The Problem with Men and Me
"No it can't! An argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition." – Monty Python
Chapter 11: Proposition
"Hey- Lyon."
I kept walking determinedly, mouth set in a tight line.
"Lyonnnn."
Don't turn around, Penny, don't turn around.
"Oi! I'm talking to you!"
I whirled around then, poking Sirius Black hard in the chest with my index finger. "Leave me alone. You told me just yesterday about how awful my hair is. And the day before that you commented on my eyebrows being bushy. And about my general lack of curves." I snapped, giving his chest another hard jab. "What more could you possibly have to say to me?"
Black looked surprised, blinking a couple of times. "Oh. Um." His mouth opened and closed stupidly, like a fish out of water.
"Yeah." I growled, and turned my back on him, to continue on my way to the Library.
"Wait! No- I was just wondering-"
"Yes I did brush my hair today. No I don't have a family of nifflers living in it." I replied, already knowing it would be something along those lines.
I heard an indignant huff from behind me, and was jerked off of my feet when he grabbed the strap of my bag. "Just listen for a second, yeah? I've got a proposition." He snapped at me, gripping my shoulders and giving me a good shake.
I glared up at him, raising my eyebrows.
"I want you to try out for the Quidditch team."
"You're a nutter!"
"No- just listen-"
I pried one of his hands off my shoulder, "I can't fly worth a damn! What would I try out?"
He took the hint and removed his other hand slowly, "Because- you're always reading those Quidditch books and magazines. You're obsessed- and you want to play. And I can teach you."
"No- you can't. And I'm perfectly fine watching." I assured him, eyes narrowed and suspicious. "Plus- you hate me. And I'm no fan of yours either." Plus, I was pretty sure Black was a Wasps supporter- and I hated the Wasps. They and the Arrows were arch rivals.
Black glared right on back, "Fine- I don't like you. I'll admit to that." He pinched the bridge of his nose in an annoyed manner. "But James does, and he thinks you'd be a good player, if we could get you up in the air. We lost a lot of players who graduated last year. Marlene's mum and dad say they want her to take the year off, because she had a really bad accident over the summer. That means we've got to find a new chaser, beater, and seeker." He sounded really upset.
Marlene hadn't mentioned not playing this year. Why? What had happened over the summer? I decided against pressing for further explanation from him. "Look, Black, there are lots of people tripping over themselves to get on the team. James can pick one of them."
"That's what I said. But he wants you."
"That makes no sense. I've never played a game in my life."
"That's what I said- but he's been determined about it ever since the other day, when you two started talking about tactics in the Common Room. He thinks you could be the seeker."
"But I can't."
He heaved a very heavy put-upon sigh and put a hand on my right shoulder. "Look. I'll make a deal. If you at least try and let me give you a few lessons, I'll stop picking on you. Forever. No more hair comments, or eyebrows, or… any of that stuff."
I didn't entirely believe him. I narrowed my eyes up at him, suspiciously inspecting his face for any hint of a lie. "… Fine."
"Awesome." He grabbed my hand and gave it a good, hard shake. "After the final bell, today. Meet me on the pitch; I'll take care of finding you a broom to practice on."
Oh, dear. An actual plot emerges.
