I wonder if anyone's still reading this story—please leave reviews, I'm starting to think that nobody cares. Oh, and sorry for the late update, life got in the way.
Setting aside my insecurity, this is the tenth chapter, narrated in Sirius' limited third-person PoV. It's much shorter than my usual updates, but if you want to know what happens or longer chapters, leave me a review.
The same disclaimers apply.
"Your game is on Saturday," James said after he had swallowed the bit of toast he'd been munching on. "Why have I got a game on Saturday?" he asked, "Why aren't you included?" James sighed, "I told you, I have things to do. Believe me, Padfoot, if I could just leave those things undone and play with you, I would—but I can't, so there." He nodded, drumming his fingers in anticipation of Remus. When Remus did arrive, he was grateful to see that his friend came bearing a vial. "What's that, Moony?" asked James. "This is the hangover cure that Padfoot asked me to brew," Remus responded quickly, "Three drops in your tea and you'll be fine."
He uncorked the vial, put three drops in the cup of tea in front of him, as Remus ordered, and downed it in one gulp. Apparently Remus forgot to mention that the potion tasted awful. He made a face, and Remus cracked a smile. "I suppose I should have mentioned that you should follow it up with something sugary to wash away the taste." He nodded, grabbing the jam in the middle of the table and spreading a generous amount on his toast, taking a bite. He swallowed the toast that was soggy with saccharine jam, glad of the fact that the taste of the hangover cure went away. He never had to ask Remus to brew it before—usually he timed his heavy drinking for the weekend, so he could sleep it off. Why he chose to get drunk on a Monday he didn't know, but he didn't know why Dumbledore pushed through with a party on a Monday either.
"Better?" Remus quirked a brow at him, smirking. "Yes," he admitted, feeling the pounding headache subside a little. "How much did you drink last night?" asked James, an amused smile playing on his lips. Brilliant friends I've got here—they find it funny that I'm so bloody hung over. "A lot," he managed to say. "Do you remember anything?" James actually smiled this time. "Not much," he responded truthfully. He remembered inviting Rumer out to the gardens, talking with her, taking out the flask of firewhiskey he was carrying, and then—nothing. "You were snogging Rumer," Remus told him flatly, "in the gardens. Nobody else saw what happened after, if anything did." Thinking hurts—I won't even try remembering. "I was too drunk to remember," he managed. "Nearly everyone was, but nobody wanted to mention anything today," said Peter flatly.
He looked towards the doors of the Great Hall, and just as he laid his eyes in that general direction, Rumer walked in with Lily. The latter was talkative and animated, positively overflowing with energy. The former was pensive and silent, nodding attentively when the latter paused for a reaction. She was wearing sunglasses, too—large round ones, the lenses dark as a new moon. They went well with her Gryffindor robes; then again, all sorts of sunnies with dark lenses went with them. Lily sat a little ways away from them, surprisingly, and Rumer sat across the Head Girl. She was on the side of benches he was on.
"Late night, Sable?" said James teasingly. He cast a dark look at his best friend, but it didn't work because his own eyes were obscured by sunnies. "You say that like you slept through a troll attack," Rumer countered. "Aren't we rather sensitive this morning? Have you lost something dear to you, Sable?" James continued. "Yeah; I've lost my ability to let your immature social commentary fly by with minimal reaction, but it wasn't very dear to me—I was only keeping it as to not hurt your feelings, because I'm nice and indifferent. Now, Potter, if you've got anything to say that isn't something that you think passes for witty, I'll be able to sit here and have breakfast in peace. If not, then I couldn't care less about what you were saying, even if you were the bloody king of England. I'd choose my words carefully, if I was you," Rumer snapped. James sat stock-still.
Lily cleared her throat self-consciously. He swallowed the last bite of toast he'd been working on as Rumer had spoken. Remus marked his place in the book he was reading and looked up, "Come off it, Prongs." James nodded, not even meeting Rumer's heated gaze behind the sunglasses. "What're you looking at?" he hadn't realised he was staring until Rumer asked him this with an edge to her voice. He removed his sunglasses and placed them in the pocket of Remus' robes, "Nothing, love." Rumer let out a breath, "May I have a word with you, Sirius?" he nodded, excused himself, and followed her out of the Great Hall. She removed her sunnies.
He forgot how attractive her eyes were: they were the kind of hazel that shone gold in the sun, and speared your heart by the intensity of their gaze. "I thought the agreement was that we'd end this at the Halloween Ball?" Rumer asked irately, breaking him out of his reverie. "What if I asked you out, on an actual date?" he blurted out. "Is that a joke?" she looked more than mildly taken aback. "No," he responded automatically. "Well, I wouldn't decline unless I have something to do, but why not," shrugged Rumer. "You're agreeing?" he asked—it was his turn to be shocked. "Yeah, do you want me to take it back?" Rumer raised a brow at him.
"You can't take it back anymore," he could feel himself smirking, "How about Saturday, after the game?" Rumer nodded, "Alright."
—TBC—