Summary: Sometimes life was sweet, but with a bitter ending. Sometimes it was the opposite. Just like butterbeer.
Full Summary: James Potter was in his prime. He was Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor, he had become Animagus to help Remus, and his group of friends were at their height in their pranking career. Now all he had left was to woo the girl. Lily Evans. But of course, James doesn't do things halfway, and all he needed was someone to help him. Now who fit's the role? Only, Olivia Grey. Of course, Slytherin's aren't always the most helpful type, and Sirius Black knows so. Could she be hiding any ulterior motives?
Author's Note: Honestly, who actually thinks that people on FanFiction own the rights to Harry Potter? Anyway, I obviously don't, or else you can bet I wouldn't be posting my writings on a non-profit website. Just saying.
Like Butterbeer
James' POV
5280 feet in the air. 5280, and there wasn't a single sound. Even my own thoughts were drowned out, and everything was perfect. Of course, the wind made my eyes water and the feel of my Quidditch robes slapping my thighs stung, but everything was perfect. Sure, you could argue that 5280 feet in the air isn't the safest place to be, but where else should I go rather than up? There are so many places to go, so many things to see…
Now, you're probably wondering what I'm doing 5280 feet in the air, and the answer is quite simple. Evans is sitting in the Quidditch stands and I thought it would be nice of me to give her a show. Now, why she was here, that's another story. And one that doesn't really pertain to mine.
"CAPTAIN! SHOULDN'T WE START PRACTICE?!"
I looked down with a smile. Ah, the whole Quidditch team was there already. Time to impress Evans tenfold. I flew down to meet my team, stealing a glance at where Lily was sitting in the stands. Ah, she was reading. Never fear, I'll catch her attention soon enough. But back to the team. I quickly scanned each of them, like the good captain I am. Just checking that they're all in good condition. They all looked healthy enough, but Marlene looked a little pale. Maybe she didn't have breakfast? I'll talk to her about it later. Maybe even score a conversation with Evans…
"So, a mock game? The match is tomorrow, and honestly, we don't need another pep talk." Anthony Grey, a tall and lanky Chaser shot me a rare smile. Anthony's pretty serious, he's obviously just trying to suade me.
"I agree, we ran drills all yesterday, it would be a nice change."
"Well," I ran a hand through my hair in attempts to smooth it down, okay, maybe to do the opposite, but same thing, right? "Tomorrow we're going against Slytherin. And have you seen their line-up? Avery has a whole team of huge, strong players. To beat them we need to be fast. And faster. Faster than we've ever been. A mock game would be nice, but I think we need to spend a bit more time on plays and drills."
"C'mon, James. We've been working twice a day for two weeks. Can't you just give it a rest?"
"Anthony, you know full well just how fast we have to be, and besides, you played those American sports before you came to Hogwarts. Flying on a broom should be much easier." The dark haired boy pulled a face, obviously hating the mention of his nationality. Makes sense, not many people are all for big and loud Americans, but still. "Anyway, if we master our plays fast enough, we'll have time for a mock game. But out plays have to be flawless."
"Right. Because we've been so perfect before."
…
4:23. My last class of the day and Flitwick is boring us all to death with Silencing Charms. Not to blow my own horn, but I mastered those quite a while ago. They came in handy last year when Remus was yelling at us for becoming Animagus to help him with his 'furry little problem'. Anyway, I had far more important things to do. Go over last minute Quidditch plays, copy Moony's DADA homework, annoy Evans… you get the gist of things. Right?
So yeah, here I am, ignoring Flitwick's constant attempts to get us to work, trying to help Padfoot write a letter to Lily. And before you ask, no. Bloody hell, no. Sirius doesn't feel for Evans that way. No. It's just that I can't write well enough to impress Evans, and Sirius' new hobby is his 'artistic prose'.
What should the next line be about? Whatever it is, the last word has to rhyme with "fit". -SB
Merlin, Pads. I don't know. Just hand it over, I'll think of something. -JP
No! Not my artistic prose! -SB
Too late. -JP
I summoned the paper over, just wanting to get the thing over with. Besides, I needed to see how things were coming, right? I mean, this is supposed to impress Evans, not make her cringe. Turning to my fine comrade on my left, I threw a quill at Remus to get his attention. Charming, right? "Moony, what rhymes with 'fit'?"
"Slimy git. Now be quiet."
I raised an eyebrow, naturally. Slimy git? How is that supposed to woo my Lily flower? I mean, if I was writing a poem to Snively that would be fine, but that's not what I'm doing, is it? With a sigh that I'll admit to a bit over the top, I passed the poem to Wormtail. He had to have an idea, right? Sure, he's not the best with words, but he's definitely the most observant out of the four of us. Peter gave me a thumbs up, frantically writing. Finally, someone who takes this as seriously as I do.
Peter passed the paper over, and I had just enough time to read it before the bell rang. "What the hell Peter, 'you have really nice legs'?!"
"Like you don't talk about them every night. 'Lily has such wonderful legs, they're so long and graceful, I bet she does ballet!' Shouldn't I be the one saying what the hell?"
Sirius let out a bark of a laugh and slung an arm around me. Honestly, it's no wonder his Animagus is a dog. I mean, his laugh even sounds like a dog. Makes sense, doesn't it? "He has a point, Prongs."
"What are you three talking about?" Remus walked over and I passed him the paper. If anyone could fix it, it was Moony. Remus read it over a few times, and I could tell nothing good would come from his mouth. "What is this rubbish?"
Sirius slapped a hand against his chest, "You hurt me, Moony. That 'rubbish' is my artistic prose for the day. Or at least it was, then Peter finished it."
Remus raised an eyebrow. "Honestly? Have you read it?
"Roses are red, so is your hair,
"At words I'm not very good, as I could and I should,
"There's a reason Chasers don't write, Hooch doesn't allow quills in flight.
"Bet my brooms rather fast, and I'd do anything you asked,
"I think you're quite fit, and you have really nice - legs."
"Like you could do much better, Moony."
"If I actually cared enough, I'm sure I could!"
"Well, I'll see all of you tonight, Quidditch Practice 'til late. Oh, and Remus, don't forget to mention me to Lily on prefect duty tonight. I'll throw in a chocolate frog every time you mention my amazing skills in Transfiguration." I shot them a smirk as I headed down the hall, not caring that Moony was shaking his head. Honestly, it's not like I'm asking him to commit a crime. Just a mention of my six pack here, a comment on how soft my hair is there. I'm not asking for much, right? Besides Moony owes me that much. Who was the one that stopped Padfoot from talking about his lycanthropy like it was 'that time of the month'? That's right, me.
…
Olivia's POV
Intermediate Transfiguration, page 216 and I am completely and utterly lost. I sighed. I do that a lot, don't I? Well, if you don't know that now, you'll soon find out. Olivia Grey, the commentator for Quidditch and one of the nicest Slytherins you'll ever meet. Not to mention the fact that I have a pretty thick American accent. Well, as you've probably already guessed, I've made quite a name for myself. Not that anyone actually cares.
But that's beside the point. Anyway, Transfiguration. Not my best class, definitely not. But that doesn't mean I don't try. No, I try. Part of that Slytherin ambition. See, it's not all bad. It just depends on what context. But yes, I still have to take the class, I can't officially drop it until 6th year, and believe me when I say that Transfiguration will be the first thing to go.
We're doing Doubling Charms. And honestly, when will I ever need to duplicate things? Okay, stupid question…
It's not considered giving up when you gave it your best effort, right? Try telling McGonagall that. Maybe I could copy off Amos, or maybe Jianyu…
Anyway, I hurriedly finished the paper, cursing when the ink smeared. The ink always smears, one of the perks of being left handed. Lovely, right? I have to admit my attempt to save the writing was a tad on the half-hearted side, but it's Transfiguration. Not to mention the paper wasn't the greatest anyway. I'd give it a valiant 4 stars. Out of eight. Eh, maybe out of six…
At least I put everything away nicely, right? That's the important part. Don't want to have go do it again...
I needed to take a break. A long, rewarding break from the endless stream of studying and required reading. Yeah, that's what I'd do. Head to dinner, stop at the Slytherin common room, switch out my books and then go back to the library…
Nevermind. Dinner had already finished. Just my luck, too. Maybe I could sneak into the kitchens later…
But anyways, I went to the common room, made it down the steps to the girl's dormitories, sighing from relief when it was empty. Florence was usually hanging around right about now, trying to persuade me into giving her my notes from History of Magic. It's not rude that I say no, at least, not as I see it. My notes aren't any better than hers. Or they would be if she actually tried. But still. The world doesn't reward laziness. Except for when it does…
Anyway, I filled my bag with more books and parchment. All the necessities for finishing required reading and confusing timelines. Trting to keep high spirits, I quickened my step and made it to the dungeons in record time. So much for a break, but maybe I could take a longer route to the library…
Taking the steps to the common room two at a time (because deep down I'm a rebel) I took my glasses and casually cleaned them. Yes, before you ask, I can see without my glasses. No, I don't use them to read, I use them because I'm legally blind in one eye. (That is very different from straight up being blind.)
Anyway, here I was, minding my own business when someone decides it'd be funny to block the entrance way. Har har, very funny. Picking on short people. Hilarious. And of course, it's perfect, prefect Avery.
"Can I help you, Avery?"
"We have Quidditch tomorrow, and I don't want you making any snide or sarcastic comments about the team on that pedestal of yours."
I flashed him my most sarcastic smile because let's be honest, he was asking for it. "For one, it's not a pedestal, I'm the commentator. I sit with the staff. Secondly, I call things the way I see them. If you don't want me to comment, make it so I don't have anything to comment on! It's not hard."
"I'm watching you, Grey."
"Ah, well why don't you join my club of admirers then?" I pushed past Avery, trying to keep a straight face but slowly dying inside. No one stood up to someone like Avery. Especially someone like me. I mean, born and raised in America, half-blood, and a family with a long line of Gryffindors. With all that stacked against you, you kind of have to follow their rules, right?
The library was still packed, and finding a table proved harder than before, but I managed. I always do. Stretching, I let out a sigh before getting out a piece of parchment and quill, followed by my Herbology book and bottle of ink.
Might as well finish another paper, right?