a/n: this is for my mysterious yet absolutely delightful guest reviewer, please reveal yourself so we can bond over hating steve kloves and so i can loVE YOU
also for the other guest reviewer (thank you!) who wondered where the conversation in pax was taking place, it's set after the first quidditch after-party of the year and they were all sleeping down in the gryffindor common room.
disclaimer: harry potter is not mine. le sigh.
"If [he] laid with this girl at all, it would be on the wrong side of the sheet."
- George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
James Potter: you're a darling. Your mother dotes and your father's proud, but like any Pureblood his pride manifests itself in harsh words and harsh stares. If you could see - oh, if only you could see.
You're the darling of the Ministry, too: your father's Head Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and since you first ventured into his office telling people you wanted to be like your Dad, an ora just like him, the Ministry socialites were smitten, and they always ask after you with a tinkling laugh over a glass of Holden's Finest Sparkling Mead.
You've captivated Hogwarts, from the twinkling in the Headmaster's eye every time - every time - you're in his office, and the faintest twitch of your Housemistress' lips when she reprimands you to the booming laugh of the Keeper of the Keys when he finds you tripping about the Forest with your friends and the cheers of your fellow students when the Quaffle topples yet again through the Keeper's hoop, you've got them in the palm of your hand.
The only problem, sweetheart, is that one day one of them might jump up and bite your thumb off.
And they've tried, oh, they've tried. They're clad in green with malice pouring through their veins and cold cold hearts and cold cold eyes, and they up the stakes once you do - the redheaded girl who clasps your hand in hers and claims your lips with her own.
I know you're happy, my love, but they've got a point.
James Potter, you're not just a darling, you're a Pureblood darling. She touches you with her fickle fingers and you sigh and moan right into her muddy little mouth and when you're inside her you feel like you could take on the world and win as long as she's by your side, but James, sweetheart, you're of the purest blood, and even if we cut you both and it runs as red as rubies, she isn't good enough for you.
Your mother's gone now, but your clever, conniving, cunning old father tries to talk some sense into you. He tries to make you - James Potter, Ministry Pureblood darling - see that if you lay with this girl at all, it has to be on the wrong side of the sticky sheets that she creases in her desperate grip when you kiss her and run your fingertips over her skin, melting words of love into her hips with that aristocratic mouth of yours. She's not for you, even if you want her to be, because it's not how things are done and oh, what would people say?
You see, my love, it's that age-old tale of forbidden love and sacrifice and if you really love her, you'll let her go.
But you defy them all and you keep your arms around her, and now the two of you lie, forever entwined, in death's embrace.
Such a waste, they sigh. Such a waste of a pretty little life.
a/n: please tell me what you thought!:)