a Single Game'.
Finally, at six foot eight Lestrange was the tallest student currently attending Hogwarts and had on one memorable occasion beaten Gavin Goyle into a coma that had lasted two weeks. Given that Goyle's skull was roughly the same thickness as a troll's, it made getting into a duel with Lestrange, muggle or otherwise, a rather dangerous venture.
James nodded to himself and crossed his arms. That settled it. He would just wait out this intrusion into his privacy and then go back to brooding in peace. He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Thirty seconds had elapsed. He looked over at the enemy, who was sitting oblivious.
The only apparent sign of injury was that Lestrange had a handkerchief (monogrammed, James noted with disgust) clapped over his nose. Judging from the fact that he was still in Quidditch attire, he had probably gotten a Bludger to the face during team practice. Most likely, he simply wanted Pomfrey to do a bone-setting charm to prevent scarring. Unfortunately, Pomfrey had been dealing with the harried Hufflepuffs for at least three hours now, and showed no signs of being finished anytime soon. Grudgingly, James decided to break his silence, only two minutes into the clock.
"She's in back with some first years, you know. You're better off coming back in an hour or two when she's finally gotten them sorted out."
Lestrange blinked, as if wondering why the wall kept speaking to him. Evidently deciding that, since there was nobody else in the room, he could get away with talking to walls or sixth-year bloodtraitor Gryffindors for that matter, he cleared his throat.
"I might as well just wait. The sooner I get this," here he made an airy wave at the obscured portion of his face, "fixed, the better."
Now that the ice was broken, however awkwardly, James was reluctant to let it freeze over again. Anything but the silence. Anything.
"Stray bludger?" He asked lightly. Since they both played quidditch, it seemed an acceptable topic of conversation.
Rodolphus shifted his gaze from over James' left shoulder to his face, meeting the other boy's eyes for the first time.
"Bounced off my bat," he shrugged, and then looked away again.
It was funny, James thought, but Padfoot always did the exact same thing when he was lying. Looking the other person straight in the face and all that. Sirius had always claimed that it was a Black family thing. Look them in the eyes, dare them to use Legilimency, and it proves you're telling the truth. Unless of course, you can conceal your thoughts. Then it just proves that you're good at lying.
It was also funny, James continued on, a smirk beginning to spread across his face, that an undeniably brilliant beater like Lestrange would make a rookie mistake like angling his bat towards his face. Unless of course, he hadn't gotten hit by a bludger at all, and his injury was somewhat more peculiar in nature.
James made a big show of stretching his arms out, discreetly reaching for his wand as he did so. He then counted to twenty under his breath, waiting until Lestrange glanced out the window, before giving it a quick flick.
"Accio Handkerchief!" James bellowed, and held out his hand expectantly. What he was completely unprepared for was the blinding flash of red light that followed the incantation. By the time he had managed to open his eyes again, Lestrange was halfway across the room and looking murderous.
He raised his wand again, only to have it knocked out of his hand by a quick Expelliarmus, and then Lestrange had picked him up and hurled him into the wall. His vision was still incredibly blurry, and judging from the sharp pain in his ankle he had twisted something. Meanwhile Rodolphus was conjuring an ominous ball of black energy. James was about to dive for his wand, when he heard, rather than saw, Madame Pomfrey's shriek of anger.
"MR. LESTRANGE! PUT DOWN THAT WAND THIS INSTANT! THE HOSPITAL IS NO PLACE FOR YOUR STUPID STUNTS…" She paused rather abruptly. "Good heavens boy, what on earth have you done to your nose?"
James was still rubbing his eyes when she bustled out, shaking her head and telling Rodolphus to leave the handkerchief off and let the jinx air out. He pulled himself back into his bed and prodded his ankle gingerly. There was an angry twinge in response, and he murmured the basic healing spell he'd memorized ages ago under his breath. Once the pain had subsided, he turned to face his attacker, who was now sulking on the other side of the room.
Now that he could see again, James had to admit that it was quite a sight. Lestrange was sitting with his arms crossed, glaring moodily at the floor. Meanwhile, his nose was cheerfully glowing a bright red that illuminated the air around him. No longer smothered by fabric, the light was slightly more subdued but continued to shine with a rather startling intensity.
"So," James began, struggling to conceal the grin that was spreading over his face, "Bludger off the bat, eh?"
Lestrange did not acknowledge him, his features acquiring the same glassy expression that James had already seen twice today. Really, it must be some sort of requirement for all of Malfoy's lackeys. The "don't blame me, I barely rate as a sentient being" look. Then of course, there was the classic Slytherin sneer, Pureblood smirk, and future Death Eater death glare. Voldermort probably didn't let you join unless you could kill through death glare. Maybe it was the initiation ceremony or something.
James shook himself out of that thought train, realizing that he had far more important things to do, like mercilessly mocking the person sitting across from him. The bright side was that Lestrange couldn't do anything without incurring Madame Pomfrey's wrath.
"The question is, of course, who would jinx you like that. Fortunately, I am a master of deductive reasoning, so rest assured, the taunting will soon commence," James steepled his fingers and tried to look wise.
"You're still wearing your Quidditch gear, so it must have been someone on your team. Most likely a seventh year to avoid physical retribution, and they knew you wouldn't kick them off the team, which means a decent player. So we're left with Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Black. And to be fair, Malfoy's much more into the subtle intrigue thing, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that it was the lovely Miss Black," he concluded proudly and gave a bow.
To be honest, he had been expecting some applause, but Lestrange was still studying the cracks in the floor. James frowned. This might take longer than he thought.
"How did it happen anyway? Did you walk in on her changing or something?" No response.
"You can tell me, it's not like I'm going anywhere." Nothing.
"So the red nose… Didn't Peeves used to call you Rudolph?" Something that might have been a twitch flickered across Lestrange's face.
"It's like the song then, right? Rudolph the red-nosed wizard (wizard) had a very shiny nose- And if you ever saw it (saw it), you would even say it glows…" James began rather loudly. Lestrange glanced furtively at the door, then at Pomfrey's office, then back to the bed, where James had begun on the second verse.
"I asked her to the Christmas Ball, all right?" Lestrange hissed. "Now shut up."
James stopped singing and stared at him in horror.
"You asked out Bellatrix Black? Why?" Lestrange rolled his eyes.
"Just because you like to moon over mudbloods doesn't mean we all do. I happen to have taste."
"Don't call her that," James spat. There was a short staring match, as furious hazel eyes narrowed dangerously at somewhat indifferent brown ones. Then Lestrange shrugged, and to show that he hadn't meant it as a true insult, continued talking.
"She's smart, independent, thinks for herself… beautiful, sophisticated, the most interesting girl I know." A rather broad grin had spread across his face and he looked almost idiotically happy.
"Interesting's not quite the word I'd use. Psychotic, maybe. Vicious, disturbing, bat-shit crazy," James muttered to himself. Lestrange gave a sigh.
"I know. Isn't she wonderful?"
James shook his head at the other boy.
"It'll never work you know. For starters she can't stand you. Seriously, the only times she's not screaming at you are when there's a Quidditch game going on, or if she's screaming at Sirius. That's not a good basis for a relationship."
The happy grin slowly drained off of Lestrange's dark features, leaving him looking coldly combative.
"You're one to talk, you know. Your darling Evans showed you up in front of the entire school. Swelling your head until you can't even get out of the Great Hall? I was there; it took Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Slughorn to squeeze you through the main entrance," he laughed maliciously, and even his nose, which was giving him a festive red halo, could not lessen the blow.
"Severus does a great impression of you. You should see it, it's really top-knotch. First the 'Evans, marry me' bit, then the part where she dumps her pumpkin juice on you, followed by the 'so are we on for the Ball' crack, and finally the swelling. He's even got the part down where you fall over once your head reaches critical mass, and you can't get up again." This last part was said in a quietly musing tone, eyes half closed as if Lestrange was reliving it. James swallowed at the knot that was forming in his throat.
"That last part isn't that hard you know. Snivellus is always tripping over his nose." Inwardly, he was seething, digging his fingernails into his palms. The spell had been nasty, even by Lily's standards, and he'd missed the Slytherin quidditch game (the ONLY game that mattered) when Madam Pomfrey had insisted on him spending the next week in the hospital bed, for 'observation and recuperation'.
What was Lily's problem? Didn't she know that he loved her, would do anything for her? Why couldn't she just give him a chance? He gave a long wistful sigh, as he thought of his beautiful redhead, the way her cheeks flushed when she was angry, those bright green eyes dancing with rage… He sighed again, expecting Padfoot or Moony or even Wormtail to pat him on the back and offer comforting support. Slightly peeved when nothing happened, he sighed loudly once more. Where was the sympathy, damn it!
James lifted his head, ready to give his friends a piece of his mind, when he remembered where he was. Lestrange, if he had noticed James' respiratory ailments, had given no sign. Instead, he had leaned back in his chair, and appeared to be dozing off. James shook off his apathy with a determined grimace. He had not become the world-class seeker that he was through giving up. No, he would just have to come up with a better plan, something truly genius. Constant perseverance! That could be his motto. It sounded vaguely familiar, and slightly deranged, but no matter. If at first you don't succeed, try and try and try and try again.
This had to be something big, though, after the last stunt. Something she couldn't possibly refuse. And romantic… Maybe that was the problem. Just asking her out wasn't that special. He needed something a little more heartfelt. "Like a heart! A giant pulsing heart that says I LOVE YOU LILY!"
James realized that Lestrange was now fully awake and staring at him with both eyebrows raised. He'd said that last part out loud, hadn't he? Crap.
"Or not," he added weakly, feeling for the first time more ridiculous than Rudolph-the-Red-Nosed-Wizard.
"You need help," the other boy stated flatly.
"Look, I'm used to brainstorming, okay?" James retorted defensively. "And I need a plan, and it's got to be genius, and how am I supposed to know if it sounds stupid until I say it out loud?"
"Why don't you just start with the baseline assumption that they will all be stupid," Lestrange snapped back. Clearly he still hadn't gotten over the reminder of Bellatrix's all consuming hatred for him. Honestly, he was the one who needed the help. James blinked as the thought struck him. Well, he had tried everything else.
"Or, why don't you help me come up with something?" The silence was back with a vengeance.
"You were the one who said I needed help. Please? Plus, you might be on the slower side," James added the insult from force of habit, then waved his hand to smooth it over. "But you're still a Slytherin, which means you're good at sneaky. All I'm asking for is one sneaky plan to make Lily realize that she's madly in love with me. And in return…"
"It's too late for you to throw the Quidditch game. We've already won," Rodolphus smirked, crossing his arms.
"In return, I shall help you win over your beloved Bella." James' generous offer was met with a snort of derisive laughter.
"Look Potter, you are the last person who should be giving out advice on dating. To anybody. And I certainly don't need help." Lestrange drawled in response. It might have been an impressive rebuttal, had his nose not ruined the effect by releasing a sudden surge of light for added emphasis. James coughed politely.
"As persuasive and somewhat blinding as your argument was, I think you just can't come up with anything."
"Please. That's the oldest trick in the book."
"What have you got to lose?" Another lull in the conversation, but this was more of a 'holding your breath while the psycho thinks it over' kind of silence.
"Apologize. Get her alone, while she's in a good mood. Maybe slip her some Draught of Peace beforehand, just to make sure she stays calm. And lose the attitude. Some of us can pull it off, but you just come across as an arrogant ass." Lestrange was speaking with a detached inflection, as if he was lecturing on the proper way to transfigure a snail. As a result, James almost missed the barb, but recovered quickly.
"Is that her opinion or yours, Rudolph?" Other than a slight jaw clench, the other boy gave no sign of having heard the interjection.
"Bring her flowers. Not lilies, that's clichéd, not roses, too overdone… No skip that, bring her a necklace. Nothing too expensive, you don't want her to think you're bribing her, but something unique. Then, and this is important, back off. Tell her to have a nice time at the dance, and leave. The dance is two weeks away. Don't hex anybody in front of her, don't flirt with other girls, or ask anybody else to go as your date. On the big night, you're a no-show. Evans will leave the dance early, because she's tired, or her date's a bust, or she wants to do work or something. But most likely, because she's curious about your change of heart and is wondering where you are. She goes to the Gryffindor common room, which will be empty, aside from you, reading some sort of insightful Muggle book," Rodolphus managed to override his gag reflex and continue on.
"She will be wearing your necklace of course, and you will compliment her on it. Have a cozy little chat about the book, make sure you have some idea of what it's about by the way, and then move on to why she left the dance. Be sympathetic. She'll ask you why you didn't go- make up some excuse, and make sure it sounds mature. At some point, move over to give her room on the couch. She'll sit down, you move on to discuss the meaning of life, or whatever it is Gryffindors talk about in their spare time."
"And then?" James asked, pushing his glasses back with one finger. This was beginning to sound good.
"And then, if she's really in love with you, she'll realize it. That's what you wanted right? Her to realize her true feelings and all that?" James sank back down on the bed, trying to fight down the rising lump of panic.
"But what if she doesn't?" He swallowed hard.
"Huh?"
"What if she doesn't love me? What if we're not meant to be? What if I've been wasting the past three years of my life mooning over somebody who will never love me?" James was staring at the floor with a dull hopelessness.
"Three years? That's really pathetic."
"I mean, I always assumed that it would work out eventually. But what if it doesn't? What if she spends the rest of her life hating me?" James went on.
Rodolphus shifted uncomfortably. Was randomly pouring out their feelings some weird Gryffindor trait that he had never noticed before?
"Well, you'll move on, I guess," he volunteered weakly. Truthfully, this whole sympathetic advice thing was way out of his league. As a rule, Slytherins kept their personal lives to themselves, because it was nobody else's business. Why the rest of the school did not have the decency to do the same was beyond comprehension.
"I'll never move on," Potter declared emphatically. "She's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. How does anybody just move on from that?" He was beginning to sound hysterical, and Rodolphus wondered if he should come back and wait for Madame Pomfrey later, preferably after the imbecile had been sedated.
Then of course, he remembered that his nose still looked, well, like a lightbulb. And Salazaar knew who he might see in the corridor. Peeves would be a nightmare. So he had to stick it out. Potter was still waxing eloquent about his mudblood obsession. Rodolphus racked his brain for a way to block out the noise. A silencio would do the job, but he simply could not afford to get kicked out of the hospital in his current state.
So how to reassure Potter that the girl who had never shown the slightest bit of interest in him was in fact the destined soul mate… He just didn't have the experience when it came to dealing with emotional wrecks who were busy confronting their sad and meaningless lives.
Last week Lucius had delivered a whispered tirade during Potions about Narcissa, who had apparently caught him checking out Syren Zabini. To that, Rodolphus had nodded absently, and then reminded Lucius that Narcissa had caught him doing much worse, yet they were still together. Clearly, the girl was not the sort to carry grudges. Actually, he suspected that Cissy was exactly the sort who carried grudges, but it appeared to convince Lucius who went back to making their potion, while Rodolphus went back to discreetly melting Frank Longbottom's cauldron.
And perhaps two months ago, he had been forced to deal with a very sniffly and generally miserable brother who had learned that his girlfriend was cheating on him with Terrence Wilkes. Rodolphus had handled that by telling Rabastan to blow his nose and get over it. Then they had strolled over to the library, where Wilkes could normally be found, and Rodolphus had a polite discussion with the human slime in question. By the time he had broken an arm and three ribs, his brother had almost fully recovered. And after he had cast a particularly nasty shriveling hex, insuring that Wilkes would not be cheating with anyone for several months, Stan had cheered up enough to give the heap of twitching limbs detention for picking fights in the hallway.
Neither of these scenarios really seemed to apply here, but waiting out the storm was not exactly working either. Potter had now moved on to reassessing every failed attempt to win Evans' undying love.
"And what about the time that I charmed a dozen birds to follow her in the hallway singing love songs? I mean, when she set them on fire I thought it was just denial. But what if she really hates me?"
An idea began to form in Rodolphus's head. He poked at it doubtfully, naturally suspicious of any spontaneous thoughts. It was beyond desperate, but Potter was showing no signs of winding down. A diversion of some kind was necessary.
"Hey!" He cut through the monologue of woe. "I thought you were going to help me out, not sit there whining about your girlfriend." Potter stopped, his mouth hanging half-open. Then, he abruptly clapped his hands together and beamed. Rodolphus wondered if all Gryffindors were bipolar, or just this one.
"You're right! I completely forgot! So look, you've got to tell me how the whole thing happened, because I need a little background info to work with," James began seriously.
"What? That wasn't part of the deal!" Rodolphus realized he had made a very large mistake.
"I need to know why she said no to begin with. It can't possibly be that bad. I mean, it's not like you were in the Great Hall when it happened."
"Forget it," Rodolphus gritted his teeth.
"Fine. I was in the Great Hall, you know. I had just gone up to Lily when…" What had he done to deserve this? He certainly wasn't the nicest person in the world, but surely there were worse out there. Bella for example. She definitely deserved this more than he did. Or maybe she had planned the whole thing. Hexed the Hufflepuffs to distract Madame Pomfrey, then trapped him in this awful waiting room where time had no meaning, and there was just the droning voice of James Potter, rising and falling monotonously, wounded Gryffindor pride oozing all over the floor and choking the very air until he felt like he might suffocate.
"…Then I felt this funny tingling feeling in my head. I didn't pay too much attention to it at first, because Lily was staring at me, and we were having intense eye contact. I thought it might be a good sign, that she was actually looking at me, like in those muggle movies where their eyes meet and the music goes all cheesy and they have a slow-motion kiss…"
Muggle movies? Rodolphus was feeling slightly nauseous. Degenerative culture, poisoning the masses, corrupting wizarding society with its putrid filth. If Bella really had planned this, she was even more devious than he had previously given her credit for. It was the ultimate revenge, so twisted that he had not even realized the danger he was in until it was too late. But the effort it must have taken! To create such an intricate trap required true dedication. And it was for him… She really cared!
In a sudden surge of magnanimity, Rodolphus decided that he might as well hear Potter's advice. It wasn't like he had that much dignity left to begin with.
"Okay Potter, shut up for a minute. I'm only going to tell this once, so pay attention." Potter blinked, his train of thought momentarily derailed. Then he realized what was going on and fixed a suitably attentive expression on his face.
"It was after Quidditch practice, obviously. It was Bella's turn to put the equipment away, and I told her I would help carry everything in so I would have a chance to ask her in private." Actually, he'd put a lot of planning into it. He had noticed that while on the Quidditch pitch, Bella tended to treat him more as the team captain, rather than as annoying Roddy Lestrange who just couldn't take a hint. He had hoped that this would extend to the ten minutes following practice, and that she would also be grateful that he was helping her with a tiresome and boring job.
"I don't think she was thrilled about it, but everything went pretty well up until we put the Bludgers away. That was when I asked her if she was going with anybody to the Christmas Ball."
"And then she hexed you?" Potter asked, looking sympathetic. Sympathy from a Gryffindor? This really was a personal low.
"Well, not exactly. She said that she was not going with anybody to the Ball, that dances were a waste of time, and even if she did go, she would never ever consider going with me. Then I asked why, and she said, and I quote, 'Honestly, Roddy, you're not my type.' And then I might have said something along the lines of, 'You know what your problem is, Trixie? You have no sense of holiday spirit.'"
"And then she hexed you?"
"And then she hexed me." Rodolphus rubbed his nose self-consciously. It hadn't happened quite like that. She had stared at him for a moment, mouth moving soundlessly, then she had given a shriek of frustration, and the next thing he knew he was lying on the ground five minutes later, Bella was nowhere in sight, and he looked like something a Christmas tree had thrown up.
"Hmm… so how many times have you asked her out?" Potter looked mildly curious.
"This year?" Rodolphus frowned, trying to remember. He did have some self-restraint after all. He tended to only ask when Hogsmeade days were approaching or big dances.
"Five, I think." Of course, that wasn't counting the thousands of offers to carry her books, walk her to class, lend her his notes, cloak, eighth century illuminated text on necromancy, or anything else she might be interested in. Then there were the times that he rushed to hold the door for her, stood up when she approached his table, hexed anyone who insulted her… And each and every time had been met with a glare, an insult, a forty-minute rant, or an increasingly creative jinx.
He realized that Potter had been quiet for almost thirty seconds now and congratulated himself on a job well done. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes once more. Maybe this time he would actually have the chance to fall asleep.
"I've got it!" Potter shouted jubilantly. And maybe sleep deprivation was just one more tactic that Bella had decided to torture him with. He opened his eyes.
"Look, Lestrange, have you ever beaten someone up in front of Bellatrix?" Potter was practically bouncing on the edge of his bed with repressed excitement.
"Of course not," Rodolphus scowled. "I would never muggle duel in front of Bella." Not only would it be unforgivably rude to have a fist fight in front of a pureblood lady, but that was hardly the type of behavior one exhibited in front of the love of their life.
"Haven't you noticed that girls don't really care for that sort of thing? Evans couldn't care less about Severus, you know. It's you assaulting random people that she objects to," he explained patiently, wondering how many times Potter had been dropped on the head as a child. Or perhaps his stupidity was a result of prolonged exposure to dungbombs.
Unfortunately, Potter did not appear put off in the least. Instead he only shook his head with mock pity.
"That's just it. You're the one who said that Bellatrix was one of a kind. And I bet you've never used any spell worse than jelly-legs in front of her." His voice welled with solemn disapproval. "You don't blow people's cauldrons up in their faces, you don't shut Mrs. Norris in the oven and wait for someone to turn it on, you don't try and feed firsties to the giant squid, you don't push people out of windows…"
"Defenestrate," Rodolphus corrected, rather miffed. "I don't defenestrate people. And you're right, I don't do any of that in front of her because she'd probably freak and never want to go near me again. Come on, have you seen the guys she dates? None of them would ever be caught dead trying to deep fry a cat."
"How did Mrs. Norris ever survive that one?" Potter wondered, getting slightly sidetracked.
"Some house elf called Filch, I think," Rodolphus grunted, uninterested. Like he cared how that mangy squib had rescued the flea-ridden menace. Meanwhile, Potter had remembered his idea.
"I think that's it though. I mean, she dates a lot of the stuffy pureblood types, but they've never lasted more than two weeks. I think she just gets bored of them. And she doesn't want to date you because she thinks you'll be even worse. She thinks you're polite and sweet and completely not her type. That's what she said, isn't it?"
Rodolphus stared. Potter was wrong of course. He had to be. Bella couldn't possibly think of him as some sickening do-gooder could she? Sure, he'd tried to be on his best behavior around her, but didn't she know him at all?
"I'm telling you, show up at the dance with the best-looking girl you can find. She'll be surprised, a little jealous. Then destroy her date in front of her. If that doesn't impress her, then nothing will." Potter was looking smugly satisfied, as if he had just grabbed a snitch. Stuck-up little swine. This was probably some sort of prank, trying to ruin his chances with Bella, or land him in detention for the rest of the year. It had to be a trick. Right? Of course, even if this strategy backfired in some hideous fashion, he would at least have the satisfaction of setting Bella's boyfriend du jour on fire. Or defenestrating him. And if she rejected him like she always rejected him… Well, he'd laugh it off like he always did and then spend the rest of his life being quietly miserable.
"Hey! You still alive over there? Do we have a deal or what?" Potter demanded. Rodolphus blinked.
"A deal?"
"Yeah, I do your plan, you do mine, and we compare results."
"But that would mean actually talking to you again," Rodolphus objected in a reasonable tone. Just because Potter might have had a decent idea for the first time in his life, there was no need to voluntarily seek out the prank-happy nuisance.
"Well, it's not like I want to. I have a reputation to keep up after all," Potter snapped back. "But if it works out, it might be worth while to at least discuss first date ideas. And if it doesn't work out, we'll both be in the hospital anyway, so we might as well discuss what went wrong."
Rodolphus hesitated, and then realized that when this did go wrong, arranging to meet up with Potter would make it that much easier to kill him when the time came. He took a deep breath.
"Deal."