"Enlighten me once more, mate, about how exactly you've convinced
yourself that wooing the far-superior Lily Evans is in fact a
possibility...EVER," Sirius whined incredulously, cramming his voluminous
carry-on baggage into the expandable overhead compartment a tad more
forcefully than necessary due to his frustration over the mournful send-off
(on my parents' side) we had previously endured.
Irritably, I toyed with my disheveled locks, deadpanning "You're complicating man's simplest duty for no reason, Padfoot," through clenched teeth. "Ruddy splendid, your logic is, Potter. If man's simplest task is marrying a sensible woman, who is sublimely ecstatic at the mere idea of his untimely demise, then I'm a vile Slytherin." Jovially, I reached for his hand, "Name's James Potter, and this is Gryffindor territory you colossal git, so ya'd best shove off if you value your life." Grumpily, he snarled, "I expect there's no point in reminding you that Evans isn't the sort of girl who'd consider the Honeymoon a proper first date!"
Remus, Pettigrew right on his heels, relaxed upon the seat across from us, prattling on jubilantly, as Pettigrew ogled me worshipfully, "Gentlemen, I daresay it's been too bloody long since we gave someone hell. What do you have in mind for Marauder Mayhem the first?! I smuggled a couple of choice items from the old lady's 'restricted' collection. By my calculations, we're clearly past the eye-of-newt-and-tail-of-dog phase." Sirius poured over the contents of Remus's tattered carry-on reverently, silver eyes widening in astonishment, cackling maliciously.
Slightly appalled by Sirius lovingly stroking the various vials he had extracted from Pettigrew's white-knuckled clutches, I turned to Lupin, who'd been currently captivated by the rugged landscape, "Moony, we should'a dropped by more often." His eyes immediately lost their dreamy haze, as my admission jolted him back to reality. "Prongs, it was enough that you were with me during my...difficult stages. You and Sirius kept me from bumping off the old bag. That's what counts." Shoulders sagging, I offered him a regretful grin. "You're wrong about that, mate. Real friends are those who stand by you even on the days when there's no danger of the furniture becoming intact."
Dramatically, he slumped to the floor in a swift, yet stately, motion, "Is it possible that James Potter has developed a conscious after all these years?" Grunting heavily, Sirius pulled Moony to his feet, "Nah! But that's Marauder Mayhem the first, right Prongsie? Bamboozling Evans into believing our wickle Potter's grasped some concept of compassion." A wave of nostalgia tugged at the corners of Remus's mouth, as he murmured an almost imperceptible, "Lily" under his breath, announcing impishly, "Whatever misery you've concocted to foist upon the delightful Ms. Evans, I'm ready and willing, mate." Provocatively, I unfastened the "Head Boy" badge from Remus's chest, triumphantly pinning it to my own, patting Remus nonchalantly on the head, "Your work is done."
Sirius halted me mid-swagger, inquiring curtly, "How do you play Quidditch? Spare the death-glare, Potter, and answer the bloody question." My interest piqued, I expounded dutifully, "Each team has seven members. Three of them are Chasers. The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other, passing it down the field, in order to score a goal (worth ten points) by tossing it through hoops at the opposite end. Keepers are supposed to guard the hoops from the Chasers. Bludgers are balls that fly around and attempt to knock players off their brooms, while Beaters chase after them, protecting other players from their attacks. And, the Seeker, yours truly being the greatest ever, must hunt down and capture the Golden Snitch, dodging Chasers, Beaters, Keepers, Quaffles and Bludgers, before his opponent does, for an additional hundred and fifty points, and, generally, victory." Sirius enthusiastically nodded his approval, shooing me in the direction of the "Head's Compartment" with a less-than-encouraging reminder that, "Unlike Quidditch, Prongsie, Evans doesn't come with rules."
I strolled into the her justly-deserved environment, garnering every shred of dignity and false bravado I could muster, valiantly suppressing the all-consuming desire to guffaw heartily over her insurmountable astonishment that I, James Potter, proudly bore the coveted "Head Boy" ornamentation. "P...Potter?! What the bloody hell are you playing at?! If YOU'VE DELUDED YOURSELF INTO ACCEPTING YOUR INCONCIEVABLE HALUCINATION THAT I WILL EVER ACCEPT A MINISCULE SCRAP OF MATERIAL AS JUSTIFICATION FOR GOING OUT WITH SOMEONE, THEN YOU'RE A MORE MORONIC PRICK THAN I'VE GIVEN YOU CREDIT FOR! Y... YOU ARROGANT, PIG-HEADED, INSUFFERABLE, OBNOXIOUS, WORTHLESS...!!!!!!!!!!"
Enraged, I clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her outburst, drowning momentarily in the staggering sensations washing over me by the simple act of touching her. Hackles rising considerably, I languidly appraised her petite, luscious, convulsing frame, acknowledging sultrily, "I missed you too, Evans. And yet, I have to concede that your acidic vocabulary would turn me off completely were it not substantially overshadowed by your breathtaking radiance." She gawked, fantastically disoriented by my unanticipated adeptness of brilliant verbalization. Stealthily, I inhaled her alluring fragrance, as she endeavored to mask her admiration behind the pages of a gargantuan volume.
I, however, was not to be deterred by her ploy of mind expansion. Snaking an arm hesitantly about her waist, I cooed silkily, "Are you searching for more insults with which to disembowel my character and brutally shatter my heart?" Testily, she turned up her nose at me, but didn't unravel herself from my grasp, "Actually, I was searching for a phone number. My hired assassin failed to honor his portion of our little agreement (i.e. slitting your throat before you boarded the train), which means I'll have to take my business elsewhere." Subtly, I narrowed the distance between us. "I recognize a thesaurus when I see one, Evans. Except..." She fidgeted self- consciously, stammering pitifully, "Except?" Immediately, I snatched the object secreted within the confines of the literary material separating her crimson face from my own.
"Chamber Charisma Through the Ages," I snorted derisively, scanning the undulating, rather erotic, yet poorly drawn, illustrations (obviously, the artist was intoxicated when creating said diagrams) that spanned the sensual evolution of all species of the wizarding world. Coyly, levitating the thesaurus and step-by-step-guide-to-creating-orgasmic-magic-in-the- bedroom into her trunk, throat constricting in arousal, sweating profusely, I caressed her cheek, lightly tilting her chin heavenward, coercing her to meet my steady gaze.
"If you needed advice, or, preferably a demonstration, I would have been more than willing to satisfy your every whim, Evans. You wouldn't even have to regard it as a date. We wouldn't be going out or anything, we'd just be two acquaintances performing the most innate and marvelous favors for each other, no strings attached, and no magical contracts involved."
Flirtatiously, she batted those titillating lashes in an unnecessarily come- hither fashion, crooning in my ear, beguiling breath traversing the length of my over-stimulated neck, "I regret to inform you, Potter, the position of irresistible "Sex Instructor" has already been filled by Sirius Black. Perhaps you've heard of him. He has quite the reputation." Victoriously, she stamped a chaste kiss on my cheek prior to me thundering far, far away from her seductively infuriating presence.
Somberly, Albus Dumbledore faced the Tribunal of Elders, gravely observing the maroon wisps of mist swirling feverishly within the descending aquamarine orb, absently twirling the tip of his snow-white beard, consumed by the progressively distressing visions of Voldemort's reign revealed by the sphere. Haggard wizards, witches, and magical entities of all sorts, convening in the cobweb-enveloped "Conference Room" in the uppermost corridor of the Department of Mysteries, focused upon his withered face solemnly, yearning for guidance. His formerly sparkling eyes were dull, anguished, lifeless. The tone of his resonant, humor-tinted voice bespoke only the grim, grizzly, and ghastly, which lay ahead.
"And, you are quite certain, Albus, that these two...INFANTS are THE key to our survival," Cornelius Fudge, esteemed Assistant Minister of Magic, blustered scathingly, referring haughtily to the two youthful figures the council had just witnessed brawling in the Heads' Compartment. "As certain as I am that SEVENTEEN hardly constitutes infancy, and that brawl, as you call it, was simply a civil discussion of their shared enjoyment in literature," Dumbledore reprimanded steely. "Seventeen though they may be, Albus, you're preparing to send them into battle against a Dark Lord wizards twice their age, and seventy times more experienced, have no hope of defeating."
Dumbledore nodded firmly, "James Potter and Lily Evans will astound all who know them, as well as all who have yet to enter this world, in the remarkably near future with their love, loyalty, and unwavering courage in the face of presumably immeasurable adversity. Cornelius, unless you are hankering for a disgustingly horrific preview of the devastating legacy forced upon our kind, as well as the muggle world, by your, and your administration's, insipid refusal to heed my counsel, I suggest you trust me on this matter. The fate of ourselves, and our entire world, rests within the capable hands of James Potter and Lily Evans."
Author's Note: So, it's up to James and Lily to defeat Voldemort. No pressure there. I can't wait to see how James will react to Lily's announcement about her "plans" for Sirius in the bedroom. I expect entanglements over the engagement ring will heighten very soon. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it! More to come in the very near future, once all my dirty laundry decides to bugger off, of course.
Irritably, I toyed with my disheveled locks, deadpanning "You're complicating man's simplest duty for no reason, Padfoot," through clenched teeth. "Ruddy splendid, your logic is, Potter. If man's simplest task is marrying a sensible woman, who is sublimely ecstatic at the mere idea of his untimely demise, then I'm a vile Slytherin." Jovially, I reached for his hand, "Name's James Potter, and this is Gryffindor territory you colossal git, so ya'd best shove off if you value your life." Grumpily, he snarled, "I expect there's no point in reminding you that Evans isn't the sort of girl who'd consider the Honeymoon a proper first date!"
Remus, Pettigrew right on his heels, relaxed upon the seat across from us, prattling on jubilantly, as Pettigrew ogled me worshipfully, "Gentlemen, I daresay it's been too bloody long since we gave someone hell. What do you have in mind for Marauder Mayhem the first?! I smuggled a couple of choice items from the old lady's 'restricted' collection. By my calculations, we're clearly past the eye-of-newt-and-tail-of-dog phase." Sirius poured over the contents of Remus's tattered carry-on reverently, silver eyes widening in astonishment, cackling maliciously.
Slightly appalled by Sirius lovingly stroking the various vials he had extracted from Pettigrew's white-knuckled clutches, I turned to Lupin, who'd been currently captivated by the rugged landscape, "Moony, we should'a dropped by more often." His eyes immediately lost their dreamy haze, as my admission jolted him back to reality. "Prongs, it was enough that you were with me during my...difficult stages. You and Sirius kept me from bumping off the old bag. That's what counts." Shoulders sagging, I offered him a regretful grin. "You're wrong about that, mate. Real friends are those who stand by you even on the days when there's no danger of the furniture becoming intact."
Dramatically, he slumped to the floor in a swift, yet stately, motion, "Is it possible that James Potter has developed a conscious after all these years?" Grunting heavily, Sirius pulled Moony to his feet, "Nah! But that's Marauder Mayhem the first, right Prongsie? Bamboozling Evans into believing our wickle Potter's grasped some concept of compassion." A wave of nostalgia tugged at the corners of Remus's mouth, as he murmured an almost imperceptible, "Lily" under his breath, announcing impishly, "Whatever misery you've concocted to foist upon the delightful Ms. Evans, I'm ready and willing, mate." Provocatively, I unfastened the "Head Boy" badge from Remus's chest, triumphantly pinning it to my own, patting Remus nonchalantly on the head, "Your work is done."
Sirius halted me mid-swagger, inquiring curtly, "How do you play Quidditch? Spare the death-glare, Potter, and answer the bloody question." My interest piqued, I expounded dutifully, "Each team has seven members. Three of them are Chasers. The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other, passing it down the field, in order to score a goal (worth ten points) by tossing it through hoops at the opposite end. Keepers are supposed to guard the hoops from the Chasers. Bludgers are balls that fly around and attempt to knock players off their brooms, while Beaters chase after them, protecting other players from their attacks. And, the Seeker, yours truly being the greatest ever, must hunt down and capture the Golden Snitch, dodging Chasers, Beaters, Keepers, Quaffles and Bludgers, before his opponent does, for an additional hundred and fifty points, and, generally, victory." Sirius enthusiastically nodded his approval, shooing me in the direction of the "Head's Compartment" with a less-than-encouraging reminder that, "Unlike Quidditch, Prongsie, Evans doesn't come with rules."
I strolled into the her justly-deserved environment, garnering every shred of dignity and false bravado I could muster, valiantly suppressing the all-consuming desire to guffaw heartily over her insurmountable astonishment that I, James Potter, proudly bore the coveted "Head Boy" ornamentation. "P...Potter?! What the bloody hell are you playing at?! If YOU'VE DELUDED YOURSELF INTO ACCEPTING YOUR INCONCIEVABLE HALUCINATION THAT I WILL EVER ACCEPT A MINISCULE SCRAP OF MATERIAL AS JUSTIFICATION FOR GOING OUT WITH SOMEONE, THEN YOU'RE A MORE MORONIC PRICK THAN I'VE GIVEN YOU CREDIT FOR! Y... YOU ARROGANT, PIG-HEADED, INSUFFERABLE, OBNOXIOUS, WORTHLESS...!!!!!!!!!!"
Enraged, I clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her outburst, drowning momentarily in the staggering sensations washing over me by the simple act of touching her. Hackles rising considerably, I languidly appraised her petite, luscious, convulsing frame, acknowledging sultrily, "I missed you too, Evans. And yet, I have to concede that your acidic vocabulary would turn me off completely were it not substantially overshadowed by your breathtaking radiance." She gawked, fantastically disoriented by my unanticipated adeptness of brilliant verbalization. Stealthily, I inhaled her alluring fragrance, as she endeavored to mask her admiration behind the pages of a gargantuan volume.
I, however, was not to be deterred by her ploy of mind expansion. Snaking an arm hesitantly about her waist, I cooed silkily, "Are you searching for more insults with which to disembowel my character and brutally shatter my heart?" Testily, she turned up her nose at me, but didn't unravel herself from my grasp, "Actually, I was searching for a phone number. My hired assassin failed to honor his portion of our little agreement (i.e. slitting your throat before you boarded the train), which means I'll have to take my business elsewhere." Subtly, I narrowed the distance between us. "I recognize a thesaurus when I see one, Evans. Except..." She fidgeted self- consciously, stammering pitifully, "Except?" Immediately, I snatched the object secreted within the confines of the literary material separating her crimson face from my own.
"Chamber Charisma Through the Ages," I snorted derisively, scanning the undulating, rather erotic, yet poorly drawn, illustrations (obviously, the artist was intoxicated when creating said diagrams) that spanned the sensual evolution of all species of the wizarding world. Coyly, levitating the thesaurus and step-by-step-guide-to-creating-orgasmic-magic-in-the- bedroom into her trunk, throat constricting in arousal, sweating profusely, I caressed her cheek, lightly tilting her chin heavenward, coercing her to meet my steady gaze.
"If you needed advice, or, preferably a demonstration, I would have been more than willing to satisfy your every whim, Evans. You wouldn't even have to regard it as a date. We wouldn't be going out or anything, we'd just be two acquaintances performing the most innate and marvelous favors for each other, no strings attached, and no magical contracts involved."
Flirtatiously, she batted those titillating lashes in an unnecessarily come- hither fashion, crooning in my ear, beguiling breath traversing the length of my over-stimulated neck, "I regret to inform you, Potter, the position of irresistible "Sex Instructor" has already been filled by Sirius Black. Perhaps you've heard of him. He has quite the reputation." Victoriously, she stamped a chaste kiss on my cheek prior to me thundering far, far away from her seductively infuriating presence.
Somberly, Albus Dumbledore faced the Tribunal of Elders, gravely observing the maroon wisps of mist swirling feverishly within the descending aquamarine orb, absently twirling the tip of his snow-white beard, consumed by the progressively distressing visions of Voldemort's reign revealed by the sphere. Haggard wizards, witches, and magical entities of all sorts, convening in the cobweb-enveloped "Conference Room" in the uppermost corridor of the Department of Mysteries, focused upon his withered face solemnly, yearning for guidance. His formerly sparkling eyes were dull, anguished, lifeless. The tone of his resonant, humor-tinted voice bespoke only the grim, grizzly, and ghastly, which lay ahead.
"And, you are quite certain, Albus, that these two...INFANTS are THE key to our survival," Cornelius Fudge, esteemed Assistant Minister of Magic, blustered scathingly, referring haughtily to the two youthful figures the council had just witnessed brawling in the Heads' Compartment. "As certain as I am that SEVENTEEN hardly constitutes infancy, and that brawl, as you call it, was simply a civil discussion of their shared enjoyment in literature," Dumbledore reprimanded steely. "Seventeen though they may be, Albus, you're preparing to send them into battle against a Dark Lord wizards twice their age, and seventy times more experienced, have no hope of defeating."
Dumbledore nodded firmly, "James Potter and Lily Evans will astound all who know them, as well as all who have yet to enter this world, in the remarkably near future with their love, loyalty, and unwavering courage in the face of presumably immeasurable adversity. Cornelius, unless you are hankering for a disgustingly horrific preview of the devastating legacy forced upon our kind, as well as the muggle world, by your, and your administration's, insipid refusal to heed my counsel, I suggest you trust me on this matter. The fate of ourselves, and our entire world, rests within the capable hands of James Potter and Lily Evans."
Author's Note: So, it's up to James and Lily to defeat Voldemort. No pressure there. I can't wait to see how James will react to Lily's announcement about her "plans" for Sirius in the bedroom. I expect entanglements over the engagement ring will heighten very soon. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy it! More to come in the very near future, once all my dirty laundry decides to bugger off, of course.