101 Ways to Ask Lily Evans Out
A Harry Potter Fan-Fic
Author's Note: If I am the little girl who gets to play with these characters and their world like dolls in a doll house, then JK Rowling is the master doll-creator.
Sirius Black stifled a huge yawn. It was half past one in the afternoon. Outside the classroom window, he could see the beautiful afternoon shining outside. Really, the best day to lounge around on the grounds. Except he was stuck in History of Magic with boring ole Binns, who was droning on about something. Sitting in front of him, Remus was taking diligent notes, his quill pen scratching furiously. Sharing the desk with the studious one, Peter was snoring, making weird little squeaks every so often. Next to Sirius, James was staring at a certain red-haired witch seated two aisles over.
"Prongs," Sirius hissed. "Prongs."
"Huh?" James replied, his eyes not even flickering towards his best mate.
"I'm bored."
"Huh." This sounded more declarative than interrogative.
"Well then, go on, do something about it."
"Mhmm."
Sirius rolled his eyes. If it weren't for the fact that Lily Evans hated James Potter's guts with a passion, he would suspect that James' nightly pumpkin juice was laced with love potion. Though Lily had an incredible aptitude for Potions and could definitely whip one up in a jiffy, it would be more likely that anything she'd slip into his drink would kill him.
"Prongs, c'mon." Sirius reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. Carefully, so that Binns wouldn't notice, he poked James in the side.
"What?" snapped James, a little louder than he should—the rest of the class looked up from their daze, but Binns didn't even pause as he continued his lecture on whatever historic moment he had decided to teach them.
"Stop mooning. I'm bored."
James flushed slightly. "I'm not mooning," he declared.
"Sure you are, mate. You're going all googly at her."
"Was not." James was getting defensive, his hand running through his untidy hair.
"Whatever, mate. You were staring at her and ignoring me. Y'know, your best mate."
James grinned. "You're not nearly as pretty to look at."
Sirius clutched at his chest, his expression that of mock hurt. "My heart! After all these years, I thought we had something special, Jamesy-poo."
"Oh, come off it," Remus snapped, glancing behind him at the two morons.
Sirius changed his target momentarily. "Someone's moody today, Moony. Is it someone's time of the month?"
"No," Remus growled, "I'm just trying to concentrate in class."
"Why bother? It's not like—" Sirius was grinning unapologetically.
"See if I let you borrow my notes for the exam Friday."
James and Sirius spoke together. "Exam Friday!?"
Remus nodded sharply and turned his attention back to his notes.
The duo shrugged. Remus always got anxious on the days approaching the full moon, and neither could really blame him. After all, there were three days until this month's. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. The lulling sound of the professor's voice began to draw them back into a stupor—Sirius' eyes were drooping, James' attention drifting back to contemplation of the back of a particular gal's head.
Sirius snapped himself out of it again.
"Psst, James. Let's do something."
"Like what?"
"Dunno. You're the brains of the operation."
"Hmm." James surveyed the room. "We could tie Snivellus' shoelaces together."
"We did that twenty minutes ago."
James looked over, and sure enough, the Slytherin boy's laces were bound. He grinned, envisioning the slimy git falling flat on his face once class was dismissed. Glancing around the room, he realized they had already pranked half the class. Besides tying Sour-Grape Snape's shoelaces, they had magicked Avery and Mulciber, both asleep, so that they were holding hands across the aisle. Percival Parkinson had ink smears in the shape of a curling mustache across his upper lip. Another—neither Sirius nor James could remember his name—had his underwear transfigured over his trousers. A sixth student, who had had the sniffles prior to the class, was now sneezing up a concoction of snot and pink glitter. A seventh boy had his hands stuck to the desk, fruitlessly trying to wiggle his fingers off the wooden surface. All over the room, Slytherin fifth-years had fallen into the perils of being unconscious in a room with bored Marauders.
Sirius seemed to realize the same thing. "Oh, bother," he muttered. "Well, what shall we do now?"
James' eyes slid, unconsciously, back towards Lily.
"You are not going to drool over her forever, are you?"
"One day she'll go out with me," James said matter-of-factly.
Sirius guffawed. "Good luck with that, mate."
James glared. "I just need to think of the proper way to get her attention."
It was like Sirius' brain had performed a lumos enchantment. He grabbed the bit of parchment that Peter was sleeping on, fetched a quill, and titled the paper. He slid it under James' nose.
"Brilliant," James said, reaching for the roll.
"I'm just happy to share my lady-killing expertise with you."
James snorted. "If by lady-killing, you mean making them die from seeing your ugly mug, you've got that right." He picked up his own discarded quill and nibbled on the end in thought. He finally dipped it in his ink and began to write in his messy scrawl.
-x-x-x-
Finally, finally, finally, Professor Binns looked up from his paper. "Alright, then, off you lot go. Don't forget you've got an exam Friday."
And then he vanished through the chalkboard.
Severus stood up to make his way out of the classroom—he was hoping to catch Lily before she went off to Care of Magical Creatures and he to Transfiguration—and fell flat on his face.
He heard the chuckles and knew exactly who was to blame for it all. That prat Potter and his stupid friends. It wasn't bad enough that Lily was in the same house as them, or that they picked on him mercilessly. Oh no, to make it infinitely worse, James Potter had to go and fancy Lily. Severus knew he did. He watched the way the egotistical Gryffindor's eyes lingered on her, the way he nervously shuffled his fingers through his hair when she was around. His arrogant demands on her for attention and time and dates were not just all an act like Lily thought. Oh no, James Potter was head over heels for the same girl as he, Severus Snape, was.
He muttered a spell under his breath, the knots falling from his tattered shoelaces. The classroom now completely empty, he stood up, gathered his books, and began to make his way through the maze of desks to the door. Just as he passed the Marauders' desks, he felt the crunch of parchment under his feet. He glanced at it, prepared to move on, but stopped when he read the name blazoned across the top.
He picked it up slowly, his dark eyes widening as he began to read:
"101 Ways to Ask Lily Evans Out. Written by Prongs, Commentary by Padfoot."
-x-x-x-
"Oi, where's the paper?" asked James suddenly, stopping in the middle of the Great Hall.
Peter, still partially under the trance of Professor Binns' voice, slammed into James from behind. "What paper?" he asked, rubbing his nose from where it had crashed into James' spine, his eyes watering.
Sirius and James exchanged wide-eyed, worried glances and both began to furiously dig through their pockets and book-bags. Coming up empty, Sirius had to tamp back on a laugh. James was about to break into a full-out panic attack.
"What am I gonna do? If she sees that—"
"Prongs, you've tried half those things anyway—"
"It doesn't matter!" he snapped, his brain half on trying not strangle his best mate for losing it and half on finding a way to keep that bit of paper from being seen by one Lily Evans.
"Although, some of those lines were brilliant. I should try one or two of them out myself…"
"If you don't help me find it right now, no girl will ever want to get close enough to you to let you have a go at her."
-x-x-x-
"Sev?"
Snape's eyes jumped from the page to the girl standing before him.
"Hey. I have to run to class," she paused, her look turning into concern as she tried to read his expression. "…Sev, are you all right?"
"'Course. I'm fine," he tried to smile at her as he hid the parchment behind his back. "Just still asleep, I guess."
She raised her chin in the direction of the roll he had hidden behind his back. "What have you got there?"
He blinked at her. "Erm, noth—nothing."
Lily glared at him suspiciously.
"It's just my notes."
"You said you fell asleep."
"I started to take notes before I fell asleep."
"Severus, what is it? Go on, just let me see!" She tried to reach behind him to snatch it, but he was too quick for her. Years of dodging bullies had made him lithe and agile.
"No," he said fervidly, determined to keep it from her gaze. She did not need to know what Potter and Black had written.
-x-x-x-
Remus, who felt as if he were the only one with a functioning brain, sighed. "Just Summon it."
"What?" James' eyes were unfocused behind his glasses.
"Summon it."
"Oh right. Duh." James smacked himself on the forehead. "How can I be so stupid? Moony! You're a bloody genius!" He looked as if he were about to throw himself at the smaller boy.
"Save the love for Evans, please."
Composing himself, he grinned at Remus. "Are you sure?" He pursed his lips at him, jokingly, but the fourth-year girls passing by burst into giggles as he winked at them.
"You might want to Summon it before someone gets their hands on it and shows it to your not-girlfriend," reminded Sirius.
James touched his wand, stuck in his robes. "Accio parchment."
-x-x-x-
She narrowed her eyes at Severus, obviously calculating her chances of getting whatever it was from him. It was obviously important to him that she didn't see it. Was it worth it to pick the fight now and be late for class? Professor Kettleburn was not fond of students being tardy, usually docking points or forcing them to aid him in whatever demonstration of a dangerous creature the class would be witnessing. No, she would wait until after class. Maybe she could surprise it out of him. Turning on her heel, Lily marched away.
Relieved, Severus shoved the offensive parchment into his bag and marched off in the direction of McGonagall's classroom. Maybe he should share it with her after all—prove to her once and for all that Potter was truly an ass. Not that she didn't already dislike him, but it just might be the ticket to make sure that she truly, irrevocably, eternally hated James Potter.
He felt his bag shudder against him just as he turned down the corridor, but didn't have time to react as the roll of parchment burst through the opening in the flap and whizzed away.
-x-x-x-
A few moments later, the roll hurtled towards them. Snatching it out of the air with the dexterity of a Seeker, James shoved the parchment into the inner pocket of his school robes.
"Thank you, Moony. I mean it. I'll do your work for a week. Even your laundry!"
Remus smiled for the first time that day, his eyes tired. "Go on, I wouldn't want you to do my work. You'll mess it up."
"I owe you for life, then."
"You better make good on that."
" she ever found that, I'd probably lose all my chances with her." James fought to keep his tone light, trying to mask the urgency he felt connected to the thought that Lily Evans would forever be out of his reach.
Peter piped up. "It's not like you've got the best shot right now."
James cuffed him lightly. "Go on, find some other friends, Wormtail. You'll see. She'll fall for me one day."
"And I bet none of the things on that list will work," smirked Sirius.
-x-x-x-
Lily was rifling through some old papers in the attic when she came across a highly-wrinkled roll of parchment wedged between James' fifth year Potions notes and his copy of Hogwarts, A History. Scrunching up her nose at the cloud of dust that rose as she shook it out, she was about to toss it aside as tardy homework when she noticed her own name scrawled across the top.
A hand on her swelling belly, she settled herself down more comfortably on the creaky wooden floor.
101 Ways to Ask Lily Evans Out
Written by Prongs
Commentary by Padfoot
Number One: Ask nicely.
"Lily Evans, will you pretty please go out with me? Please?"
Didn't work.
Number Two: Ask really nicely.
"Lily Evans, pretty, pretty please will you go out me? Please?"
Maybe you should have called her pretty, idiot.
Number Three: Ask really, really nicely.
"Lily Evans, pretty, pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top go out with me? Please and thank you!"
You sound like you're five, mate.
Number Four: Beg.
"I will do anything if you go out with me."
You should have defined what the "anything" was. Anything could mean anything. Be careful, she might suggest offing yourself as "anything".
Number Five: Plead.
"You just have to go out with me. Please, I'm on bended knee."
You are pathetic at pleading.
Number Six: Plead as if your life depends upon it.
"Lily, I will die if you don't go out with me. I will die! Does my life mean nothing to you? Does a fellow human being, as handsome as myself, mean nothing to you?"
If your life depended on this, you'd be dead.
Number Seven: Make her jealous.
"Lily, I was snogging Marlene McKinnon and—"
Her best mate? Try again.
Number Eight: Make her jealous, attempt two.
"So what do you think? Think Moaning Myrtle and I would make a good couple?"
Prongs, she's not going to be jealous of you and the girls' lavatory ghost.
Number Nine: Make her jealous, attempt three.
"I think that Astrid Bones is so pretty. Her hair and her makeup and her clothes and her face, they're just so perfect. What do you think?"
Mate, you sound gay. In fact, I'm almost convinced you're gay. Is that why you keep staring at me in the changing room after Quidditch practice?
Number Ten: Make her jealous, attempt four.
"Georgiana Johnson is hot. Her tits and her ass are smokin'. I want to ravish her. I want her to get down on her knees—"
I didn't say offend the girl with your pornographic mind.
Number Eleven: Make her jealous, attempt five.
"Evans, be jealous and want to snog me."
Give up on the jealousy trip. It's not working in your favor, Prongs.
Number Twelve: Ask her for something that will lead to going out.
"Hey, Evans, wanna snog me?"
You, sir, are a true Prince Charming.
Number Thirteen: Ask her to go someplace specific with you.
"Hey! Evans, wanna go to the third floor broom closet and have your way with me?"
I meant a date, you daft git.
Number Fourteen: Ask her to go someplace specific with you, attempt two.
"Lily, let's go to Hogsmeade together. I'll buy you a butterbeer!"
That was a rather nice attempt. A little weak, but not too bad.
Number Fifteen: Ask her to go someplace specific with you, attempt three.
"This Hogsmeade weekend—how about you and me? I'll take you to the Three Broomsticks, Zonko's, Honeydukes—I'll pay for it all."
You're not supposed to buy her, just convince her to go on a date with you. Also, you have two Sickles and a Knut left to your name.
Number Sixteen: Convince her of your feelings.
"I love you, Lily Evans!"
Mate, never tell a girl you like her. It makes you look like an idiot.
Number Seventeen: Shower her with compliments.
"You are more beautiful than a hippogriff."
You're supposed to compliment her. Not insult her.
Number Eighteen: Shower her with compliments, attempt two.
"You are the most beautiful girl in the entire school, the entire world even."
You make me swoon, lover boy.
Number Nineteen: Shower her with compliments, attempt three.
"Your eyes are so green they make Professor Sprout's plants look moldy."
Don't use that one.
Number Twenty: Shower her with compliments, attempt four.
"Your hair is so red it lights my heart on fire."
She might set your head on fire.
Number Twenty-one: Shower her with compliments, attempt five.
"You have the most perfect set of breasts."
Okay, I know she just turned around in her seat and you caught a peek at them—but they are still under her clothes—and she's the type of girl that wants you to like her for her brains, not her boobs. Although they are rather nice…
Don't you ever look at her boobs again, Padfoot. They're mine.
I don't see your name on them.
Not yet.
Number Twenty-two: Shower her with compliments, attempt six.
"You are the smartest, most brilliant witch of our year."
That ain't gonna get you a date. You sound like you're sucking up.
Isn't that what showering her with compliments is all about?
True. Carry on.
Number Twenty-three: Shower her with compliments, attempt seven.
"You are the best at Potions."
Hey, good-lookin', you must be good at Potions, 'cause one whiff and I've fallen in love.
Number Twenty-four: Use a classy pick-up line.
"Hey, good-lookin', you must be good at Potions, 'cause one whiff and I've fallen in love."
I demand full copyright to that one.
Number Twenty-five: Classy pick-up line, attempt two.
"You must be a witch, 'cause I've fallen under your spell."
You are the Muggle of pick-up lines.
Number Twenty-six: Classy pick-up line, attempt three.
"I must need to learn Occlumency, because I can't get you out of my thoughts."
Mentioning advanced magic to a smart girl – well done, Prongs.
Number Twenty-seven: Classy pick-up line, attempt four.
"Without you, it's like I'm in Azkaban and dementors are sucking out my soul."
Give me your dementor's kiss, big boy.
And you called me gay.
Mwah. Mwah.
Number Twenty-eight: Classy pick-up line, attempt five.
"Is there a double meaning to your title of Head Girl?"
She's not Head Girl.
Yet.
And I don't think you are going to get anything from that line except a slap across the face.
You never know…
Or she might kick you where it hurts. Triple meaning for Head Girl?
Ouch.
Number Twenty-nine: Classy pick-up line, attempt six.
"You're as bright as a lumos spell."
Weak.
Number Thirty: Classy pick-up line, attempt seven.
"You must be a great Seeker, 'cause you've caught me like a Snitch."
Clever.
Right? It's perfect. 'Cause I'm a Seeker.
Really? I never would have guessed. I wondered what you did during the Quidditch games besides fly around like a fool.
Stuff it.
Number Thirty-one: Classy pick-up line, attempt eight.
"Evans, lend me your owl. I need to send my mother a letter and tell her I've met the mother of her grandchildren."
You know what happens when you assume. You make yourself look like an ass. Actually, there is already an uncanny resemblance. Maybe you're the wrong four-legged creature, Prongs.
Don't be such a bitch, Padfoot.
Number Thirty-two: Classy pick-up line, attempt nine.
"I must have taken Felix Felicis, because I'm the luckiest bloke in the school—talking to the most beautiful girl in the world."
I think you won't be getting lucky with this one.
Number Thirty-three: Classy pick-up line, attempt ten.
"Are you tired? 'Cause you've been running through my mind all day."
She is tired from running away from you.
Then maybe she should stop, eh?
Or maybe you should leave the poor girl alone. Stalking is frowned upon in most societies.
So maybe you should stop following me around.
Ha-ha.
Number Thirty-four: Classy pick-up line, attempt eleven.
"Another library book, Evans? Maybe I should spend some time there. I would love to check you out."
If Evans were a book, she'd be in the restricted section and you'd be like a first-year with no access.
Number Thirty-five: Classy pick-up line, attempt twelve.
"Can I visit your restricted section?"
You are a pervert. And I couldn't be prouder of you.
Number Thirty-six: Classy pick-up line, attempt thirteen.
"Is it love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"
You are as much of a pick-up artist as Hagrid is a dwarf.
Number Thirty-seven: Demand.
"Lily Evans, go out with me."
That has worked so well in the past.
Number Thirty-eight: Demand, again.
"Lily Evans, I demand that you go out with me."
Persuasive.
Number Thirty-nine: Show her what she is missing.
"Every girl in the school wants to snog me. You should too."
"Every" is a bit of a stretch.
Number Forty: Show her what she is missing, attempt two.
Make out with another girl outside as one of the classes is ending.
I have nothing to say except that you are an ass. And I like it.
Or you just like my ass.
Maybe.
Number Forty-one: Show her what she is missing, attempt three.
Show off my exceptional skills on the Quidditch pitch.
She doesn't go to Quidditch games.
Number Forty-two: Show her what she is missing, attempt four.
Show off my exceptional knowledge in Potions.
If by exceptional knowledge you mean ability to open a bottle, then you will certainly impress her.
Number Forty-three: Show her what she is missing, attempt five.
Show off my exceptional skills in Transfiguration.
Do you know what "exceptional" even means, mate?
Yes.
I'm not sure you do.
Do you?
No. But let's go back to pick-up lines. They were more fun.
Number Forty-four: Classy pick-up line, attempt number … (I lost count) Ah, forget it.
"You smell like pumpkin juice, Lily, and I'm rather thirsty."
You should make a comparison between the color of her hair and a pumpkin!
I'd rather not be hexed into the next lifetime.
Number Forty-five: Classy pick-up lines.
"Remus bet me two Galleons that you wouldn't kiss me. If I split the earnings, will you help me win the bet?"
Why Remus? Why not me? Remus would never even pretend to make a bet for your sake.
"Sirius bet me two Galleons that you wouldn't kiss me. If I split the earnings, will you help me win the bet?" ...HAPPY NOW?
Yes.
Number Forty-six: Classy pick-up lines.
"If I were an Arithmancy book, would you solve all my problems?"
Your answers are probably in the back of the book.
Number Forty-seven: Classy pick-up lines.
"Evans, I have developed a severe health issue. I'm deathly allergic to the word 'no'. Emphasis on the 'deathly'. Go out with me?"
You'd be dead sooner than she could say 'Avada Kedvra' if that was your actual condition.
Number Forty-eight: Killer pick-up lines. You're going there? Wow.
"If looks could kill, your name would be Avada Kedvra."
If her looks could kill, you'd have been six feet under years ago.
Number Forty-nine: Pick-up lines.
"Being without you is like being Crucio'd."
Oh the agony.
Number Fifty: Pick-up lines.
"You refusing me is worse than using any of the Unforgivable Curses."
You using that line is unforgivable.
-x-x-x-
James clambered up the attic stairs, the last place in the house he hadn't looked for his wife. He could think of no reason for her to be up there, but she wasn't anywhere else. They couldn't leave the house without their Secret Keeper and both of them were going mad from sitting still and doing nothing.
So up the rickety attic stairs he went, hoping that, in her condition, Lily wouldn't be up here. But she was, seated among the dust, the cobwebs, the spiders, surrounded by their old school things.
She hadn't heard him come in, engrossed as she was in the roll of parchment in her hands. He admired the way her neck and cheek curved, the way her bright hair was tucked behind her ears, the way her eyes eagerly scanned the page, the way her shoulder shook with laughter, the way she bit her lip. It was amazing to him how much she still fascinated him after all this time.
"What have you got there, Lil?"
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Something of yours, actually."
"Something of mine?" James slid to the floor next to her, pushing aside the boxes, photos, books, and papers. He wrapped one arm around her protectively. "Go on. What is it?"
"An interesting look into the mind of fifteen-year-old James Potter."
"A dark and dangerous place," he grinned, trying to read the faded writing.
Lily laughed. "Indeed."
James tucked his chin into Lily's shoulder, and finally caught a good look at what was so engrossing.
He groaned when he read the title.
"You really shouldn't read that," he grumbled, making a feeble attempt to snatch it from her.
"Too late for that," she giggled, keeping the paper just out of reach.
"You shouldn't believe everything you read," James protested.
-x-x-x-
Number Fifty-one: A foolproof pick-up line.
"Evans, I've made an Unbreakable Vow that I would kiss you today."
Well, we now shall all know what happens to someone if they break their Unbreakable Vow.
She cannot hate me that much.
Want to bet on it?
No.
Smart man.
Number Fifty-two:
…I'm stuck. I'm running out of ideas.
You? The incorrigible suitor with enough witticisms to drive our prefect batty?
Shove it. We're on fifty-two. I usually only have to come up with one at a time. It's not like you've done a load of them.
I did the Potions one, remember?
That's one.
Fine. I will lend my skills to your disposal. Mostly because this the absolute worst class in the world.
How much longer?
Too long.
Number Fifty-two.
"You're sweeter than anything they sell in Honeyduke's."
Excellent.
I know.
Number Fifty-three.
"Evans, what do you think about me switching from Seeker to Chaser? I'm trying to see if that would be the best way to score with you. "
Not that you'll ever score with her.
Certainly not with your lines.
These lines may be your only hope.
Shouldn't be a problem then.
Number Fifty-four.
"If you played Quidditch, you'd be a Keeper."
Going with the sports theme, are you?
It's the only thing you're good at, mate.
That line has as much a chance of working as Hagrid getting a Norwegian Ridgeback.
If you want a fair comparison, you ought to say it has much a chance as you marrying Lily Evans.
Two words: Hestia Fairchild.
You swore you'd never bring that up.
Oops.
Number fifty-five.
"Don't be such a Snitch, Evans. 'Course if you were, then I'd have caught you by now."
I am not worthy.
Bow before my greatness, deer boy.
Number fifty-six.
"I know we're not in Professor Flitwick's class, but you still are charming."
That was…charming.
You're pathetic. What would you do without me?
Sleep. Study. Practice Qudditch. Snog Lily Evans.
Dream on.
Number fifty-seven.
"My name may not be Xenophilius, but I still can Lovegood!"
That is disturbing. Why'd you bring him into this?
Because it's funny.
You've been dying to use that ever since you met the bloke.
Maybe.
I thought you were trying to help me think of ways to ask Evans out.
I'm thinking of ways to not die of boredom in Binns' class.
Some mate you are.
Number fifty-eight.
"The other day I lost my heart. I looked on the Marauder's Map and I saw that you have it!"
That was…almost awkward. I mean, I see what you did there, mate, but the phrasing is just off.
At least I'm not lost when it comes to getting a girl's attention.
When it comes to getting attractive girls' attention.
Mathilda Abbott.
Fluke.
Lora Jones. Nanette Yaxley. Carol Gould. Yarnall Bones. Isabelle Warrington. I can go on if you would like.
Ok, ok. I get it. My turn.
Number fifty-nine.
"If I had a time-turner, I'd change whatever I did that made you hate me."
Oh, c'mon, Prongs. Gag me.
Into the kinky stuff, are you?
Stuff it.
Number sixty.
"You are so stunning that you've Stupefied my heart."
Hey. Don't go criticizing my words.
But my lines are better.
Are not.
Are too.
Challenged accepted.
Number sixty-one.
"When I look into the Mirror of Erised, you and I are together."
Aw. Vomit.
Number sixty-two.
"Do you want to teach Astronomy? Because you make me see stars."
Number sixty-three.
"Even the strongest Memory Charm couldn't make me forget you."
Number sixty-four.
"I don't know a thing about Merlin's pants, but I'd love to get into yours."
Number sixty-five.
"Are you an expert in Herbology? Because you're growing on me."
That sucked.
I wasn't going to be explicit about what else could be growing…
Number sixty-six.
"You know that the Forbidden Forest isn't the only wood around here."
I so gave you that idea.
Number sixty-seven.
"I don't think you should try to defend yourself against my Dark Arts."
Number sixty-eight.
"My wand is at the ready."
Number sixty-nine.
"Wanna ride my broomstick?"
No fair! I wanted sixty-nine.
Well, I guess it didn't work out for you.
Your pick-line doesn't deserve to be sixty-nine.
Go on. Do better then.
The REAL number sixty-nine.
"Are you as good as McGonagall at Transfiguration? I want to see you turn into a pussy."
Mate, gross. Why'd you drag McGonagall in? Bad images.
Mwahahahahaha. This is because I am king of sixty-nine.
Only in your dreams.
And yours.
You wish. And your sixty-nine line wasn't even that good.
Better than yours.
Liar.
Number seventy.
…Dammit.
You are a miserable cur.
You're the dog, Sirius.
WOOF… you cannot even respond because deer don't make sounds.
Stag. Not deer.
Whatever. Hey! I know! Let's think of all the ridiculous situations that Evans might actually agree to a date with you!
Why not? You've killed my self-esteem eons ago.
Number seventy-one.
You-Know-Who obliterates everyone on the planet except for you and Evans. You have to procreate to build a decent enough army to take him out.
That's not a date.
No, it's better.
Number seventy-two.
Evans is put under a spell where she perceives what she loves as something disgusting, and what she hates as something wonderful. You, being something she hates, will be irresistible.
Thanks.
Number seventy-three.
You and Evans are about to make an Unbreakable Vow, in which she thinks that you are promising never to heckle, prank, tease, or torment first-years ever again, but at the last moment you throw in a "And Lily Evans will have lots and lots of sex with me and she will like it."
Mate, I think that could be considered rape.
That's why I threw in the "and she will like it" part. Duh.
Right. 'Cause that definitely makes it all okay.
Absolutely.
Number seventy-four.
Hogwarts is attacked while the two of you are on prefect duty and you are taken captive by vicious Death Eaters. You are kept in captivity for years, and slowly your fellowship in the terrible time of torture and despair blossoms into deep, everlasting passion. Your unrequited love is suddenly requited with her development of Stockholm syndrome.
Okay, first, I'm not a prefect. Two, if she had Stockholm syndrome, she'd be in love with the Death Eater holding her captive.
So… you'd still lose in this scenario.
Just strike the Stockholm part and you'd have a perfect plot for a cheesy romantic novel.
Read a lot of those in your spare time, Prongs?
Oh, get off.
If that does it for you…
Perv.
You have no idea.
Let me have a go at it.
Number seventy-five.
I am playing Quidditch (spectacularly, I mightadd) and spot the Snitch all the way across the pitch. I zoom over, followed by the Slytherin Seeker (because I'm always better than the Slytherin Seeker), and am forced into a straight-down dive. The other player pulls up for his own safety, but in my determination and allegiance to team and sport, I snatch the Snitch out of the air just as I crash heavily into the ground. I am unconscious for a month, and people keep candlelit vigils at my hospital wing bedside, and Lily realizes when she catches a glimpse of my pale, drawn, unconscious but still devilishly handsome face that she should have given me more than the time of day. When I come to, she is clutching my hands and professes her undying love. Then I will humbly ask her on a date.
Is that what you fantasize about at night?
No.
Yeah, sure. Go on.
Bugger off.
Number seventy-six.
I am playing Quidditch. Again, I am magnificent and look rather dashing astride my broomstick. Evans is dating some right nasty clod. She accompanies him to the match, and they get into an argument. I just happen to notice it out of the corner of my eye – because of the ruckus it causes, not because I am staring at her – and observe the bloke give her a hard shove that sends her over the edge of the stands. She is plummeting towards the ground, and though I was chasing the Snitch, I pull up and fly to her. In an expert move, I yank her onto the front of my broomstick. I then catch up with the other Seeker and snatch the Snitch from right under his nose. Madam Hooch ends the game and I let Evans off on the pitch. Her asshole boyfriend approaches her and tries to drag her off, but I tell him to let her alone. He challenges me and I punch him in the jaw, knocking him out. I tell her she shouldn't ever settle for someone to treat her like that. She smiles shyly at me and thanks me. I tell her that it was nothing. She offers to repay me somehow and I tell her she doesn't have to do anything. Then she jumps my bones and we snog in front of the whole school. Then she agrees to go with me to by the Three Broomsticks next Hogsmeade weekend.
Seriously, mate. All you think about is Quidditch and Lily Evans. You need to get a life.
Shove off.
No, really. I should stage an intervention. You need help, Prongs. Sometimes it's hard to hear it, but you need to.
I do not need help.
Those two things are way too well thought out for you to have just thought of them.
So?
You've got it bad. Go on, study or something.
You are suggesting that I should go study? You're mental.
Says the bloke who only thinks about riding around on broomsticks saving a girl.
Well, if you're so normal, what do you think about, then?
Nothing.
Look at Bernie's boobs! … GOT YOU.
Not fair, mate.
All's fair in love and war.
But not in love and Quidditch.
That sounds like the title of one of those cheesy romantic novels you love so much.
We established that it was you who read those.
Lies.
My turn.
Number seventy-seven.
You are playing Quidditch (horribly, as usual) and fall rather lamely off of your broom. You fall off when you're only like a foot off the ground and become the laughingstock of the whole school. No one talks to you anymore and your only friend is Moaning Myrtle. Snivellus becomes more popular than you. Evans, because she tends to have a soft heart for misfits, begins to talk to you. In one last pathetic moment, you ask her on a date. She agrees, but only because she feels terrible for you.
Thanks a lot, Sirius.
Hey. It's more plausible than your ideas.
Number seventy-eight.
You turn evil and become a Death Eater. She is captured during a raid and you, remembering your old school boy longing, take charge of her. You cannot display any fondness for fear of detection from You-Know-Who, but manage to keep your torture practices as minimal as possible. She develops Stockholm syndrome and you finally reveal your identity. She is shocked and hurt, but realizes that she can change you (because she is female and that's all they want to do with men). She returns your loyalty to the good side, and you turn double-crosser and report to Dumbledore. Together, you bring down You-Know-Who for good.
And all of this will get me a date?
And then after the evil bloke is dead, you turn to her and ask her to go to Honeyduke's… after a trip to St. Mungo's.
You are sick.
Probably!
Number seventy-nine: back to pick-up lines!
"I just got back from the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey says that I've got a bad case of loving you."
Inspired, then?
Yes!
Padfot—
Sorry, hold off on your scathing comment for a moment.
Number eighty.
"Evans, you have to stop drugging my pumpkin juice with your Love Potion. Else, I'm going to start thinking you want me."
That's bloody awful.
You're bloody awful.
That's not what the girls tell me.
What girls? You've been fixated on Evans for so long there hasn't been any girls. Remember the point of this?
I thought you were just doing this because you were bored.
And to humiliate you. There's always that.
-x-x-x-
James held his breath as he read the faded piece of parchment. He clearly could remember sitting at that desk, sniggering immaturely with Sirius, glancing every now and again at the girl two rows over. As the class had continued, it had become less about Lily specifically, and more about how perverted and ridiculous they could be.
He glanced at his young wife's face, cautiously gauging her reactions. Would she think this as funny as he had? Did she understand that it was meant, mostly, as a joke? Not his affections for her – no, those had been terrifyingly real for him as a fifteen year old. But this had been all in innocent, juvenile fun. He couldn't pretend that he hadn't used some of these on her throughout fifth and sixth year, but this game had only started out of the sheer boredom produced by History of Magic.
Lily bit her lip, the humor shining from her eyes dimming. James tensed.
"What is it?" he asked softly. "I'm sorry. I promise, Lil, it was all just for a laugh—"
She turned her head to look at him, a pensive look in her eyes. "No, no, no. It's not that. It's nothing really. Just the Death Eater thing…" She shook her head. "For us, it's a little more… real…now." James scooted closer, ready to apologize profusely and offer whatever comfort he could. She was right, after all – their current position was just as dangerous as the absurd situations fifteen-year-old Sirius had proposed. But he never got the words out. "Don't say it. I know, James," Lily spoke quickly. "It's not the same. We're safe from… him."
Commanded to silence, James wrapped both arms around her and squeezed gently, kissing her temple. She turned her face up towards his, presenting her lips to be kissed.
When she pulled away, her smile had returned and mischief was brimming in her eyes. "We may be safe from You-Know-Who, but you are not safe from the humiliation of these lines."
-x-x-x-
Number eighty-one.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm wearing an Invisibility Cloak, because you look right through me."
I'm not sure how I feel about that one. It screams "I'm pathetic".
So, it fits you perfectly.
Knock it off.
Oh, come on, Prongs.
I'm serious.
No. I'm Sirius.
You're hilarious.
I know. Shall we stick to the pick-up lines, then?
Yes.
Eighty-two.
"Wanna take care of my magical creature?"
Eighty-three.
"Let's go to the Shrieking Shack and do some shrieking of our own."
Wicked. I like that one! Moony wouldn't though.
Eighty-four.
"When I'm with you, I won't have to whomp my willow."
Naughty.
I aim to please.
Eighty-five.
"If you were Dumbledore, would you have Fawkes sit on this shoulder… or this shoulder?"
Lame.
I know.
Eighty-six.
"If I use 'Alohomora', will it unlock your heart?"
Eighty-seven.
"If I guess the right password, will you open up to me?"
I see what you did there. Innocent enough, but potential dirtiness. I like it.
You do know how to flatter, mate.
How do you think I get all the bitches?
I thought you sniffed their rear ends.
Shove it.
Eighty-eight.
"Do you mind if I Slytherin to your Chamber of Secrets?"
Eighty-nine.
"Yes, I am a Gryffindor. And yes, I have an impressive sword."
Ninety.
"If I beat you in a game of wizard's chess, can we check and mate?"
Where do you get these?
I got a lifetime of knowledge.
Ninety-one.
"Being with me will be magical."
Man, that was so terrible. So, so, so terrible. I'm disappointed.
I know. But I'm running out of ideas!
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You have much to learn.
Ninety-two.
"If you were a dementor, I'd let you give me the Kiss."
Ninety-three.
"I want to take a visit to your Diagon Alley."
Atta, boy.
Ninety-four.
"When I'm around you, do I make your cauldron feel leaky?"
What does that even mean?
You know. The Leaky Cauldron… a woman's "leaky cauldron"? It's about sex, okay!
I mean, I got that much.
Good. I was afraid this would turn into a lesson on anatomy.
Which you know nothing about.
There is where you are wrong, my friend.
Spare me the details. I still feel like a leaky cauldron wouldn't be great.
Shows how much you know.
About the same as you.
If I write down my "experiences", they will be immortalized!
If you write them down and someone finds this paper, you will be dead.
Very true. It's your turn.
Ninety-five.
"The only thing I would find in the Room of Requirement is you."
You know if someone finds this paper, you will also be very dead.
That's why no one is going to find this paper.
Ninety-six.
"Do you want to moan like Myrtle?"
Ninety-seven.
"Together we make more sense that Filch and Mrs. Norris."
You suck.
Ninety-eight.
"Being near you makes something silvery erupt from my wand."
I have no comment.
Then why write one?
To tell you that I am disgusted beyond words.
That's why the line is for girls. They'll think it's sexy.
Or that you cannot control yourself.
Ninety-nine.
You take too long.
I'm trying to think of a good one!
Hurry up, then.
I've got an idea, but it's not coming together in my head. I'm trying to use the whole house-elves are freed by clothes – you know, naked puns.
Oh! Clever. Let's see. How about "Baby, I'll be just like your house-elf. I'll serve your every need and I won't need clothes" ? Huh?
I mean, that's what I'm going for, but I feel like it doesn't flow so smooth.
I think it's great.
Yeah, because it's yours. This is my turn!
Snot.
"Just like a house-elf, I'll be your slave and I don't need clothes."
That's the exact same as mine!
No, it's not!
Whatever. Mate, we made it to one hundred! This one, and one-hundred-and-one, and we're done! And Binns is almost done!
He's never almost done.
True. I swear he keeps talking after we leave class. He probably lectured himself to death. But anyway, we're at one hundred!
Boom.
One hundred!
"My dragon is looking for its egg, and I think you have it."
Bloody hell. That makes no sense.
Sure it does. You know how babies are made. Women have those eggs that need the "dragon" to fertilize it.
It's still a lame pick-up line.
No, it's genius like me.
Keep telling yourself that.
I will.
-x-x-x-
"You only made it to one hundred?" Lily asked, as she finally looked up.
James blushed slightly. "Binns dismissed us just as we finished a hundred."
"I wonder what one-oh-one would have been," she smiled, leaning to plant a soft kiss on James' forehead.
"Must've been the one that worked," he chuckled, pulling her chin down so that he could get to her lips.
"You mean the one where you left me alone?" Lily asked, pulling her face away from his teasingly.
James pouted, as he continued to chase her lips. "I was thinking that it was the one where I let you pursue me."
"As I remember, Mr. Potter, you were still the one that asked me out that last time."
"As I remember, Mrs. Potter, you were still the one that said yes."
Thanks for reading, folks! I really appreciate any feedback you can give!
It's been pointed out: yes, there are two Starkid references. Kudos to those of you who found them! Also, I did forget that James played Chaser. In the movie, it said he was a Seeker. I forgot. My humble apologies. I would go back and change it, but his being a Seeker helped some of the lines ;)