Notes: This chapter spans Deflating chapters five, six, and seven (well, half of seven). Remember that, in note passing, James writes in plain typeface, Sirius in bold, Remus in bold italics, and Peter in italics. Thank you's for reviews at the very end. Happy reading! ;)
9:07 a.m.
First attempt at small talk: failed spectacularly.
Subject seems content to be difficult. Have returned to previous conclusion that Subject is an insufferable wench. I am wondering again why I am doing this.
Later
Moony says I tried too much too soon.
Oh, yes, that's right. I am trying too much too soon by saying 'All right'. I said 'All right'. The way he's acting, you'd think I had her pinned up against the wall with my hand up her skirt. That would be too much too soon (not to mention kinda illegal) but I just said 'ALL RIGHT'. It's a customary greeting. I say 'All right' to Padfoot every morning, that doesn't mean I want to have him pinned up against the wall with my hand up his skirt.
Wait.
Nevermind. Forget I said that.
God, I'm going to hell.
Actually, I think I'm in it.
Still later
11:00 p.m., Dormitory
The Brilliant Moony now suggests I apologize to Subject for my too-much-too-sooniness.
Too tired to be snarky (Subject's weird timetable's got my internal clock all wonky) so will just say I abhor this idea. Will look for a better one tomorrow. Once I get my full nine hours.
Friday, 1 December
10:19 a.m., Arithmancy
Alternate Ways to Get Subject to Fall in Love With Me
(Also known as the I'm-Not-Listening-to-Moony List)
1) Find some way to snog her. My tongue can be very convincing. Again, this is where the mistletoe would be very helpful.
2) ……
Actually, there is no number two, because I am quite convinced that number one will do the job spectacularly if I can pull it off.
Moony just read over my shoulder and said that if I found a way to get Subject to snog me without cutting my tongue off afterward, he'd nominate me for Minister of Magic.
Which is stupid. Everyone knows you have to be at least thirty to run for Minister of Magic.
I would make a spiffing Minister of Magic, though. I make good choices. Plus, I am friendly, fun, and personable, and I make wonderful speeches.
Moony is snickering and shaking his head.
I'd like to see him do a better job at being Minister of Magic than me.
Later
Prongs, have you apologized to Subject yet?
If I had, you would be the first to know, Moony.
You really must do that soon, while the incident is still fresh in her mind.
Moony, have you met the girl? She's not going to forget that anytime soon. I hope. Would it be better if she forgot it? Because if it would, I could Obliviate her.
Don't think she'd like that very much.
Well, no, but she doesn't like anything I do, so there you are. Did I tell you that I had a dream last night that I snogged her?
Yeah? What was that like?
Nice. It was nice. Except for the part when she turned into a cricket with red hair.
A cricket, Prongs?
Well, yeah. Stop looking at me like that!
That's disturbing, Prongs.
I didn't say I enjoyed Cricket/Subject! It was just a dream.
Don't they say that there's a lot of truth in dreams?
They do say that.
You're saying that I fantasize about snogging crickets?!
Deep, deep down.
I'm worried about you, Prongs.
You're worried about me?!
Well, yes. Fantasies of crickets aren't exactly normal, Prongs.
Yeah? Well, what about all the dreams that you lot have had?
I've never dreamt of snogging insects, I know that.
No, but you did have that dream about McGonagall getting up on her desk in the middle of a lesson and performing an exotic dance.
…Shut up.
Wow, I am officially scarred for life. Thank you, Wormtail.
And what about you?
What about me?
Your naked Quidditch dream?
That's not a dream, it's a calling.
Naked Quidditch is your calling?
Don't get all excited, Moony, it's a long way away. Each time I have sent letters to the Department of Magical Games and Sports about forming a Naked Quidditch League, I have been denied. Decency laws and what have you.
Who would go to a naked Quidditch game?
People.
People like…?
People like Prongs.
What do you mean, 'people like Prongs'?
You know. Sexually frustrated people.
I hate you so much.
Only because you know I'm right.
Saturday, 2 December
4:15 p.m., Dormitory
Give in. Will apologize to Subject today.
On other note, must start studying for NEWTs.
Moony will surely agree that NEWTs are more important than apologies.
Will apologize to Subject tomorrow.
Sunday, 3 December
7:30 p.m., Common Room
You know what, I might just give it until Friday. That way, she has the whole weekend to get over the shock and I can go hide in Hogsmeade the whole time.
Approximately 9:00 p.m., Dormitory
Moony says that if I don't apologize to Subject tomorrow morning, he will do it for me.
I said I liked that idea and that there was a chance he could catch her downstairs if he hurried, but he shot a Tickling Charm at me and wouldn't take it off until I said I'd do it.
Bugger.
Monday, 4 December
Approximately 6:00 a.m.
Subject has just left Common Room, laughing obscenely at (are you ready for this shocking revelation?) my expense.
You'd think she'd be a little more sympathetic towards me. I am trying to get her to fall in love with me--pricky, James, pricky-- but it's not working as well as I'd hoped, and she's loving it.
Sometimes Subject makes me extremely angry.
Maybe that is why I like her so much.
Whatever.
Okay, so I have been up since four thirty this morning, waiting for Subject to come downstairs, partially because I wanted to apologize without the entire bloody school breathing down my neck, and partially because Moony will ask me as soon as he sees me whether or not I've apologized to Subject yet. Okay, just because I have put it off for three days does not mean I'm never going to do it. Case in point: I already apologized this morning. Subject's reaction was less than stellar, but why quibble? Point is, I got it over with.
And the best part of the entire morning? When Subject came downstairs. Not because she looked exceptionally pretty this morning, but because of what she said: "Must be a good book."
I told her it was. And it is: I wrote it, after all.
Tuesday, 5 December
11:50 p.m., Kitchens
Wondering if Subject likes éclairs.
Am down in the kitchens (as evidenced by the heading), eating some, and it has just occurred to me that I have never once asked Subject if she likes éclairs. Of course, pastry isn't exactly high on the list of acceptable topics of conversation, but I am genuinely interested.
Éclairs are, after all, a fairly phallic food. Or I can make them a phallic food. I could make a bra out of éclairs or something and then eat it off her. Right?
Wait.
What if she is allergic to éclairs? What if I make her close her eyes while I am affixing the éclair bra to her chest so she can't see what I'm putting on her (because in this situation, she trusts me that much) and the very touch of it causes her to break into hives and eventually asphyxiate?
I could kill her with an éclair.
Friday, 6 December
Approximately 2:00 p.m.
Subject said 'hello' in the corridors to me about twenty minutes ago.
I was so flustered I forgot to say it back.
The plus side of this otherwise annoying reaction is that I did not mention anything about éclair allergies. Which is v. good on me.
Later
Christmas break is in a couple of weeks.
What am I going to do without Subject for two-and-a-half weeks?
There are lots of things you can do. You can…get good at Quidditch.
Get good at Quidditch? Is that your New Year's Resolution, Padfoot?
New Year's isn't for another month, you ponce.
Well, I think that should be at the top of your list. Speaking of next month, it's my birthday. Next month, that is. I hope you are considering lavish celebrations and equally extravagant presents.
I just bought your Christmas present, Prongs. You're getting ahead of yourself.
You bought my Christmas present?!
Yes, but I am not telling you what it is under any circumstances, so you can just take a step back and stop hyperventilating.
I'll tell you what I got you.
Okay.
You first.
No, you.
No, you.
I got you a Quidditch book. Oh, and a scarf.
Thank you.
You're welcome. Now what have you gotten me?
Nothing, yet. I was planning on going shopping next weekend.
You are impossible.
I love you, too, Moony.
Tuesday, 10 December
3:30 p.m., Arithmancy
Haven't written in three days because absolutely nothing has been happening. Subject is still ignoring me for the most part (she asked me to pass the syrup this morning), Moony is still nagging me, Sirius put itching powder in my underwear on Saturday because he said he was feeling nostalgic, and…I have a Transfiguration essay due tomorrow that I have not started.
Things suck.
Could use a snog.
Thursday, 12 December
11:00 a.m., Charms
SUBJECT AND I JUST CONDUCTED A CONVERSATION!!
A real conversation!
Not an insult trade.
A conversation!
We were paired together in Potions (and, yes, I almost broke into convulsions of sheer happiness—is that possible? To have happy convulsions? If it is, I almost had those) and she must've been in an especially good mood or something because she did not push me into the cauldron or anything. She greeted me with a civil, "Hello." No 'James', which was sad, but also no 'Potter, you stuttering prick, hand me the feathers', which was better.
So we're boiling the water, and Subject is measuring the essence of belladonna while I'm chopping up some…roots, I can't even remember what they were right now, and she says, all polite-like, "How has your week been going?"
I nearly sliced my finger of in shock. I glanced up at her, but she wasn't looking at me, she was looking at her belladonna. "Um," I said. "Fine."
"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" She poured the belladonna in and looked up at the board.
For a second, I was sure she was going to ask me out. It was an exhilarating feeling, except for the part where I stopped breathing and started choking on my own spit.
Other than that, it was wonderful.
"No," I said quickly. "I'm doing absolutely nothing. It'll probably just be me, hanging around in my room, reading poetry."
The poetry part just came out. I do not actually read poetry.
That made Subject laugh. "Poetry, huh?" she asked. "What kind of poetry?"
Bugger. "Sad," I told her.
She looked up at me then, with her eyebrow raised all quizzical-like. "Sad poetry?" she said.
"Yeah. What's wrong with it?"
She shrugged, and she got that tight expression she gets when she's trying to hide a smile. "You just don't seem like the type of guy that reads sad poetry, is all," she replied.
"Oh, yeah," I said. "I have…emotional depths you've never seen."
This is a complete and total lie, of course. I am the shallowest person I've ever met.
She smirked at that, and I could tell she maybe possibly saw through that. Or thought I was joking.
"What are you doing this weekend?" I said, smoothly changing the subject.
"Not going out with you," she answered readily.
While this was entirely expected, it still hurt. Ignored the slight and plowed on, "No, really."
She glanced up at me. "Nothing, actually," she said.
"I could lend you some sad poetry."
She laughed. "No, that's okay."
I am floating on air.
I am weightless.
I feel like cotton candy.
If cotton candy could feel.
And if it had half of my athletic prowess.
Ha, I'm imagining a Quidditch team, entirely compromised of pieces of cotton candy. It's massively entertaining.
Later
Am wondering whether or not I should go home for Christmas. Mum and Dad have said that I am allowed to invite some friends over for the holidays if I like, but I am thinking that Christmas would be prime time to close the deal with Subject.
Okay, Padfoot has just read over my shoulder and is laughing like an idiot. He is wondering why I do not write Subject's name down ("It's only four letters, Prongs, it's not that hard. Do you need me to spell it out for you?"), which I guess is an issue that I've never addressed. I don't write down her name because I don't want her to be able to tell it's her I've been writing about should I be careless and leave this lying around the Common Room and she reads it or something.
Padfoot is laughing again and says that that is the stupidest thing he has ever heard.
Padfoot wishes to add his comments:
Prongs, I am thinking that you should go home for Christmas.
What prompts this rare show of thought?
I have my reasons, and I assure you, they are all brilliant and important.
Oh, I forgot: my mother promised you gingerbread scones every morning, didn't she?
Dammit, Prongs, they just don't make gingerbread scones here like your mother does! But I agree that you might have reasons to stay…we could do some real damage with some mistletoe…
Moony also wishes to add his comments: I don't know what kind of fun you two are planning on having with mistletoe, but you'll be doing it alone.
What makes you say that, O Spoilsport?
What makes you think I'd ever come near Prongs when he's wielding mistletoe at me?
Lily's going home for Christmas.
Friday, 13 December
Approximately 7:30 a.m.
"There is no set way to win [Subject] over. You have to make it yourself." Why, thanks, Moony, for that load of psychological drivel that MEANS NOTHING TO ME.
What was I supposed to do with that remark, hmm? Was it supposed to become CRYSTAL CLEAR to me what I was supposed to do to get Subject to like me?? Because, surprise, surprise, it DIDN'T.
Why can't she just allow me a snog and get it over with? I'd be happy with just a snog. Really, I would. The shagging? Completely negotiable now. I don't even care anymore. I'm tired of doing this and being shot down.
But it'll drive me bloody insane if I don't at least get a SNOG! A snog off of Subject would cement my status as a god once and for all. Really, it would.
Yeah, there are at least fifty pricky things in that paragraph, but again: I don't even care.
Actually, I think I care too much.
I need to stop thinking about this, or I will go insane.
Did I develop multiple personalities overnight?
Later
Hate life.
Am going to jump off the Astronomy Tower.
Possibly the Most Glorious Day of My Life to Date
Thursday, 14 December
11:35 a.m.
Subject said my name in her sleep.
She said my name.
She was dreaming about me!
And you know it was good; this is me we're talking about.
So I was waiting for her to wake up, thinking bitterly to myself that this was probably the only time I'd ever see her asleep, and wondering whether or not I should do "Ennervate" on her, just in case she had fallen into a coma.
As I'm debating this, I'm looking at the chalkboard. Suddenly, I hear this fluttery little voice that I have never heard before mutter, "James."
Instinctively, I say, "What?", thinking that Subject had woken up and was wondering what the hell I was doing lording over her.
But when Subject didn't reply, I looked over at her and she was STILL ASLEEP, she hadn't even shifted.
Okay, I couldn't really do a victory dance right then, in case Subject woke up and saw me (that would be horribly embarrassing). I can't dance, so when I try, I like to do it without the stigma of public mockery.
But I'll tell you, I felt very godlike just then.
I kept watching her, begging her to say it again, but she didn't. She just kept sleeping, and sometimes she frowned so that little wrinkles appeared between her eyebrows. Admittedly, this would have been the perfect time to make those classic "She-Looks-Beautifully-Peaceful-While-She's-Sleeping" observations, but I wasn't even concentrating on what she looked like--though I'm sure she was very pretty. I guess.
I decided that she wasn't going to say it again, so I kind of shook her again and said her name right in her ear.
She shot straight up, and looked very puzzled. Then she looked at me, frowned, and snapped, "You're just as bad as he is!"
Now what the hell is this supposed to mean? I'm just as bad as who? And what am I supposedly bad at? Everyone knows I'm not bad at anything…well, except chess, but I don't really think Subject and I were playing chess in that dream, okay?
"What?" I asked her.
She looked embarrassed, so obviously, she wasn't supposed to say that. "Nothing," she said, then looked around and noticed that we were the only two left. Subject then asked me where everyone was.
"Potions, I expect," I said, smiling charmingly. I offered to take her down to the kitchens for a little tea or something, but Subject ignored me and asked how long she had been asleep. I told her (embellishing a little; I said I'd only been trying to wake her for five minutes when really, it was more like fifteen--I didn't want her to think I was a psycho who has a fetish for watching pretty girls sleep), and she nearly fell over, she was so surprised.
Then, I took a gamble and asked her what she was dreaming about.
Subject actually looked kind of mad. Her voice got all cold when she replied, "I don't see where that's any of your business."
I smirked, knowing just how wrong she was. "See, I beg to differ."
Subject looked confused before replying, "Sleep is the only way I can escape you. I think I'm right in saying that what I think about while I'm there is none of your business." She got up to leave, but I certainly stopped her:
"You said my name."
Oh, she stopped all right. She almost tripped over her own feet and kept saying, "No, I didn't, no, I didn't," over and over and over.
Okay, Subject, I already know you were having fantasies about me. There's no use in denying it now, and there's certainly no need to be embarrassed about it. It's perfectly understandable.
I assured her she had, indeed, called out my name, most likely in throes of passion (didn't say that, luckily, she would've boxed me), but she grew rather hysterical, shouting, "I did not entertain your intransigent fantasies by saying your bloody name!"
This would have been a very interesting situation to try to explain to a teacher if they heard Subject screaming at me, but none came to see what the hell was going on.
I crossed the room, thinking that maybe I could pull her into a hug (I didn't try right off, though; just put my hand on her shoulder), and said, "It's okay, I won't tell anyone…just don't start crying," because she really looked like she was going to cry. I cannot stand crying girls, because I never know what to do, and I always end up saying something really stupid and looking like even more of a prick.
So while I'm praying silently for Subject to hold in tears, she was praying the same thing, because she yelled, "I am not crying!" then told me to take my hand off of her shoulder, and left the room.
I did my victory dance then.
If Subject is dreaming about me, it is only a matter of time before the process is complete.
So, to keep with my chess analogy:
Check.
She won't know what hit her.
A/N: So ends the second chapter!
I thank everyone for their astounding patience and understanding that I did have other commitments that would come before this. It made me feel all special and important, like you actually listened to me. And that does not happen often. :)
THE REVIEWS WERE AMAZING, AND I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!
Thanks to:
Sploogal, lil qt wanna b Lily, Wild Magelet, da90schic, Cacrocks1, azirainbow, Pixie Wildfire (where've you been? You're never online anymore, I miss you!), Felicia Waltz, Elvinprincess99 (I'm so thrilled you like my Marauders. Peter wasn't around much in this chapter, merely because of the fact that there wasn't too much notepassing, but I'll try to…deepen, I guess is the word, his character in the next ones), Me, RoseRedPhoenix, Christy Corr (a fellow "OC" fan? Captain Oats is my third favorite character, right behind Seth and Summer ;), Jewls5, Suji, Linnet Gryffin (::hugs you:: Quotes make me feel funny and special. I love people quoting me more than anything, which is completely conceited of me, but true), LuluIsALobster, Prof. Luna Sinistra, StarryEyes9, Tigeress5 (I like writing James, so I'm glad you like reading him), True, MissMrprk, balletblues, jenni, Irish Silhouette (as for another sequel to "TDA", I don't know. I'm leaning on 'no' at the moment, but I tend to get sentimental and weepy when a story ends and not want to let it go. So we'll see ;), Skye0906 (it took me about four days to realize that you were the same Skye from my lj flist. Felt stupid ;), flossie1, lilbird (it is kinda like behind the scenes, isn't it?), siriuslycrazy, KelleBelle (::feels warm and fuzzy:: Your review made me smile for about, oh, a week), Carmen de Consuelo (how could I forget about "TDA"? ;), Olivia Wood, Roxy (two people in a row who like my Remus…thank you both), whacked (my author's notes are funny?! Wow, you'd love my livejournal), siriusforeva, Marauders Chick ("hehe, James. I somehow doubt Lily's dying to talk about her underwear." That made me laugh. Like, a lot), Lourdes, Anna N. O'Muss (I'm the queen?! How awesome is that?!), Lady Kalypso (I'm about 99.9% sure about my age…unless you and my parents know stuff that I don't ;), Briana Marie (I love your reviews, seriously. You're such a good reviewer; you're never afraid to tell me what I'm doing wrong as well as what I'm doing right and I thank you for that. If I could send you flowers, I would), Emily, Gemini310, PeRkieGuRL, Grimm Sister, Charmer's song, The Barmy Brigand, duva, Kat44, Tessala, SquirtCrsh, Diabla666, snickerdoodle10201, and rockersbb13.
Wow, my spellcheck is going insane right now.
That was long. I apologize. :)
And ::cough:: Angelicqua apparently drew stuff from the last chapter. She needs to send said stuff to me via snail mail so I can scan it and show it off. Angeliiiiiiicqua......