A/N: Hello! So, if you are currently viewing this story, you are pretty much one of my favorite people in the world. This is my first fanfic, so I and just trying for a good story. I will try to update frequently (this is a multi-chapter fic). Anyways, please R&R, and any type of constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, J.K. Rowling does. :) Now, on to the story.
The Bet
Lily's Point of View:
I let the tears drip down my face. One by one, they slipped down my cheeks before dropping onto their cause; my favorite book of all time. Cliché as it was,the renowned classic, Romeo and Juliet was one of the most brilliant things I'd ever read. Seeing as it was well after midnight, the Gryffindor common room was basically empty, allowing me to sob my eyes out as I absorbed the tragic love story unraveling before me. I buried myself deeper into the soft, velvet armchair, entranced by the well-worn, Muggle book. I could have had it memorized if I tried. I didn't even give a second thought to the sudden feeling that I was not alone.
James' Point of View:
She did not look at me. She didn't acknowledge my presence in any way. Did she know I was standing right here, in front of her? I tilted my head slightly to catch a glimpse of her face, shocked to see that she was crying. I cleared my throat, lifting her out of her trance, and spoke,
"Evans?"
"Potter," I couldn't hold back a smirk when I heard her respond in her snarky tone. I swear she managed to work eye-rolls into her voice.
"Crying so late at night, are we? Upset you let a golden catch like me go again?"
"Shut up, Potter," she replied.
"Really though, why are you crying? It's not my fault I'm irresistible."
"Go away, Potter."
"Not a chance in hell, Evans."
"Why, Potter?"
"Because, Evans."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
"Dammit, Potter. Fine, then I'll leave." She made a move to leave her chair before I advanced closer to her. Now, she couldn't leave unless she touched me. Obnoxious, I know, but hey, I'm James Potter.
She huffed and sunk back into the armchair, staring back up at me through her thick, dark red lashes. Merlin, she could seduce me any day. Especially when she was angry. Looking at her tearstained face now, I remembered why I had spoken in the first place.
"Was it the book?" I asked.
"Was what the book?"
"Was it the book that made you cry?"
The lightest shade of pink tinged her cheeks in a lovely way, but she held her ground and stuck her chin out defiantly.
"Who said I was crying?"
I managed to choke back a chuckle. Who was she kidding?
"Come on, Evans. I'm not trying to harass you. Besides, maybe I can help."
She rolled her eyes. "There's nothing to help with. It was the book. Just a sad story, that's all."
Smirking at my opening, I inquired, "What is the story about?"
"It's just a silly romance. Nothing that would interest you."
"Evans, if you were sitting here, along, crying your pretty eyes out, I do not think it is just a silly romance. So, what is this story about?"
"Fine, fine." She rolled her eyes skyward, as if she wanted to be anywhere but here, "It is about a boy and a girl. Actually, no, it's about a man and woman who fall in love, but their parents and society is against it. Then, they are torn apart, so the woman fakes her own death by taking a sleeping potion in an attempt to be with him again. He thinks she's really dead so he kills himself. When she wakes up and finds out he is dead, she kills herself as well. It is tragic and lovely and that is why I was crying. Any other questions, Potter?"
"You find that lovely?" I asked incredulously. Really, the minds of women these days. "That was horrific. If he was really a man he would not have killed himself. For Merlin's sake, did he even stop to think that if she was dead, she would have wanted him to live and be happy? Obviously, this-" I paused to glance at the cover of the book "'-this Shakespell fellow must not know a thing about love."
Her face turned deeper in color, but this time it wasn't from embarrassment.
"His name is Shakespeare, for your information, and he is a right genius! This story is a classic and you, of all people, have no right to insult true love!"
"I am not insulting true love. I am insulting this petty excuse for a classic novel. Love is about sacrifices and being strong through it all. The man, no, boy, in this story did none of those things! He committed suicide because he was without his beloved, but if she really was dead, she would have felt guilty and horrible as ever. This hero of yours was selfish and rash. And for your information, I know quite a bit about love." I stopped talking, slightly frightened by the look Lily was giving me. Merlin, you'd think I'd just murdered her best friend.
She scoffed, "You and love don't even belong in the same sentence. Honestly, Potter. You wouldn't know love if it walked up to you and pinched your sorry arse."
I swallowed a laugh at the image. "But I know enough to be able to make half the girls in this school fall in love with me, don't I? Or haven't you seen the Marauder fans?" I cursed myself inwardly. Those fans did not really matter, truthfully. It wasn't like they actually loved me. They loved my body, which, I must admit, is pretty damn fit. But, still, I needed some backing to my arguments.
Lily seemed to have discovered this little bit and replied haughtily, "Right, because those bimbos know so much about you. Whatever, Potter. As if you could get someone to fall in love with the real you. If there is a 'real you', of course."
Arching an eyebrow, I was suddenly enlightened with an idea.
"Fine, then. Let's make a bet."
