Notes: Spans chapter seven in Deflating.
Later on Thursday
Regaling the story of Subject's obviously dirty dream about me to the blokes, when Subject herself suddenly came bursting into the Great Hall. I fully expected her to yell at me for spreading 'rumors' about her (put 'rumors' in quotation marks because while Subject would call them rumors, they are, of course, completely and totally true) and possibly hit/hex me.
She did not do that.
She pulled me by my shirt into the Common Room and pushed me onto a couch—not saying a word the entire time.
It was just about the hottest thing ever. Thought I might explode due to the extremely repressed sexual tension between the two of us. Surely, she felt it too.
She announced that what she was dreaming about had something to do with this day in fifth year when I hung Snivellus Snape upside down in the air and she yelled at me for it. I don't really know, once I heard the name 'Snape' I kinda tuned her out. She insists that her stupid dream has to mean something, which, of course, it doesn't, no matter how much Moony and Padfoot say otherwise.
And see, even if she is one of those silly bints who insist that all dreams have meaning, and they're all important, and they're not at all the product of consuming too much sugar and/or dairy before you go to sleep, I still love her.
That's a sure sign that we are soulmates, I am sure.
She says that she will 'think about it over Christmas' and get back to me.
She's going to get back to me.
The phrase 'get back to me' suggests that she's going to talk to me! Right? Am I right?!
We are going to have one of our spectacular conversations, and she will say my name, and it will roll over her tongue and it will sound like music…and I will say, "Subject!" (only I won't say 'Subject', I'll actually say her name; expect she'd be furious if she knew I'm calling her that), and she will say, "James!" and I will say "Subject!" and she will say "James!"
And it'll just continue on like that until she gets so incredibly turned on by my voice that she shoves me against a wall and snogs me until I can't breathe.
Okay, wow, I'm going to go…take a shower.
Saturday, 16 December8:35 p.m., Bedroom
Two Days Since I Last Saw Subject
Home for Christmas hols.
Mum is, of course, smothering me.
Am incredibly bored. Miss having Subject to follow. I mean, talk to.
Sirius has been asleep all day, as he was up until four last night. I do not know what he was doing, only that when he came downstairs two hours ago to raid the kitchen, I asked, "When'd you go to sleep?" and he said, "Four."
So that settles that.
Oh, he's just come in. He wants to know if I would be up to going to town tonight, or if I'm too busy wallowing in my lovesickness.
His words, not mine.
Am not lovesick.
Must go prove masculinity by drinking excessive amounts of alcohol with best friend.
Tuesday, 19 DecemberApproximately 4:00 p.m., Library
Five Days Since I Last Saw Subject
Have what seems to be a permanent hangover, which is the product of Sirius insisting that we go out every night.
Speaking of Padfoot, he is all pleased because he met a girl in town on Sunday night. She got stood up at the pub, and Padfoot, being the kind gentleman he is, went to comfort her.
Thirty minutes later, they're playing tonsil hockey in a corner.
Padfoot came home at six in the morning with his shirt mis-buttoned and his shoes on the wrong feet.
He disgusts me.
Told him so. He smirked and said, "You're just jealous 'cause I got off with a twenty-three-year-old and you're still pining after Evans."
Pause.
"She was twenty-three?"
"Oh, yes. Experiencedas hell." Which makes him, what? Inadequate? Didn't inquire any further for fear of projectile vomiting.
Pause. "You're seventeen."
"A seventeen-year-old who can get off with twenty-three-year-old blonde girls."
Long pause. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
Stare. "No way."
"Yes."
"Sixteen is the age of consent." Pause. "Right?"
"Um, no."
"Yes!"
Shake head. Sing: "Jail bait…"
"I am not jail bait!" Stand up too fast, knock over chair. Storm out of room.
Actually, I'm pretty sure sixteen is the age of consent, but Padfoot is just too easy to wind up. I couldn't pass up the opportunity.
LaterAm amused beyond belief.
Padfoot has spent the past two hours researching consent laws in my father's library. I did not even know my father haslaw-type books.
I, in turn, have spent the past two hours deliberately passing the library singing "Jail bait…"
'Course, Sirius hasn't realized that even ifhe was violating the consent laws it wouldn't be him that was in trouble. It'd be his twenty-three-year-old…I don't even know what to call her.
Just asked what label would be appropriate for this situation.
His twenty-three-year-old conquest.
That is so tawdry.
Told Padfoot that he was an immature, arrogant, sex-obsessed, obnoxious prat. He stared at me for a second, waiting for me to continue, then said, "And?"
Pause. "And I love you."
"A bit too much, if you ask me," he mumbled, returning to his law book.
Cold and standoffish as he may pretend to be, Padfoot knows he loves me, too. He tells me so every time he gets especially drunk. Never fails.
I just happen to be a little bit more open with my affections.
Friday, 22 December11:30 p.m., Dining Room
Eight Days Since I Last Saw Subject
Sirius came bursting into my room just now, carrying a box and looking like he could be violently sick any minute now.
"What's your problem?" I asked.
"The box!" he said. "Look in the box!" He dropped it on my bed like it was on fire and I lifted the lid.
It was a lacy negligee, green in color with feathers. "So?" I said. "It's not like you've never seen lingerie before."
"Read the tag," he hissed, pointing emphatically.
I picked the lid up again and read the sticker on the top: "To Maureen, from Thomas." I immediately pushed the box off my bed. "Oh, my God!" I shrieked.
"I KNOW!"
We were yelling all shrilly, very much like girls who had just seen a picture of our favorite playboy in a magazine or something. Except we were disgusted, not excited. Maureen and Thomas are my parents.
My dad is giving my mum lingerie. This suggests that she wears lingerie. This suggests that she wears lingerie for him.
I still feel sick.
"Why would you show me something like this?!" I demanded.
"I couldn't keep something like that to myself, I'd die!"
"What, so you decided to bring me with you?! That's my mum! Maureen is my mum! My mum does not wear lingerie!"
"Well, apparently she does."
Next thing I know, we're going to find a secret S&M room somewhere in here.
Oh, my God, I'm giving myself ideas.
I'm never going to be able to sleep again.
Ever.
Sirius and I have decided to have a ritual burning of the Sinful Object tonight. I cannot have my parents having sex while I'm in the house. It doesn't matter how big this stupid place is, I will never be far enough away from that.
Am fully aware that they had to sleep together to produce me, but after that they should've just stopped. Seriously.
I'm going to be eighteen years old next month; I do not need a little brother or sister.
Saturday, 23 DecemberApproximately 1:30 a.m., Bedroom
Nine Days Since I Last Saw Subject
Sinful Object has been successfully torched.
Will never speak of it again.
Still Saturday 9:12 a.m., KitchenMum asked me if I'm okay. Says I look sick.
That's because every time I look at her I see the Sinful Object and I can actually feel my stomach contracting.
Sunday, 24 December4:15 p.m., Dining Room
Ten Days Since I Last Saw Subject
Christmas party today.
Hate my parents' Christmas parties.
Last year, my cousin Roger and his brothers got drunk and started soliciting anything that moved. And some things that didn't, in Roger's case: he preferred the sofa, a portrait of my great-great-great-aunt Althea, the Christmas tree, and, most famously, a lamp. Which he attempted to make out with, and subsequently burned his tongue on.
Okay, maybe they're not all bad.
9:04 p.m., Closet, Hiding from Relatives
Number of times I've been hit on by inebriated male cousins: 48
Number of times I've had my hair ruffled: 96
Number of times I've been asked about my height: 107
Number of times I've been asked about my weight/eating habits: 32
Number of times I've been asked about Head Boy status: 109
Number of times I've been asked about Quidditch: 102
Number of comparisons made between me and Dad: 67
Number of comparisons made between me and Sirius: 29 (Aunt Lucille still does not realize that we are not related. Keeps going on about how Sirius has the same eyes as her late husband George, bless his soul—nevermind the fact that Sirius gets his eyes from his mother. Who is definitely not related to my uncle George, we checked.)
Number of glasses of eggnog consumed: 14
And the reason for the fourteen glasses of eggnog?
Number of times asked about marital status: 241
Going to go drown myself in the bath.
Or in eggnog.
Monday, 24 December11:15 p.m.
For the record, Prongs, this is Sirius. You are currently in your bathroom, spewing the entire contents of your stomach. You have had twenty-seven glasses of eggnog and seven of mulled wine. Why you decided to get drunk at your parents' Christmas party, I cannot say, but you apparently thought it was a good idea, because you have spent the past hour telling nonsensical Quidditch stories to your aunt Enid. She especially enjoyed the one, by the way, where you single-handedly won a match against a herd of cows.
This never happened, Prongs, in case your memory's a little off. I don't know where or why you came up with it.
You eventually passed out right there on the couch, your head drooping on my shoulder and Auntie Ned asked me if you were getting enough sleep at school.
I told her that you were much too busy working to sleep—straight faced and everything—and she says she's going to write a letter to the school governors about the amount of schoolwork they're forcing onto us seventh years. Appreciated, yes. Hysterically funny, also yes.
I hoisted you upstairs (no mean feat, you've put on weight—too many trips to the kitchens, we must put an end to that) so your mum wouldn't see (as far as I know, she is still in the kitchen with your cousin Seb—did you hear he's going to rehab again? Probably not, as you were much too busy drowning your sorrows in the eggnog) because that would upset her. You know, she's got that whole thing about thinking you're still an innocent nine-year-old. Seeing you passed out on the sofa with your tongue lolling out of your mouth would completely ruin that for her.
So I'm carrying you upstairs—and let me tell you, you have the most ridiculous stairs I've ever seen; there are way too many of them—and you suddenly come to and say, "Evans?"
Where would you get the idea that Lily Evans would be carrying you anywhere, drunk or otherwise? "No," I told you. "Sirius."
"Where's Sirius?"
"Here, you prat."
You looked at me, very confused. "Oh," you said. "Sirius?"
"Yes."
"Where am I?"
"Your staircase. I'm taking you to your room."
Pause. "Why?"
"Because you're drunk off your arse, that's why."
Indignant. "I am not drunk."
"Right, and I'm the Queen."
Pause. "Sirius?"
"What?"
"I don't feel good."
And then you threw up on me.
God. This is why I should never let you drink.
I think you're passed out again right now, mate; I haven't heard you retching in a bit. Let me go check.
Why yes, you had your head inside the toilet bowl, hovering about an inch away from your own sick, out completely cold. You are lucky I'm here, Prongs. You almost just drowned in the toilet.
I picked you up and dragged you into your bed, took off your shoes and your glasses, and tried to put the covers on you but you slapped my hand and called me a ragamuffin. Then you passed out again.
You don't even talk in your sleep when you're drunk, you know that? Usually I'll be awake reading or something and you'll suddenly start talking about bricks or toast or something and I'll tell you to shut up, but you're asleep. It's really annoying because I can't throw something at you without risking giving you a concussion or something, and I'd never know, because you'd be asleep. Well, I'd think you were asleep, but really you'd be dead. And I wouldn't be able to tell the difference until the morning.
Well, actually, I'd probably be able to tell the difference because you wouldn't be talking anymore, would you?
Wow, being your best friend for eleven years is finally starting to rub off on me.
It's occurring to me that watching you sleep—even for entertaining, recreational purposes—could be considered vaguely stalker/sex offender-ish, and I'm fully cognizant of the fact that if/when Moony and Wormtail read this, they will make fun of me for about forty years, so I'm going to my room now. Which, in case you lot have forgotten, is across the hall and four doors to the right of Prongs's.
And, no, I'm not bringing him with me.
Tuesday, 25 December
Daytime, judging from the blinding light coming from the window
Can't do math, head will explode
I think I'm dead.
Padfoot made a point of bursting into my room at eight o'clock this morning and throwing open the curtains and shouting, "Happy Christmas, Prongs!" right into my ears until I nearly started to cry with the pain. I'm still sure that blood was coming out my ears and my eyes.
Had to pretend like I wanted to get up and open presents. I don't even think I looked at what I got. I just tore off the paper and thanked everyone then went upstairs to sleep and hopefully die.
Was not that lucky, obviously.
There is someone Up There who hates me. I'm sure of it. If I were experiencing a little less agony, I would philosophize further on that topic, but that will have to wait another day when I'm not ready to claw my own eyes out with toothpicks. As it is, I'm not sure I spelled 'philosophize' or half the other words I've written correctly.
Later
Last Will and Testament of James Potter
As told to Sirius Black
To my best friend Sirius Black I leave my Quidditch supplies (brooms, protective gear, etc.) and memorabilia (posters, pennants, etc.), the sandcastle we spent eleven hours making at the beach when we were seven and my Invisibility Cloak. Also 170 Galleons out of my savings account.
To my friend Remus Lupin I leave all of my books. Also, that sweater of mine that he likes, the one with the green and blue stripes, all of my photographs and 170 Galleons out of my savings account.
To my friend Peter Pettigrew I leave my shoes because he is always losing his. I also leave the prototypes of the Marauder's Map, my Chocolate Frog card collection, my watches, and 170 Galleons out of my savings account.
To my parents Maureen and Thomas Potter I leave my Hogwarts trunk, which includes letters from my friends, pictures of the girlfriends I never bothered to introduce to you, schoolwork that indicates my brilliance, and my sincerest apologies for being such a handful my whole life.
To L.E. I leave my Head Boy badge and my stolen Snitch, anything else of mine she would like, including stuff that I left to other people and 30 Galleons out of my savings account, since that's all that's left now that I've given the rest of it away.
Signed,
J
Friday, 28 December
Approximately 2:00 p.m., Living Room
Fourteen Days Since I Last Saw Subject
Finally got around to looking at Christmas presents. Got some lovely things, but nothing from Subject.
Feel distinctly depressed.
Want cake.
Sunday, 30 December
10:03 a.m., Bedroom
Sixteen Days Since I Last Saw Subject
It occurs to me that I didn't even think of getting Subject a Christmas present.
Well, I did, for about a second, but I haven't (hadn't) since.
Poor Subject. Probably waited up all night for my owl, but it didn't come. Most likely she spent the whole day crying.
I ruined Christmas for her.
Must make it up to her.
Think a nice, healthy snog is in order.
Surely that will set things right.
Thursday, 4 January
2:13 p.m., Sirius's room
Twenty Days Since I Last Saw Subject
Been shopping for the past four days, and have come to the conclusion that girls are impossible to shop for. I have no clue what to get her. Am too scared to get her clothes, because I don't know her size and if I guess too big, she'll think I think she's fat, and if I guess too small, she'll think I'm trying to make her lookfat.
The first thing I'm doing when I get back to school is finding out her size. I mean, allof her sizes.
In the meantime, I need to think of something to get her.
Sunday, 7 January
Approximately 12:35 p.m.
Twenty-three Days Since I Last Saw SubjectI am going back to school tomorrow, where Subject will hopefully have some more intriguing information as to why she's been dreaming about that day when she exercised her power as a killjoy. I still believe Subject is reading into this far more than it is deserved.
I got her something. For Christmas, I mean. I didn't send it to her because I don't know how open-minded her parents are as far as owls, them being Muggles and all. I got her romance novels. Five of them. I'll give them to her once I see her tomorrow.
I have read them, too, and see nothing funny about them. Oh, well. Maybe I just didn't get the right kind.
Padfoot looked at me very strangely when he saw me reading them. I told him that Subject reads them, and I wanted to see what the big deal was all about, but I don't think he believed me. He grew even more suspicious when I didn't send them to her right away. I think he really believes that I'm keeping them for my own personal enjoyment.
As for a course of action where Subject is concerned once we get back…well, she's already dreaming about me (so what if she's harping on the prick I was in fifth year? She's got to see that I'm really getting better about that). I really see no more that I can do. I just have to…let it flow naturally. And if that doesn't work, I might just pin her in the Common Room and kiss her. I'm really getting that frustrated…
A/N and Assorted Disclaimers: Eh, this chapter had its moments for me, but I don't like it as much as the others. Seems shorter to me, too. I changed the last entry around a little bit (it was originally in Deflating) to fix calendar-type errors, since I suck at math and didn't count the days correctly when I wrote it last year. I'm finding I did that a lot, and I'm surprised no one noticed it and corrected me back then.
The 9:04, December 25th entry (the one with all the numbers) was influenced by various entries in The Princess Diaries, and the 'So-Many-Days-Since-I-Saw-Subject' thing was also taken from Princess Diaries; Princess in Waiting if we're to be specific.
The reviews are incredible. You're all clinically insane and wonderful. 107 reviews (as it is at 1:22 a.m. on July 9th, which is when I am writing this) for two chapters is positively…unbelievable. I love you so much. I don't know why I'm italicizing stuff…
Thanks to:
jenni (you were the first to review, go you ;), Lily Thorne (it'd be kinda hard to make Deflating and TDA into originals considering they were written for the characters that belong to the esteemed JKR, but I'm glad that you think they're good enough for it), Star19, Sploogal (all of our mothers think we're crazy at some point in time. Mine can't understand why I spend so much time doing this ;), duva (please, fangirl away! Oh, and btw, I love your Sunday series ;), killerscissors (lol, I'm glad I have you convinced, I guess), Diabla666 (now that you mention the Naked Quidditch thing, I forgot to mention in chapter two that I got the idea for that from something I saw on a Yahoo group once [I'm so bad with disclaimers]. I don't know what it was or even where I found it, but I remember reading it, so it's not entirely mine), Cacrocks1, The Skull Cowboy (you whorebatory mastermind, you), balletblues, SquirtCrsh, MissMrprk (I don't know if 'beautiful' is quite the word for this particular story :), lilbird (I think Deflating will always be my baby…[I totally didn't mean to paraphrase Mariah Carey right there] It was the first story I'd written that people really seemed to like and that floored me), clothespeg-rules (breathe, honey, breathe…yeah, in every single chapter I've written [well, all three of them, that is] one of the boys says/writes Lily's name once. It's like the I Spy books, with the little dog in every picture. Only it's mostly unintentional) SiriusSweetie7 (I announced this chapter and linked to it in my livejournal exactly three minutes after I posted it, so maybe I misunderstood your suggestion?), Christy Corr (this story, sadly, is my favorite. And Captain Oats and Princess Sparkle deserve their own show. Maybe that's the spinoff Josh is planning?), Lady Kalypso (a prodigy? Seriously? And I, too, love James far more than should be allowed. And Sirius as well. And Remus, too…Is there a name for that? Forming attachments to fictional characters, I mean?), whoever (yay for the delurking! I'm one [a lurker] myself. It is hard to find good stuff on this site, but when you do, it's usually very good. And I'm happy that you're including me in that), siriusforeva, Pineapple Queen1, WitchofNZ (I don't think sporks are exactly natural ;), JacksSavvyLuv, Marauders Chick (could it be, like, one of those light parades? Because those are awesome), Tintalu (humor is really hard to write, and it just takes a lot of practice. Take it from me, I've been doing this for five years), Hi no Kasumi (how can you not love sarcastic!Remus?!), cocogippslend85 (working on "TDA", and I hope you won't be disappointed), StephBlack, Mariagoner, snickerdoodle10201, Cho Ch (…when was I ever gone? ;), taiyourshoes (have you seen the "The One With All the Wedding Dresses" episode of Friends? Where Chandler says, "I don't dance at weddings, because when I dance, it looks like this" or something similar and he does that really weird, jerky sort of dance? That's James's victory dance, in my mind), Kat44 (…I wrote the fic with the 'Subject thingy'. It's Deflating. Unless someone ripped me off or did it first without my knowledge), Stacey, Briana Marie (James has a random mind because I do. It's becoming scarily clear to me that James is the male version of me. Only I'm less hormonal and he's less obsessed with lip gloss. Oh, no, wait…), Irish Silhouette (enthusiastic much? James loves you, too, I'm sure. ;), rockersbb13, TheSilverLady, FrostQueen4eva, Dippy Black, flossie1 (I don't know what I would do if I couldn't come to Probably go on it anyway. If you want, I could send you the chapters via email so you wouldn't have to risk infection. Let me know), x-cutie-pie-x35, Lunawolf (lol, I'm glad you think this is better than the highest grossing animated film of all time. Unfortunately, I've yet to see it, so I don't know what that says about the story ;), K.D. Toling (thanks to your friend, as well, if s/he's not already here :), Forbidden, martian doll, nottelinwho, and Vitreum.
Thanks is also due to anyone who put me on their favorites lists. I have 408 now, which I'm thinking is a miscalculation on 's part. Wouldn't be the first time they'd messed up. It's just too crazy.
That was far too long. And it took me forty-five minutes to do. I'm sorry. :)