A/N: And here it finally is, my University AU fic! I'm so damn excited for this!
This has been in the works for a while now, and it's been such a blast writing it. I really wanted to write something light and fun after Willow, to recover from all the war angst lol and I have a thing for university stories, I guess I was such a nerd during my own uni years and I didn't enjoy it as much as I should've, so now I want to live vicariously through the characters hahaha
Anyway, this will be a bit longer than Willow (18 chapters, I'm guessing) but way less intense. So get ready for a lot of shenanigans and our favourite characters just being overall stupid (especially James, the poor twit). Also a lot of growing up, hence the title. I hope you like it as much I do! :)
A shoutout to the amazing Chestnut1992, who not only beta'd every chapter of this fic but also spent many hours discussing with me the motivation behind James' constant stupidity and really helped me bring this story together. You're the real one S2
P.s: just for some context, this is set before the pandemic, in the calendar year 2018-2019, and it will be entirely through James POV.
Chapter 1: When God was feeling prankish
The party is awfully boring and James is in search of some entertainment.
He watches with a good dose of ick as half of the rugby team convinces two unaware freshers to join their Drinking Jenga game and proceeds to carry out the most preposterous instructions, such as licking tequila out of their armpits and trying to somersault from the kitchen counter.
He hits the corridor, realising he is not nearly drunk enough for that kind of shit.
Things are not looking up in the common room. Too many couples snog sloppily, busy tongues slurping each other's faces, while at least three of his teammates have given up standing upright and lounge satisfied on the dirty floor. Shawn Mendes is playing. Peter is already shirtless.
James spots a very suspicious blueish-looking bottle of liquor across the room, about to fall out of the desktop, dripping rhythmically onto the wood. He makes a beeline to it, stepping over Marcus, whose left cheek is plastered on the footer of the wall, with a "looking good, mate", and grabs the drink. He rolls it from one side to the other in his palm, inspecting the strange colour and even stranger smell. It looks foul. James twists his neck around, seeing that no one is paying attention to him, and takes a long gulp.
It also tastes foul.
Grimacing and coughing, he throws the offending bottle in the bin next to the desktop, lest another dumb twit has the same dumb idea as him, and goes back in the corridor, this time heading to the small backyard on the left. He stops by the entrance, on the glass doors, spotting Sirius next to the grill wrapped around Elizabeth as usual and Remus oddly absorbed in conversation with Nuur Shafiq. Frowning lightly, distracted with the idea of his mate going after one of his former flings, James starts walking and almost gets past the group of third-year birds on his right.
Almost.
Her incandescent hair catches his eyes at the last moment. He grins maniacally.
He has found his entertainment.
- Alright, Evans?
Although she has her back to him, he can still feel her eye-roll radiate in his surroundings with the heat waves of her exasperation. Her shoulders raise up and down in a deep sigh before she spins in her heels.
- It was, until five seconds ago.
He hums.
- What ever happened in the last seconds to change your humour? Don't tell me, was it some wanker bothering you? You just need to say the word and I'll go kick his arse for you. - He places a hand over his heart, closing his eyes solemnly. - I'd go to the ends of the world to defend your honour, Evans, you know that.
She pinches her lips in the way she does whenever he says something stupid but she isn't quite in the spirit of fighting.
- Unfortunately, this wanker is not easily scared off. He keeps coming back - she says with a placid smile, confirming his suspicion that she is not up for some invigorating shouting match that evening.
A pity.
He will have to find a way around it.
- Oh, I see. The persistent type. Poor you.
She nods neutrally, turning back to her friends. He joins her, uninvited.
- McKinnon, Cassie. - He widens his grin when Thompson grunts at the use of the pet name that is only reserved to her best friends. - How are you all this fine evening?
- Extremely well, Potter. You?
- Extremely bored. - He lets out a lungful. - Will you lovelies entertain me, please?
- Certainly - replies Evans, sweetly. Too sweetly. Something is coming. James waits, keen. - I saw earlier in one of the cupboards a couple of shape-sorter toys for you to play with. I think you're going to love it. I'll even extend a nice, superhero towel on the floor for you to sit on and then you can be entertained with it the entire night.
There it is.
James laughs heartily, throwing a bold arm around her shoulders and bending to speak closer to her ear but still loud enough for the other two girls to hear.
- I'd gladly do it, if you sit on my lap while I play.
She huffs, squaring her shoulders to displace his arm and taking a step to the side, away from him.
- Piss off, Potter. Go find someone else to annoy.
He shrugs.
- There's no one else. This party is so bloody boring - he bellows, dramatically. He tosses his head back to groan. - My best mate has replaced me with a smile on his face, Remus is shameless chatting up Shafiq, Peter is being disgusting as usual and - he lifts one finger, shaking it indignantly - I'm not drunk at all. I mean…
He looks around to the girls, who chuckle unimpressed with his theatrics.
- Worst party of the term so far? Yes, very much yes. If you ask me.
- No one's asking you, though - Evans replies but she looks entertained.
Great, he has entertained her, not the other way around as it should have been.
He glares, mind running fast trying to come up with something to improve his situation. Evans is clearly not in the mood to engage in one of their occasional rows. Perhaps she is already drunk enough. She is always more fun when she has had a few, becoming way less stuck up. He usually liked her like that. Those were the moments he could incessantly flirt with her and she would just laugh bemused. When she is sober, she gets too defensive, being irritated at him although she knows that is just the way he is. She has known him for almost three years, she already knows he flirts with everyone. Well, almost everyone. And maybe not as fiercely as he does with her, but still. She should be used to it by now. She isn't. She gets incensed and knocks him down brutally with her quick-witted barbs. She is as clever as she is pretty, and that is an endless source of entertainment for him.
That is why, tonight, he needs her fiery and not drunkenly pleasant. He is in that state of mind and he wants to get her there too.
- Well, Evans - he starts saying but is interrupted by the arrival of Thomas Shaw and Walter Fawley, who are apparently done with their ridiculous display of masculinity in the kitchen and have decided to go harass their own year instead of younger students. They grin at James, clapping friendly on his shoulder and he has to suppress an eye-roll. He can't be a yat with Evans now, at least not in front of even bigger yats.
- Ladies.
They nod, politely.
- Not in the mood for dancing? I think Ed Sheeran's playing right now.
James has to suppress a snort this time. Shaw is such a clueless git. He couldn't find any less inclined birds to enjoy Ed Sheeran if he tried. Thompson arches a brow and James pipes up.
- Is it? Ah, blimey. Five minutes ago it was Shawn Mendes and that's the one the girls would want to be dancing to. - He tsks. - Too late, I guess. Tough luck.
The two boys hum as if they know exactly what James is talking about. The girls laugh freely. He catches Evans' eyes and winks at her, receiving a wrinkled nose in return.
James manages to chat with them for a few minutes, trying his best to look interested in the rugby stories of the thick-heads, although it is hard. Especially without a drink in his hands. When they start going on about the Saracens playing the Premiership, James reaches his limit.
- Sorry, lads. I need to take a leak - he says, already turning around towards the glass doors.
- Charming, Potter - he hears Evans sneer behind him and he twists his neck to blow her a kiss before going back to the corridor, in the direction of the kitchen. He doesn't actually need to use the loo but he is in urgent need of more alcohol in his system if he is to survive the next few hours in boredom. The kitchen is fortunately empty, the dense athletes and unwitting freshers gone, and he goes straight to the cabinets on top of the gross stove. He fetches a bottle of vodka, of an unknown brand, and opens the fridge to get some coke. He takes about half of his young life to find a clean cup and, when he does, he finally mixes the drink, immediately emptying it in two long gulps.
Much better than the blueish alcohol.
Absently wondering if he should be worried with the amount of shite he puts inside his body on the daily, James makes himself another vodka and coke, then trails back to the backyard to find that Shaw and Fawley have mercifully moved on to chat up football captain Rebecca Edwards and the rest of the women's team. He makes it back to the third-years, raising his cup to them with his best winning smile.
- Salut.
They are engaged in some deep conversation and swiftly ignore him. Thompson is in the middle of an inspired argument about the difference between legalisation and regulation.
- That's where we should be focusing our debate on, Lily. You know it makes all the difference, that's what the policies should be about.
- Of course, Cassie. That's obvious. But we're not there yet. As a society, we're miles away from an ample discussion about the subtle variations when it comes to drug production and supply. But much before that, our priority should be addressing harmful substance abuse. This is the real pinnacle. This is what -
James groans.
They can not be seriously discussing their uni module right now. As if they think the party is not boring enough, they decide to go and have a bloody debate about drug policies right in the middle of it. He watches begrudgingly as Evans starts to argue the societal consequences of prohibitionism, her cute pink mouth stretching relentlessly through the big words she utters, hands gesturing wildly in front of her, forehead scrunching back and forth as she tries to make her point.
Sometimes he wishes she would just shut up. For the past years he has been forced to listen to her yapping around tiresomely, always with a counter-argument, always needing to have the final say in whatever is being talked about. Most times he is up to it, often disputing her unnecessarily just to rile her up. But he isn't always in the mood. Of course not. Everyone must draw a line eventually. Not Evans. And he just can't understand why she can't give it a fucking rest from now and then and bloody chill.
Once more, he opens his mouth to say the one thing he knows is going to peeve her terribly but, in the next moment, they are joined by Remus and Shafiq.
- Prongs.
James narrows his eyes.
- Moony.
His friend rolls his. He knows that James has noticed his little interaction with Shafiq. He also knows that the Marauders never go after each other's exes.
- Just chatting, you prat. Don't be tedious.
James sees that the girl in question is merrily talking with Marlene McKinnon while Thompson and Evans carry on in their wearisome discussion. Remus looks at him with a jaded face.
Yeah, that checks out.
He grins.
- I know, mate. Just fucking with you.
Remus grins back.
- So, how's it going?
James doesn't know where to start. He was about to make his night become very interesting and yet, again, he couldn't say what he wanted to say to Evans right in front of Shafiq. Again, he might be a yat but he is not that much of a one.
So he just waits patiently, listening to the dull conversation in the circle, hoping for Shafiq to take her leave, watching Sirius and Elizabeth finally come to their side, mouths swollen of snogging. James is done with his vodka and coke and he is ready to go back to the kitchen to grab the next round when someone calls Shafiq and she twirls around, away from them.
James smiles devilishly.
He angles his body to Evans. She is still arguing something or other with Thompson. She stops to catch her breath and James seizes the opportunity.
- Christ, you're such a bore, Evans. - She startles, turning to him with a frown. - Which is a terrible shame. I mean… - He makes a big show of looking her up and down. - Look at you. You're so goddamned fit but you're also fucking annoying. - He inhales exaggeratedly. - I guess God was feeling generous the day he made your body and extremely prankish the day he thought it was a good idea to let you speak.
A pause and then Sirius, back at performing his duties as best friend, guffaws loudly into his drink, which immediately turns into a wheezing cough. Remus tries but can't help snorting next to him while Marlene bites down her lips in a more successful attempt at controlling her laughter.
Evans just stares back at him. She opens her mouth to retort but nothing comes out and she just gapes at him instead, lips forming words she can't complete. He sees that a slow blush is ascending through her cleavage and collarbones, creeping up her throat until it promptly takes control of her entire face, highlighting her freckles and bright emerald eyes.
James' smile is now splitting his cheeks in two.
He has seldom been able to make her flush since he has met her. He has accomplished it a few precious times, to his infinite delight, each one of which he rejoiced in the way she looked both livid and sinfully sexy in only one go. The fact that he manages it once more, and in front of all their friends as an extra reward, tells him he has effectively turned the night around and made the boring party into a very entertaining one.
Evans finally recovers, at least partially, and flips James off before marching right out of their group circle. James takes a quick step in her direction, easily grabbing her wrist.
- You know I'm just taking the piss, Lily.
- Fuck you, James - she barks back, with a scowl. He tilts his head in concern but in the next beat her bitter facade softens, and she scoffs, back to how their banter usually goes. - Just go get pissed already. I like you much more when your face's buried down a toilet.
James chuckles and lets her go.
He turns back around to their friends, rubbing his hands on each other.
- Alright, who here is up for some Shot Roullete?
James hates warm-ups.
He grasps the concept of getting ready to exercise before you pull out a muscle for being too stiff. He also understands that working on your resistance and elasticity is an important step towards good performance. He willingly accepts that a good string of work-outs before a training session decreases the chances of injury for the players and helps them develop their skills.
That being said, he hates warm-ups with all he has.
He is fine with push-ups and sit-ups. Jumping-jacks are whatever. But planking is literally a nightmare, mountain-climber is something akin to torture, and don't even get him started with burpees. He hates these more than anything in his life.
Presently, he has gone forty seconds squatting, and counting, and his knees shake embarrassingly as he tries to keep his focus on the grass in front of him to avoid falling directly on his arse. The coach circles behind the team, holding his characteristic stopwatch, uncaring of James' inner struggle.
- Time - he finally says and James has to use all his strength not to cry in relief. - Alright, boys. I want half of you on each goal. You'll work in pairs, rotating every ten exercises. - He points to the square delimited by four red cones in front of the posts. - You'll always start from the up-right cone and move to the left to make a pass, then to the middle for a header, down and back. And repeat ten times before switching with your partner. Clear?
The sixteen breathless boys nod and move in unison to their half of the pitch.
In two days, the football league begins again. James' team will have the first match of the season against Maths FC. In theory, it is supposed to be an easy game. James has won every time he played the Leeds team in the past two years. Yet, this year is different. This time James is the captain. He needs to start the season with a win. With a good win.
So he trains hard, much happier to run around doing drills and full circuits. That he likes. Maybe as much as he does playing the actual game. The feeling of his body stretching athletically through the same exercises, his muscles straining pleasantly over and over again, his mind going numb with the sheer repetition of his movements. The entire preparation excites him. Being surrounded by lads he has known for years, who look up to him to lead the team, drives him to give his one-hundred percent every second he is on the field.
Afterwards, the exhaustion takes over his body. His back cracks when he moves too suddenly and his legs are ready to give up at any moment. He loves it.
He stands under the cold water of the shower stall, lets it soothe his sore muscles. He dresses quickly inside the changing room and bikes back to the campus, not bothering to drop his sports bag in his dorm first. He goes straight to the cafeteria of Woolton Hall, the adjacent campus, stomach roaring loudly. He sits alone in the last table before the loos and hopes for peace while he devours his food.
Naturally, that is too much to ask.
- Potter!
He forcibly plasters the usual cordial smile on his face before lifting his head up.
- All good, fam?
- Hi, Achebe. Alright?
Charlie Achebe smiles broadly at him, stopping in front of James' table.
- Heard you have Crouch this term. Tell me, how's the man?
Pushing down his strong inclination to kindly ask the lad to bugger off, James clings to his amicable nature and gestures to the younger boy to take a seat in front of him. If they are about to chat while James eats, better to just do the polite thing like his mother has taught him. Achebe accepts the invite and sits comfortably across James, ready for a lengthy conversation.
Despite being his senior, he has a good relationship with Achebe, since James has ventured as a student assistant the previous term, under Professor McGonagall's wing. Among his many responsibilities at the time, James was to tutor first-years who were struggling with their modules. Achebe was one of them, having difficulties with Macroeconomics 1 and James helped him pass his final exam with a 62%. Ever since, Achebe seeks James out often, initiating random chats in random places, such as when James has a mouthful of meatballs.
It is not that James doesn't enjoy his interactions with the lad. He just likes to be alone after practice. It is the one time in James' busy social life that he prefers to keep to himself, taking time to revise his performance in the three-hour-long training session and to cherish the welcome tiredness of his muscles. But, unfortunately, it is never very likely for him to succeed in his efforts. The burdens of being the popular football captain of the campus, and whatnot.
So he buckles up and places all his attention on the excited boy in front of him.
- Yeah, I got him for Serious and Organised Crime this semester.
- And how is he?
- Exactly like everyone describes him, the three S's. Extremely smart, stern and sanguine.
Achebe laughs and James keeps going.
By the time he is done with the tale of the day that Shaw tried to argue in class for mandatory life sentencing and three-strikes law only to have Crouch shut him down rather spectacularly, his plate is empty and Achebe has somewhere else to go. James bids him goodbye and leaves the cafeteria.
Instead of going back to Oak House, he takes the opposite direction to the gardens of the campus, where he finds shelter in an old-looking bench under a Willow tree, hidden from view. He stays there, recharging his batteries until the clock strikes ten o'clock and he marches back to his dorm. Sirius is curled in the sofa when he arrives, reading Michel Foucault as per usual. He winks his greeting and James goes straight to the shared bathroom to quickly brush his teeth before yanking his bedroom door open and falling heavy in his bed.
He wakes up late the next morning.
The alarm goes off after James has snoozed it three consecutive times and it tells him it is eight-forty-five. His class is in fifteen minutes.
He jumps out of bed, hitting the bathroom in a hurry, taking off his shirt at the same time he shoves the toothbrush inside his mouth, predictably tangling both his arms in the hole of the piece of clothing and gagging when, with the movement, the toothbrush tickles his throat. Toothpaste falls on his bare chest, he can't see shit without his spectacles and he painfully steps on something on the floor that makes him kick up and down in the corridor, cursing loudly. He wakes up Sirius with the noise, who leaves his own bedroom to helpfully throw a pillow at James, telling him to shut up but only managing to kill his balance and make his life that much more difficult.
After several minutes of struggle, James manages to get dressed, find his frames and fetch his school bag stashed under the bed, yeeting his toothbrush somewhere in the direction of the bathroom. Telling Sirius he wishes him a horrible day, James is out of the dorm, running rampant towards the exit of the building. Outside the campus, he pulls his bike out of the storage, fastening his bag around his shoulders, and proceeds to pedal the fastest he has done in his life, with perhaps the exception of when he almost missed his dad's curfew in Year 9.
He reaches the School of Social Science two minutes before nine o'clock. Flying through the corridors, he bursts inside the doors of the classroom at the same time Professor Crouch is finishing his attendance list.
The professor arches one single brow at James' entrance.
- Potter, is it?
James smiles grandly, knowing he has made it. Being late to Crouch's class is the same as kissing goodbye to a good mark.
- Take your seat.
Not needing to be told twice, James moves to his usual place on the back row, removing his bag from his shoulder to throw it under the desk.
- No, seriously. You have to be doing it on purpose, it's not possible.
Evans stares at him with an incredulous expression when he passes her by.
- What, my impressive time management skills?
- No, Potter - she huffs. - Your hair. It looks positively dishevelled. It can't be natural, you must be doing something to it.
James chuckles quietly, aware that the professor is standing stoically in front of the classroom, waiting for the students to calm down before he starts his lecture.
- Want to know all my secrets, don't you?
He takes a place three seats behind her and Thompson, straight away weaving his hands through his messy locks. He has, of course, forgotten to brush his hair as he has his teeth. He can only imagine how tousled it must look right now. It is always hanging too much toward the wild side, despite his best efforts to mildly tame it, so he is certain that after long hours crushed on his pillow then messed up with his twenty-miles-per-hour biking endeavour, his hair has to be a hell of a sight presently. He tugs at it, and smooths it with his fingers, and tries to pet the tangly curls down. Hoping that he has done a good enough job, James fishes for his laptop and starts taking notes.
It doesn't take long before the lesson is almost derailed with a discussion between Evans and Craig Montague about regulation and control of organised crime. When Montague finally shifts on his seat - after a particular pointed remark from Evans - to look at her with a bitter curl of lips, James knows he is going to get nasty. James' starved stomach protests the perspective. Before Montague has the opportunity to extend even more their intensive lecture, though, Crouch intervenes and promptly shuts him up, resuming his well-rehearsed class exposition.
Lunchtime arrives as a shining white knight and James doesn't wait for the girls, as he normally does after their classes. He marches out of the room in direction of the cafeteria, where he buys two tomato and cheese sandwiches and an isotonic beverage, already chewing by the time he finds a vacant table.
He sits mercifully alone, for now, inhaling his food and watching his busy fellow students twirl around him.
The University of Manchester wasn't his first choice. He had much preferred to stay in London, close to home, but the department of Social Sciences was better in the north of the country and his parents convinced him to seek the highest education he could get. That the lads followed him there had just made it a tad less discouraging. Even though they are not enrolled in the same programme, Remus in Psychology and Peter in Mathematics, and Sirius as a Sociology and Philosophy student, they share the same accommodations in Oak House, ensuring almost the same routine they have established since they were in primary school. It also helps that they have had a few joint classes together throughout the years, except for poor Peter. But, then again, who the fuck chooses Mathematics as a bachelor?
He dug his own grave.
And yet, now that James is halfway through the first term of his last year of school, he can't imagine himself anywhere else. He has grown to love Manchester and its wonderful street art and architecture, ace nightclubs and, of course, the way the city seems to breathe football. It pains him to have to think about leaving it, going back home and finding a job away from the colourful flagstones and overly-modern buildings of the rainy city.
James wonders if his hesitation has also something to do with the fact he has no idea what to do with his life once uni is over.
Evans and Thompson walk in the cafeteria and he can't help but feel sort of envious of them. They know what they want. Probably since day one of school, he suspects. Two of the most strong-headed, determined birds he has ever met, naturally they have ironclad certainty about their future. Lily Evans wants to be a researcher, pursuing a master degree as soon as next September comes, followed up by a PhD programme. Cassandra Thompson wants to be a social worker, as she has spent many of her younger years involved in youth community projects in Newcastle. Both sound amazing to James.
He is not tempted by either.
He has once dabbled with the idea of becoming a police officer or detective. One look at the news and he changed his mind in a jiffy. He is not sure joining a governmental institution is the right move for him. Honestly, he is not sure of anything. Hence, the envy.
- Afraid we'll ask for a bite of your sandwich, Potter? That's why you ran as fast as you could without a look back?
He swallows his mouthful and smiles at Thompson.
- You got me. This is actually my fifth sandwich. I had to make sure I ate enough before you two starving liggers came after me.
The girls chuckle, sitting across from him with their own sandwiches, Evans also bringing a chocolate muffin with her. James eyes it with interest.
- Don't even think about it - she says, placing the treat right in front of James, as the tease that she is. - Focus on your own food.
James is already done with his, though. He hums, torn about whether he should get another sandwich.
- So, why were you late this morning?
- Overslept - James replies, making up his mind when his stomach roars lightly, still not fully satisfied. He stands up, going in the direction of the counter. He winks at Evans on his way there. - That's my hair secret.
He hears her quiet tantalising laugh when he steps in line to get extra food. After they are done, they walk together to their next class - Youth, Crime and Justice.
James can't exactly say he is friends with the two girls. It is a damn ambiguous concept he does not feel the need to enlighten. They have known each other for almost three years, enrolled in the same programme and, therefore, sharing their every single module. They were bound to spend an increased amount of time together, and so they have. Much more now than in their first year. When James was a fresher, there weren't many lines he wasn't willing to cross. He had partied too much, slept around too much, been too much of a twat. He doubts Evans forgets the first social gathering they attended together, in the aftermath of his first official football game, and how he was right sloshed and confidently declared to the room that she was the lucky girl who got to take him to bed that night. She proceeded to empty the content of her plastic cup on his hair and James spent the rest of the evening damp and sticky. After that, at least for the first terms of their undergraduate studies, Evans and Thompson avoided him like the plague. James hadn't cared about it, much too occupied with playing football and not failing his courses, up until Sirius started dating their friend Elizabeth Greengrass the previous fall and the third-year boys and girls were forced to co-exist in relative harmony. It had come with difficulty, but eventually they reached a stage, fuelled by James' slightly deflated head and Evans' less challenging disposition, where they got along remarkably well. They still row occasionally, during classes when Evans has talked so much James' brain is fogged and he just wants to shake her until she becomes less aggravating, or outside the classroom when James is particularly accelerated and can't seem to stop pestering her. Despite that, they banter more than argue, she takes his shameless flirting mostly in good fun and Thompson always gives him his first drink free of charge in the pub where she works.
They are not friends but they walk side by side in corridors, they eat their meals at the same table, they spend hours studying together in the library. James prefers not to think too hard about it.
For Youth, Crime and Justice, Evans and Thompson sit on the first rows and James, once more, three seats behind them. He is greeted by Helena Gaunt and Chris Backwood on the chairs next to him, this being the only module he shares with the Law students. They chat idly until Professor Tertulliano walks in, closing the door and starting her lesson.
As a deja vu, and a perfect demonstration of what James has been forced to endure for the past years, Evans and Montague efficiently ignite yet another vicious debate about something to which James hasn't paid enough attention to know.
He tries to zone in.
- What I'm trying to say is that we should invest in alternatives to youth courts, since-
- You mean you want to shut down youth courts? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Evans.
Evans tugs only the left side of her lip upward.
- Then certainly you have never listened back to one of your voice messages.
James lets out a laugh, finally becoming interested in the discussion.
- Very cute, Evans. Just a shame you don't have enough arguments, so you need to resort to very unfunny jokes, as you females tend to do - Montague titters back.
Oof.
James knew the prat would become nasty eventually, departing from the topic at hand to start hitting low. James looks at Professor Tertulliano but she is, as expected and unlike Professor Crouch, spineless to halt the fast derailing argument.
- Ah, misogyny - Evans says in an affable tone as if she is talking about the weather. - How refreshing.
Montague snorts insufferably.
- Just plain facts, Evans. You're the one trying to skirt the subject because you don't have any substance to back up the ridiculous claim of replacing youth co-
- How about the concept of secondary criminalisation? Ever heard of it, Montague? Or, say, the empirical data that confirm that early contact with law enforcement is one of the strongest risk factors for criminality? Or, hell, even as a statistical risk assessment. Adults who initiate their criminal records during their youth are scientifically proven to be more likely labelled as high risk offenders.
- And your point?
- My point - Evans was starting to sound aggrieved - is that youth courts obviously do not work. It's not preventing shit. So why do we have to insist on a failed solution?
- Language, Evans - chimes in Professor Tertulliano, speaking for the first time since the discussion has begun.
Evans looks at her exasperatedly, annoyed that the professor only got involved to call her out.
- It's not necessarily failed, Lily - Thomas Shaw, the clueless git, chips in. - There's no proven causal correlation between early sentencing and lifelong criminality. Just because youth incarceration is a strong indicator for future recidivism, it's not fully demonstrated that the performance of youth courts is directly linked to criminality in later stages of life.
- And even if it were, what would you have done instead, Evans? - Montague's voice is slurred as a snake. - I'm dying to hear this brilliant alternative you have all cocked up. Do share with the class.
Evans flushes and James, for once, does not enjoy it.
- I'm not saying I know what would be better, I'm just saying that the debate for other solutions is healthy and we should-
- Ah, an inflamed speech without realistic options. How refreshing.
It is the repetition of the same words she has just used thrown back on her face that does it for James. He sighs loudly.
- Yes, yes. Just shove down the possibility of improvement for the sake of our old botched ways. Very patriotic of you, Craig. There's no doubt you're head-to-toe British. You should be proud of yourself.
James says it with a smile on his face and the use of Montague's first name lends him an even more amiable semblant. He stares at the obnoxious boy, challenging him to retort. James knows he won't. Not to his own captain.
Montague just shrugs and turns back ahead in his seat. Professor Tertulliano takes the hint and reels her lecture back to track, and the students remain in silence for the rest of the hour. Once the class is done, James packs his things briskly, knowing he has about forty-five minutes to bike back to his dorm to eat something and get ready for practice. He hooks the strap of his school bag on his shoulder and marches down the classroom, not before he briefly stops by her chair.
- Alright, Evans?
She averts her eyes from Thompson to look up at him.
- Alright - she replies, even. She doesn't smile, just holds his gaze. He hesitates but decides to let it go, due to more time-pressing issues. He turns around and is almost by the door when he hears her add - Hopefully I wasn't such a bore today.
James freezes. Frowning, he spins around.
- Come on, Lily. Don't be like that.
She just raises her middle finger to him, face as even as her voice. Thompson is serious next to her and that is how James knows Evans is properly mad at him.
He rolls his eyes and leaves the room.
Butterflies erupt in his stomach when the whistle goes off.
He immediately takes his place on the left side of the field, receiving the ball from Chip after three passes. He jogs ahead until he is blocked by two players from the other team and is forced to retreat, crossing it back to Chip, who then reverses it to Marcus. The latter plays a one-two with Graham mid-field, advancing on the pitch, trying to push back the Maths FC defenders. It is slow, their adversaries are well organised in the field. James follows their progress on the left side, waiting for an opportunity to engage that does not really come. John tries to dribble their centre-forward and loses the ball to a corner kick. James turns around to run back to their half of the field.
He already knows it is going to be a bad game. The other team is betting all their cards on the defence, a clear strategy of blocking every Oak House advance instead of going after their own score. It works for most of the time. Montague and Davies are not patient strikers, and they lose the ball more often than not. Chip and Marcus are also not at their sharpest, making too-short passes and overall failing in large-distance crosses. James hears their coach screaming from the sidelines, urging his players to look alive, but there is not much he can do at the moment. He rarely has a chance to touch the ball in the first half, but it becomes less troubling after Sidney scores. One-zero sounds better than nil nil. It encourages the team, yet their plays are still truncated, Maths FC now even more defensive. James scores in the second half, a dull free kick, and he is relieved when the final whistle rings across the Wythenshawe Sports Ground.
He is just glad that there was barely no one in the stands watching their uninspiring performance. Not exactly how he has pictured his debut as captain but, still, a win is a win. He shakes the hand of the other team's captain and signs the game details form before heading to the changing room. After their coach is done with an inflamed speech and finally leaves them, James speaks briefly with his teammates, congratulating them for the victory but highlighting that they have a lot of work to do if they want to win against stronger teams. He doesn't take long in the shower, dressing simply in jeans and a white shirt, knowing the lads are expecting him outside. Sirius and Peter wait for him at the exit pathway of the pitch, flashing a broad smile when they spot him. They congratulate him for the win and together they mount their bikes in the direction of The Studio Bar.
One of the best arrangements in James' university life so far has been the third-years' tradition of meeting every Wednesday night in the Fallowfield pub, come rain or shine. It started when Thompson was hired as a bartender last September, having the girls visit her every other week. Once Sirius and Elizabeth became a couple, she took him in their regular excursions to the bar. Soon, Sirius began to drag Remus with him and, when James and Evans seemed like they were no longer about to rip each other's heads off, also the rest of the boys. In time, it only made sense that they would get together on Wednesdays, after James' games, to either celebrate or drown their sorrows. What was a fairly occasional meet-up swiftly turned into weekly gatherings. It has been this way for months now, and James quite cherishes it.
They bike for twenty minutes from the sports ground to Fallowfield. They park their bikes on the outside of the pub, James stepping into the busy saloon with the thirst of a castaway sailorman. They march promptly to the bar counter and James orders his usual German pilsner to a short man behind it, Sirius and Peter going for regular pints. He sees Thompson on the opposite side at the same time she sees him. Not really sure of how they stand with each other, James just nods curtly, receiving the same cold greeting back. They grab their beers and walk to where Remus is standing around a stool on the right side, accompanied tonight by Elizabeth, Marlene, Mary McDonald and Emma Rabon.
- Prongs, mate! Congratulations. - Remus grins widely at him, clapping James in the back when he joins them at the stool. His friend is not always available to come watch James play, as his part-job as administrative student-assistant of the department of Psychology occasionally has him working late afternoons. Nevertheless, he has downloaded the sports league app so that he can still follow the score even when he is not present at the stands. - First match as the captain and a two-zero win. Brilliant!
James returns the grin, with less enthusiasm.
- It was a right shitty game, but, yeah, can't really complain. I'm happy with the result, regardless.
Everyone gives him their praises and then resume their unabashed bender. James has a burger for dinner, fending off Peter's audacious attempts to steal his chips with well-aimed slaps on his greasy fingers. After he is done, James orders another beer, finally relaxing after the nervousness that always plagues him in anticipation for the first game of the season. He sips on his beverage casually, enjoying the rustling noises of his surroundings and Sirius' tenth-time retelling of when he got stopped by the police in Year 11 for driving one-hundred miles per hour without a driver's licence and in a school area. James has no idea why his friend insists on bringing up the embarrassing episode, but he dutifully listens to it anyway until his gaze is caught on the other side of the pub, where a cute blonde smiles in his direction.
- Yeah, I'm out of here - he tells his mate, tipping an imaginary hat at him, and walks to the bar counter. Thompson is the one serving him this time.
- The usual? - she asks in a neutral voice.
- Uh, yes, but make it two, please.
She arches a brow but doesn't say anything, just fills two glasses with the bitter beer. He pays her, no free drinks for him tonight, and marches to where the pretty girl awaits him, same smile in place.
- Hi there. How is it going? - He sends her his best crooked grin, offering her the second pilsner. - I wasn't sure what you were drinking, but I didn't want to come here empty-handed. I'm James, by the way, nice to meet you.
She giggles and James ruffles his hair, coming closer.
It has been a while since his last hook-up. It had been somewhere during summer, though James can't recall it very well. He had been predictably drunk, as he had vowed to be for the entirety of his last holiday before the final year of uni, when he had every intention to do better than the previous two years. And he has been somewhat true to his own promise. Since his third year started, James has been a more responsible student and an even more focussed athlete. He hasn't given up parties and drinking completely, but he has slowed down. Proof of it is that it has been almost a month and he hasn't taken anyone back to his dorm, and has not even chatted up any girls around him.
Except Evans, of course.
But that is just out of habit. He imagines he will flirt with her until the day he dies, right in front of his justifiably-upset wife.
As if he has conjured her with the strange path his thoughts have taken, all the while he is supposed to be absorbed with the bird in front of him, the door of the pub opens with a gush of wind and in walks Evans. James' eyes are immediately drawn to her. In the next beat, he re-shifts it to Kate, the pretty blonde who is obviously keen on him. He keeps smiling at her and bending his neck to reach closer to her ear, but it is pointless. Eventually, he stifles a sigh and tells the girl he will be right back.
Evans is by the counter, waiting for Thompson to come talk to her. James stops by her side, eyes averted.
- Hey.
- Hey.
He maintains his eyes staring ahead, purposefully ignoring the way he knows her trousers are hugging her thighs. He takes a sip of the beer he brought along with him.
- I reckon you should go see a doctor.
- I beg your pardon?
He turns to her.
The night before, James had laid in bed and finally reflected on what had happened in class before he left for practice. He replayed Evans' words in his head, trying to give them meaning. He couldn't. He just couldn't understand what had changed from the hour they spent in the cafeteria, having a pleasant lunch together, to two hours forward, when she flipped him off without a trace of humour. How could she be so hot and cold in such a short period of time?
If she was still mad at his comment from Saturday night, how come she had been interacting with him as if nothing was wrong for the previous two days? Even at the party, after he checked with her to see if she had really gotten upset with his teasing remark, she seemed alright with it. And, then, she gets involved in a classroom argument, he takes her side, and she suddenly hates him again?
- To confirm your bipolarity. They say it's best to find out soon so you can have a shot at treating it.
She pinches her lips, but this time in the way she does when she is ready to bring him down.
He waits, expecting her to tell him off. She doesn't.
James groans.
- Come on, Lily. You can't be seriously mad at me for what I said in the party.
- I'm not - she replies, unconvincingly. He makes a sound of disbelief and she carries on - Of course I did not love the way you made me look stupid in front of all our friends. - She shrugs. - But that's what you do, isn't it? You pester me until you make me lose it, all for laughs.
James frowns and opens his mouth to counter but she doesn't let him.
- But that's not it. Not really. I guess yesterday I was just pissed off that it doesn't matter what I say, or how I say it, it doesn't matter all the work I put into a debate or how many hours of research I spend preparing well-founded arguments, I'll always be dismissed as a raging female. I'll always be just fucking annoying - she echoes the words he said at the party and James grimaces. - You? You just need to open your pretty mouth once, and only to be sarcastic, not even to offer a real argument, and everyone listens. Montague couldn't shut up fast enough after you spoke in class yesterday.
James sighs, craning his head again to look in front of him, away from her piercing emeralds.
- That's just because I'm his captain, Lily. He knows better than to go against me. It's nothing to do with you, he's just an arse.
- Yeah, I'm familiar with the type. - She mirrors his sigh. - And that's exactly why I need to be the bore that I am. Somebody has to speak up since you won't.
James twists his face back to her, officially bothered.
- And what does that have to do with you being angry at me, Evans? How's any of it my fault? I agree that Montague is a fucking twat. I spoke up when he was disrespectful towards you, didn't I? What else do you expect me to do?
She stares at him in silence, as if she is appraising him. He doesn't miss the glisten of disappointment that shines briefly in her beautiful eyes before she blinks and turns over to the counter, bending forward and bracing her forearms on the surface.
- I guess nothing, indeed. Don't worry, Potter - she says his name in a tone that alarmingly reminds him of that distant first year of school. - I won't be upset for long. 'Cause you're right, there's nothing to do here. Or maybe I just need to get you back for always making me look like a fool and then I'll be fine again. - She smirks, looking at him sideways. - Go back to the blondie now. If I had to bet, I'd say you're getting lucky tonight.
It is a dismissal if James ever heard one. He hesitates, as he never does in life except when he is around her, but finally returns to Kate's recomforting attention.
At this point in life, James is more than used to having Evans cross with him. He even knows how she will act before she does it.
She will purposefully ignore him for a couple of days, avoiding his eyes and his presence, not sitting with him for meals or coming with Elizabeth when her friend visits Sirius in their accommodations. If he speaks in class, she will pretend he hasn't said a word and carry on making her points as if there were no interruptions. If he comes by the library, where she works the afternoon shift every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, she will check his books in and out in that professional voice she only reserves for teachers and tossers.
Then, one day, she will suddenly laugh at some random joke he makes, despite herself. She will be back at finding amusing the way he makes an arse of himself every other day in front of their entire campus. She will let him flirt with her again, she will reply to his arguments in class and join him at the table when everyone is sitting for dinner. Before they know it, they will be back to their usual banter as if nothing had ever happened.
This time is no different.
When he walks in class Thursday morning, she is in deep conversation with Thompson and doesn't even glance his way. He sits behind her as he always does and follows the lecture quietly. She is also quiet for most of it, apparently in an effort to stay tame and avoid confrontation. That lasts the whole of forty minutes and then Evans is back, sharp-tongued and inflamed, easily countering Shaw's incongruous remarks. James can't help smiling. She can say whatever she wants about how others perceive her and how that supposedly bothers her, but he knows damn well she actually couldn't care less about any of it. She never has. She will do what she pleases and let people just deal with it however they want.
It is what he admires the most in her.
He wishes he was more like this. He wishes his personality was less of an open book for people to read and comment on. He wishes he didn't feel the overwhelming need of being liked by those who surround him. The need to socialise constantly, to have fun each single second of his life, to be the one everybody approaches in search of a good time.
But he is James Potter and that is that.
So he goes his way as he has always done. Leaves Evans and her non-speaking terms behind in class, his turn to avoid her, and takes place in the uncomfortable benches of the Arthur Lewis building's common room. He doesn't need to bring a book or fetch his phone to pass the time, every two minutes someone comes in to greet him and chat leisurely. Around lunchtime, Sirius, Elizabeth and Marlene join him after their Philosophy of Psychology class.
- Alright, Prongs?
- Alright, mate. You?
- Great. How was your-
- Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can chit chat later. We have business to attend to.
James frowns at Marlene.
- What are you talking about?
- Do you have Victoria Grant in your class tomorrow?
- Yes?
- Are you certain, Potter? You don't seem certain.
James purses his lips.
- Yes, McKinnon, I have Grant in my class tomorrow. Why?
- Because you're going to invite her over for games and drinks tomorrow night.
James smirks. He already knows where this is going. That doesn't mean he can't have his fun, though.
- Oh, am I? I wasn't aware of it.
She huffs.
- Please, James.
James laughs out loud. Look who became quite nice and friendly out of nowhere. With absolutely no second intentions, of course. He pretends to think, getting an annoyed look from the girl in return.
- Alright, Marls, I'll invite her. Though I'm still unaware that we were to have games and drinks tomorrow. And, I'm guessing, in my dorm?
Marlene smiles, docile.
- I've decided for you. I needed to find a way to have Victoria over, but not, like, in a party, otherwise I'd never get her full attention. But, at the same time, I'm not really sure she's into it, so a date is also not a good option for me. So it needs to be something in between. Like a game night. But, of course, I don't have a good excuse to invite her to my dorm, so it has to be yours, you see?
- Wait. - James tilts his head, lost. - You're not sure she's gay?
- Oh, no, she's gay alright. But that doesn't mean she fancies me. I'm not about to put myself in the line just to have her telling me "we're better off as friends" - she says the last bit with an affected voice and twisting her face in aggravation, James knowing she has been in that position far too many times. He chuckles and agrees to the plan.
He talks to Grant the next day, making sure he is not overheard by unwanted ears but, still, passing it off as a casual invitation, as if he just got caught up in his conversation with her and accidentally let it slip he would be having people over later that night. She thanks him for the invite, saying it sounds like a good time. It isn't an explicit confirmation but it is the best James can get.
After practice, James stops by the grocery store, per Sirius' request, to buy more beers and snacks, apparently already finished up by the lads that evening, even though they restocked their cabinets not three days ago. Entering the common room of Oak House, hands full of plastic bags and back slouched with his heavy sports bag, James is surprised to find many more people inside than what he was expecting. Naturally, the two Arabic and Politics second-years, Jamie Wright and Mia Bahar, with whom they share their accommodation, are joining them tonight with a couple of their own friends that James has seen around campus before. Grant is also already there, engrossed in a chat with Marlene and a mate she dragged along, whose name James always forgets, despite her presence in all his classes. Next to Sirius and the boys is Elizabeth and, to James' disbelief, Thompson and Evans.
They all look at him when he walks in.
- Hullo, everyone. Food and drink is here. Let me just put it away - he says, moving to the kitchen.
He half organises the counter, only concerned about guaranteeing that the beers are safely stashed in the coldest section of the fridge and careless dumping the crisps and nuts in mostly-clean bowls. He tosses his sports bag inside his open room, closing the door once he has done it, and walks to the sofas around the coffee table in the common room, putting the bowls down and throwing his beaten body next to Peter.
- Christ, I'm dead.
- How was practice today, Prongs?
- Fine. How was the Maths today, Worms?
His friend snorts.
- Brilliant as usual.
- I can only imagine - James replies, winking at his friend and readjusting his body on the cushions. On the sofa perpendicular to them, Sirius sits entangled with Elizabeth and Remus chats with Evans.
She looks good tonight, a jeans miniskirt paired with a black turtle-neck. She doesn't meet his eyes, so James just turns his head to greet Wright and Bahar on the other side. He is soon wrapped up in a complicated debate regarding the last EU statement over the situation in the Middle East and Northern Africa, and he has only himself to blame. He does his best to engage, and the topic is fairly interesting, but James hates having to discuss these types of things at length in a social gathering.
It strikes him, once again as he often muses about it, that people want to be smart all of the time. Or, at least, appear so. He understands the fascination in discussing world events and what they have learned in class with each other, but there is a very fine line between genuine interest and just showing off. Trying to be that person who is always updated with the news and involved with profound subjects is something that irks him to no end.
He has spent the entire week elbow-deep in the most complex discussions concerning the failed British Criminal Justice System, reading hundred-pages worth of academic content every bloody day, writing essay after essay, going mad with the prospect of deciding over his final dissertation. And that is only when the sun is shining. When night falls, he is busting his arse on the field, running after a ball for three whole hours, driving his muscles to the brink of exhaustion.
All he wants, afterwards, is a well-deserved chill evening, peppered with light topics and carefree laughter, giving his body and mind finally some rest.
He doesn't get it. So he makes his excuses to the two girls and stands up, finding refuge in the kitchen. He drinks his beer slowly, enjoying the refreshment, letting his head finally go blank. Soon, though, he hears his name being called by Sirius, who wants to start some game or other. James tells him to go ahead without him.
He gives himself a good few minutes before going back to the common room, finding his friends playing Monopoly. He gladly stays out, stealing Sirius' phone instead and taking charge of the soundtrack of the evening. He immediately sets on Sean Paul and smirks at the irritated looks he gets from Elizabeth and Marlene. They are around their dorm often enough to already be fed up with the amount of time the same tracks blast on repeat.
When I'm Still in Love with You comes along, Sirius gives up trying to avoid prison and promptly takes Sasha's lyrics over, duetting James in their typical singing arrangement. One by one, their friends leave the game behind, finding it more entertaining to watch James' atrocious attempt at a Jamaican accent and his overall lack of flair as he raps the lyrics. Sirius is nailing Sasha's high-pitched voice though, and that is exactly the Friday night vibe James is yearning for. Only Marlene stays seated around the coffee table, investing hard in her flirting with Grant, while their other dormmates ignore their shenanigans and go on with the game.
- James, put his most classic one on - Remus calls. James nods, already searching Spotify on his phone.
- Get Busy, yeah? - he replies at the same time Sirius says -
- Got 2 Luv U.
James makes a face.
- Please. Get Busy is way more classic than Got 2 Luv U, Pads, there's not even room for disagreement here.
- You're insane, Prongs. Got 2 Luv U is a banger.
- I'm not saying it's not a banger. I'm saying Get Busy is much more classic. It's Sean Paul's biggest hit.
- What? You're tripping, bro. Don't you remember when Got to Luv U was released in Year 10? It was the only thing we sang for ten whole months.
- I remember, Pads. But you're only thinking about his newer tunes. You're forgetting how big he was in the early 00's. He was huge, and Get Busy was a game changer. It literally brought Jamaica to the international charts when it, uh - James falters, train of thought temporarily lost as Evans and Thompson come to their circle, the former hopping on top of the sideboard in front of James. Her miniskirt rides up when she does so, and James is understandably distracted. He clears his throat and tries again. - Uh, it introduced a whole new rhythm to the music industry that really just, uh, it just, er-
Evans sits fully on the furniture now, skirt all the way to the beginning of her legs, thick thighs completely exposed. She shifts and widens herself a bit to him and James stutters.
His eyes slowly follow the shape of her curves, too abundant to be contained by the meek jeans fabric. He tracks the milky skin of the inside of her thighs and the wide arc of her hips before raising his gaze to her waist, presently covered by the too tight shirt, which also wonderfully frames her perky tits, all the way to her pink lips, currently clutched between her teeth. She has her arms thrown behind her, supporting her on the sideboard and making her bend slightly backwards, and when James finally takes in her face, red curls a mess around her shoulders, bitten lips, rosy cheeks, he thinks he has never seen anything more sensual in his life.
Her emerald eyes are sparkling and James notices, belated and still with a dazed head, that she stares back at him with the most smug expression.
- James? - Remus calls him and James blinks back to reality.
- Hm?
- Did you lose something between my legs, Potter? - Evans says and he snatches his eyes back to her. - Christ, you're such a creep. Staring at me like that, like in some sort of trance. I guess God was feeling prankish the day he created your personality and even more prankish when he made you a gaping idiot.
A pause, as usual in order for the words to really sink in, and then all their friends laugh, Sirius guffawing the loudest, finding her comeback hilarious while James realises she has done it on purpose. The entire little show of sitting in front of him.
She just got him back, as she said she would.