Lily
J- Hey Evans! Be my girlfriend?
L- Do you really want me to answer that question?
J- If you say yes, I'll never lay a hand on Snivellus ever again.
L- What, did Black kill him already
In all honesty, I've never felt this frustrated in my life. I wasn't nearly as frustrated when my first ever transfiguration essay only got a nine out of ten; not when I realized I had no talent whatsoever in flying. Not even when I didn't memorize the constellations in time for our fifth year O.W.L.s. But this one had to go down under the just-kill-me-now category.
Seriously.
If Potter asks me out one more time, I will commit suicide.
I know I say that every time he does it and as kindly pointed out, I haven't kill myself. Yet. But every conversation with that idiot is really a couple thousand steps towards insanity.
He just drives me crazy. I mean, it's gotten to a point where even his mere existence disturbs me. Is that normal? I don't think so.
I've given up on counting how many times he's asked me out since fifth year because there's no bloody point. He's made it particularly clear that he isn't planning to stop any time soon
He sings it, yells it, acts it, writes it, and posts it every single chance he gets. You'd think that he actually cared enough about the girl he's pursuing to realize that it's downright humiliating for her. But this guy doesn't know the meaning of humiliation. In fact, he doesn't know the meaning of a whole lot of words and phrases—no, never, when pigs fly, in your dreams, dream on, get a life, sod off, go to hell—the list goes on.
Can anyone be so dense? Apparently.
J- Evans, go out with me and I'll bring you to places you've never seen before.
L- Great. Drop me off at the nearest train station then go on the rest of the way without me. And, Potter? Don't come back.
And that's where logic fails me. As much as I hate to admit it, James Potter is one of the most brilliant students in school—if not the most brilliant. And he does it without even trying. He barely listens during lectures but there's never a question he can't answer. He brings only one quill to class and nothing else but he can recite the 25 uses of a bezoar without batting an eyelash. I've never seen him do his homework, ever. But how come he's not even remotely flunking his subjects? Maybe, that's one of the reasons he gets on my nerves so much. It's the way he gets everything so effortlessly while others have to die in the process first.
Now, where's the justice in that?
Of course I'm not bitter or resentful. I just feel like he's got so much in him, so much—dare I say it—talent and look where he channels it. Right there to his big, fat, inflated head and that little piece of junk he calls a broomstick. Honestly.
You'd think he had better things to do than prance around, ruffling his hair and grinning brainlessly at every living female specimen in the perimeter. But no. In his spare time, he liked to hex Slytherins, bully Snape and invent mass-destructive pranks.
Sometimes, I want to abandon civilized conversation and just walk up to him and shave his bloody hair off. Or sneak into his room one night, steal his broomstick and break it into half. Or gag his mouth and bind his hands and feet so he doesn't have to go anywhere near me ever again. Or sometimes, I just have this sudden urge to kill him with my bare hands.
See what I mean? He drives me crazy. He has this incredible way of waking up a violent side of me that I never knew I had and which I might add was never even there before Potter came into my life.I just bloody wish that I wasn't thinking of Potter as much as I am right now, because seriously, he's doing a pretty good job of getting my priorities all screwed up. And he's not even here.
R- Hey Lily. James was just wondering if maybe you'd go out with him some time.
L- Remus, I really think you're smart enough to answer that question by yourself.
R- Right. I'll just go tell James…
L- Oh, and Remus? Tell him not to send Pettigrew next.
Herein lies the problem. Because up until last week, I was pretty sure that seventh year wasn't going to be any different. Potter worships Evans. Evans shouts at Potter.
But apparently, he had other plans. It was like seeing James Potter's good twin and not James Potter himself. Because, seriously when did he ever get so…nice?
Okay. Maybe he is nice most of the time.
It's a purely relative question.
And since when did he have permission to act so sincere and…honest, hmmm? He's supposed to be arrogant and cocky and pigheaded and everything wrong in this world. But he's really starting to look like he has some genuine feelings after all. Which isn't fair because now, I'm stuck feeling guilty for being too harsh. All of a sudden I'm worried that I hurt his feelings after telling him last night that he really sucks as Head Boy. Had it happened six months ago, I would've rubbed it in his face.
Now I ask it again. Where's the justice in that?
J- Quick Evans! Jot this down on every parchment you've got. Saturday. Meet James at Hogsmeade. Very important.
L- Potter, jot this down on every parchment you've got. Forget Lily Evans. Urgent.
It's been only two weeks and he hasn't wolfwhistled to a single girl at all. I haven't heard nearly as much snide comments as he used to make. He hasn't smirked, bragged, showed off, boasted, pranked, catcalled, hexed or bullied any Slytherins. He hasn't hit on me seriously since before summer vacation. And the biggest surprise—he hasn't asked me out on a single date. Not one.
I should be rejoicing. And I am. I'm actually doing handstands. I've waited two long, excruciating years for him to finally abandon all hopes of ever getting me to agree on a date. And now that he has, I'm more convinced that he was never serious in the first place. Surely, he never really asked me out because he was interested, right? He did it because I was the only one he couldn't get. It was probably some stupid bet with his friends. And, furthermore his sudden transformation is really not enough of a testimony to say that he does like me because I'm absolutely positive that he doesn't. Because if he really, really did like me, then why'd he stop asking me out? Only, that totally contradicts the whole argument, so forget it.
But I don't know. I've started to see through the self-assured, cocky, egotistical façade and into the smart, friendly, charming, loyal, protective, dependable, funny, sweet, thoughtful person that he is. Though looking at all those nice-sounding adjectives, I'm actually wondering if it's really Potter I'm describing here. Then, I suppose, if that's the case, I have to admit that he has some pretty redeeming qualities after all. But which is far from saying that I actually like him already. Only maybe…I do.
And here's an even scarier thought. If he asked me out on a date right now, I'd probably even consider saying yes. Wait. Scratch that.
I'm saying he's not so bad a person but it doesn't mean I like him in that sort of way. Really, I don't, so I should stop being so defensive about it.
I just passed Potter and his friends and sat two rows up front. Even without looking, I knew his eyes were on me. But I stole a glance just to make sure.
From the corner of my eyes, I see Remus give Potter a warning look. I wonder what that's about. I steal another glance and when I turn, my parchment and quill both fall right in front of him. He goes to pick them up.
"Hey, Evans." He says. Silence.
Under normal circumstances, this would be the perfect time for Potter to insert the question. I turn my head at his call and secretly wait for him to say "Evans, go out with me?" But it doesn't come. Instead, he hands me the parchment and quill complete with his most charming smile.
"You dropped these."
Wordlessly, I take the items and watched him turn back to his desk and continue writing.
Did I miss something?