"Quills at the ready," said James, in what he liked to think was a very good compere voice. "Eyes on your own paper. Abso-lutely no cheating –"
"Did you choose today's, or last week's?" Peter interrupted. "Because today's is really hard –"
"You're not allowed to look, Wormtail," said Sirius, frowning.
Peter flushed, shifting in his seat. "I just glanced at it. I didn't try and do it." He looked down at the sheet in his lap, torn from the newspaper and duplicated, and hurried on, "it seemed difficult though, more than last week. Shouldn't we go with the one that's more suitable to everyone?"
"I don't think it would make much difference," Remus muttered.
James slammed his hand down on the table, making everybody jump.
"We are gathered here for a very important reason," he told them in his most dignified tone. "Let's all take this seriously, shall we?"
He glanced at the tall, rain-spattered windows.
"Besides, it's pissing it down. We've nothing better to do, have we?"
When James Potter was fourteen years old, he had fallen under the misapprehension that all it would take for girls to like him was winning lots of things, very loudly and very publicly.
Unsatisfied with merely winning Quidditch matches, he did what any teenage wizard would do. He instigated a fortnightly crossword contest.
It took place - as the name suggested - every two weeks, on Sundays (when everyone was doing their homework in the common room), and comprised him competing against his friends for the revered (by him) title of crossword champion. It was, he was certain, a flawless plan to attract witches from all over the school, once news of his prowess spread.
Three years and only one sort-of girlfriend later, he was less certain.
But the contest was fun – or at least more fun than homework – and it gave him and his friends something to do. Sirius, who was very good at crosswords and (despite pretending otherwise) enjoyed doing them, never complained, mostly because he won half the time. The rest of the time, James won. Peter and Remus, who didn't complain because they were too happy to be included, had won only once and thrice respectively. Sometimes they put rude words in the columns instead, which speeded up the process considerably, and gave them something to laugh at while James or Sirius loudly celebrated their victory.
(There was still a part of James, after all, that believed public triumph would draw girls to him. He was a hopeful sort of bloke.)
Happy that everyone was taking it seriously, James lifted his wand and gave the signal.
"On your marks … GO!"
The blast from his wand was greeted, as usual, by shouts of complaint from the other occupants of the common room, who didn't seem to feel it was necessary, but James wasn't listening; he was already deeply immersed in his crossword. Ink splattered his glasses from the speed with which he was writing; to his right, Sirius was scribbling madly, as ruffled as most ever saw him. Remus and Peter were slower, counting on their fingers as they worked out the clues. Creases appeared between Remus' eyebrows.
Looking up momentarily and seeing Peter's eyes darting around the room, James said, "no cheating, Wormtail."
"I wasn't!" Peter protested, but James had already returned to his crossword. He filled in another word and took a moment to push his glasses back up his nose before he moved on to the next clue.
"- think I'm in love with Lily Evans!"
What?
Startled, James swivelled wildly about, the crossword at once forgotten. Had he misheard? Who thought they were in love with Lily Evans?
His eyes lit upon a group of younger boys, third- or fourth-years, clustered less than a foot from where James sat.
"You're in love with her?" he heard one say disbelievingly.
"James?"
He turned. Sirius was watching him curiously. "Aren't you playing?"
"In a minute," he said vaguely, and got to his feet before any further questions could be asked. He had always been taught not to eavesdrop on private conversations, a lesson he followed at his convenience. In this situation, he decided, the best way to get answers was to ask for them.
Fully aware that his friends had stopped filling in their crosswords to see what he was doing, he approached the boys, who stopped talking immediately when he loomed over them. Intimidated, James thought. As they should be.
"'Scuse," he said, "but I couldn't help overhearing what you –" he nodded at the culprit – "just said."
The boy's eyes went very round.
"I – I don't –"
"About being in love with Lily Evans." James took a seat, even though he hadn't been invited to do so. "You think you're in love with her?"
"Well –" The boy stared at his knees, until his friend elbowed him, and he met James' gaze reluctantly. "I … yes. I think so."
"Why?" James demanded. "And – what's your name, anyway?"
"Bertie. Taylor."
"So what makes you think you're in love with Lily Evans, Bertie?"
A strange, faraway look passed over Bertie's face, his dreamy gaze fixed on a point behind James' head. "I don't know really," he said, sounding dazed. "It's just … she just makes me feel … things."
"Oh, that's normal," James cut in, "I know when I was your age I –"
"No – in my heart," said Bertie. He gestured at his chest, as if James might be unsure as to where the heart was. "And my head. I can't think straight when I'm around her, and I get this sort of ache when I think about her …"
"When are you around her?"
"She helps me with Charms every Tuesday. And sometimes when she sees me around school she comes and asks me how things are going. And she passed me the other day and said she liked my badge –" He pointed to the one on his chest, which proclaimed him a fan of popular band The Potioneers. James knew Lily liked them: she'd insisted on putting their latest record on during one rainy break time the sixth years had spent in a classroom. Personally, he didn't get the appeal: the sight of her dancing around the room, hair swinging, laughing at herself, had been far more entrancing.
"Sounds like you're well in," he said. It didn't come out as sarcastic as he'd intended it.
"I'm not, though." Bertie sighed dejectedly. "She doesn't see me like that. I'm too young for her, and there are other people who have a much better chance, like the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, Marvin someone –"
"Marvin Murphy?" James cried, shooting forwards in his seat. "He's asked her out?"
"He's always making excuses to come up to her in the library," Bertie shrugged. "I don't think he's asked her out yet but he probably will, and she'll say yes and I'll never, ever have a chance with her," he finished morosely. One of his friends patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.
James was in shock.
"I can't believe this," he muttered, mostly to himself. He had had no idea there were quite so many people interested in Lily Evans – and so forward about it, too! He'd thought it best to keep a low profile after the debacle by the lake; they were now on good terms, but he didn't want to push his luck. When she was talking to him, he got to hear her laugh: he was noting things about her he hadn't before, like the precise shade of pink that coloured the apples of her cheeks when she smiled, and how she favoured a different perfume for the holiday season, and that she usually had porridge for breakfast, but on Fridays she had toast with extra jam.
"Your face has gone all funny," another of Bertie's friends observed, which James found incredibly impertinent. "Why are you bothered, anyway?"
"He likes her," said a third friend.
"Who?"
"Lily Evans. I bet he fancies her too."
Slightly stunned – since when had kids started being so disrespectful? – James spluttered, "no I don't!"
The boys regarded him with sympathetic and entirely disbelieving expressions. One even had the nerve to reach out and pat his hand.
"It's all right," Bertie said magnanimously. "I don't blame you. I suppose people like us just aren't what she's looking for."
"What?" James clawed his hands through his hair, absolutely lost as to how the conversation had got so out of hand, and just when he'd become the object of sympathy of boys who were just hitting puberty. "What – I mean - why – what makes you think I'm not what she's looking for?"
"Well, she said no to you –"
"She didn't say no to me!" Recently, he added silently. He didn't feel it was a detail worth mentioning: besides, after a lot of consideration and thought, he felt he understood why she'd said no at that moment, and found he didn't begrudge her for it. Much.
Bertie and his friends appeared to let this sink in. "Wait," said one after a lengthy pause, "so – you haven't asked her out?"
"No."
"What?" Bertie exploded, making James jump. "You – you're her age! And you're the best Quidditch player in the school! Why haven't you asked her out?"
"Because I like being friends with her!" It sounded pathetic to James' own ears, and from the expressions of the boys, they felt the same way.
"Mate," said one, shaking his head, "you've got to grow a pair and just do it."
James very much wanted to shout and throw something, but he managed to control himself. "Look," he said in a low, fierce voice, "I will do it on my own time, all right?"
He got to his feet.
"This is between us. No one else will hear of it. Got that?"
The boys nodded quickly.
"Good," James growled, and he stalked away, back to where he had been sitting. He sank into his armchair feeling as if he'd just woken up from a very bizarre dream.
"Who won?" he asked.
"Dunno, we stopped playing when you did," said Sirius. He jerked his head at the younger boys, who had their heads together and were whispering conspiratorially. "What was that about?"
Sorely wishing this day would hurry up and be over already, James explained. "… and they told me to just go and ask her out!" he finished, flinging his arms wide to express his exasperation. "Told me to grow a pair and just do it!"
"Are you taking advice from a bunch of thirteen year olds?" asked Remus. He sounded very amused.
"They're giving me advice," James corrected, annoyed. "I didn't say I was going to take it."
"I think you should," said Peter unexpectedly.
The others' heads swivelled to look at him. "Well, if there are other people wanting to ask her out – and what have you got to lose?" he said, flushing.
"My dignity," James started, counting off on his fingers, "my pride, my reputation –"
"Not much, then," said Sirius. James grinned, but still felt unsettled.
"I just don't know if – I mean, if she says no it could make things really awkward."
"You won't know until you try," Peter told him wisely.
James couldn't disagree with that. It was odd: he was usually so impulsive. He rarely deliberated or hesitated.
"After all, you have got competition, mate," Sirius said, nodding again at Bertie and his friends with a smirk. "I say go for it."
"Maybe a bit of competition's what you need," Remus chipped in. "You're competitive, you like winning –"
At that moment, the portrait hole opened and Lily Evans came in, deep in conversation with Head Boy Oscar Knight.
"Oh," said Peter a beat later, "Oscar Knight fancies her, too."
Sirius sucked in a breath.
"Right," said James, deeply annoyed now and feeling like he was living an alternate universe all of a sudden. "Right. Enough. I can't take any more of this." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
"I'm going to ask her out."