CHAPTER SEVEN
James was in a foul mood, despite the relative success of the pumpkin juice prank. Peter had managed to convince McGonagall that the Slytherins were the ones who were behind the prank, pointing out that half the Slytherins had been unaffected, while clearly, James and Sirius had suffered from a hefty dose.
"All right," said James to Sirius in the common room. "So she fancies him. I don't understand why. So what if he's…" James sputtered to a halt, unable to think of what Harris had over him. So he continued, "I bet he's…" He stopped again, unable to think of what Harris did worse than him.
Sirius continued nodding along, making vaguely encouraging noises, and scrutinizing his parchment, quite unaware that James had stopped talking. Remus and Peter had long since abandoned James, with the excuse that they wanted to turn in early. At nine o'clock at night.
Undeterred, James continued. "I bet Evans is—well, I don't know, but she doesn't seem herself lately. Padfoot, have you noticed anything?"
"You'll get her eventually, Prongs," said Sirius, not looking up from his writing.
James peeked at Sirius' scroll, assuming that his best friend was planning a prank. When he saw what Sirius was doing, he was offended. "You'd rather do Herbology homework than listen to me? Herbology? You could at least have the decency to be ignoring me for Transfiguration—at least that's interesting."
"It's due tomorrow," said Sirius.
"That's no excuse!" said James, glaring, even as he dug in his bag for his own Herbology work, and tossed the scroll at him.
Sirius seized the scroll. "Thanks, Prongs. Now if you'd given this to me in the first place, I'd have done a better job of pretending to listen to your whingeing."
"I do not—I am not—I'm off to bed," said James, leaping to his feet and stalking to the dorms.
Remus and Peter were on Peter's bed, having a fine time playing the Marauder's version of Exploding Snap, making their way through what looked like half their weight in sweets. James glared at them, and pointedly went to bed, closing the curtains after him.
He spent most of the time tossing and turning, working out the problem for himself. None of his friends could help him. Sirius had never chased after a girl; often it was the other way around. Remus would say something sensible, like how Evans just didn't fancy him and that was that. He couldn't imagine what Peter would say. He felt desperate enough to write to his parents for advice.
In the morning, James bounded out of bed, and hummed through his morning routine. His friends eyed him with suspicion, and gave him a wide birth. During breakfast in the Great Hall, Sirius finally demanded, "Out with it. What are you up to?"
"Nothing," said James. "Please pass the toast."
"You've got that, 'I'm James Potter and I've got the world's greatest prank up my sleeve,' look on you," said Sirius, then continued in a bad approximation of James' voice, "And I'm too much of a smug, selfish bastard to tell my friends."
"S'not a prank you'd be interested in," said James, slopping a generous amount of marmalade on his toast.
"Try me," said Sirius.
"All right," said James. "I say this without any sense of conceitedness-I am one of Hogwarts' best pranksters. I've managed to prank Snape—slippery, dangerous bastard that he is—on multiple occasions. But the secret to succeeding was figuring out what I did wrong, and not doing it again, then figuring out what I did right and trying to duplicate the results. Now I know the target—Evans. I know what I want to achieve—to get her to go out with me. What I don't know is what it takes to succeed. But if I study Harris, whom she fancies, and figure out how he succeeded in pranking her, er, getting her to like him, then duplicate that—no, prove that I can do one better than him, then I've got her."
"You're off your rocker," said Sirius.
"In my opinion, pranks and getting a girl to go out with you are two entirely different things," said Remus. "You might consider going about this in a different way."
"…that's….unique. I would have gone with a box of Honeydukes' finest chocolates, maybe with a nice card," said Peter. "Did I mention your approach is unique?"
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"So have you done it yet? Have you pranked, er, won over Evans?" said Peter in Potions, dropping into the seat next to James.
"What are you on about?" said James blankly.
Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and said in a hasty voice, "Never mind. I'm sure she'll say yes. Eventually."
"No, tell me what you're talking about," said James.
Before Peter had the chance, Professor Ochem launched into a lecture on the properties of the Asper Potion, and warned to take careful notes, as the potion was deadly. During the latter portion of the class, while they were making the potion, Peter whispered James' master plan to get Lily.
James interrupted Peter to say, "Were we supposed to stir this clockwise or counter-clockwise?"
Profesor Ochem, who had been going past their table, said, "Counter, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you, Professor," said James.
"You even made a little diagram," said Peter, after Professor Ochem went to supervise a Ravenclaw that was having trouble.
"What diagram?" he said. James brooded for the entire class period, and was silent on his and Peter's walk towards their next class.
In Transfiguration, James greeted Sirius and Remus, then turned out his bag, but couldn't find the diagram that Peter spoke of. He packed everything back in, except for a scroll and a quill, and pretended to take notes. He faced forward towards the professor, and searched his pockets. He found the Map, and a scrap of parchment stained with marmalade. There was a diagram, a neat row of boxes and columns labeled with such things as: Appearance, Quidditch Skills, Duelling Skills, Romantic Stuff, Intelligence, Humor, Other Stuff Girls Like. Each category was marked average.
Dimly, James could remember watching Evans and Harris, and filling in the diagram. But it had slipped his mind, rather like how he knew that he'd cleaned his teeth and washed his face in the morning, but he couldn't recall the specific event. James ran his hand through his hair and sighed; if Evans fancied average, dull boys, then in his not-so-conceited opinion, he had his work cut out for him.
"…question, Mr. Potter?" said McGonagall sharply, giving him a glare that made James suspect that she knew he hadn't been paying attention.
"Of course, Professor," he said, glancing at the writing on the board, trying to figure out what the question had been, when a voice said, from another part of the room, "Er, ah, hang on, I really was paying attention…first cast Finite Incantatum?"
James jerked his head around, and saw Harris, sitting two rows ahead, next to Evans. McGonagall glared at Harris, lips pursed into a thin line, "Mr. Harris, I asked Mr. Potter," she indicated James, "the question."
"Sorry, Professor," said Harris, sinking into his seat.
"In future, remember not to speak out of turn. Mr. Harris," said McGonagall. Her lips, while still a rigid line, somehow lost some of its severity. "Nevertheless, the answer is correct."
McGonagall turned back to the blackboard, and continued writing. James drummed his fingers on the table, and stared at Harris. Evans, who was sitting beside Harris, leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Harris nodded. James looked down at his little diagram, looked up at Harris, then back down at the parchment. Something didn't add up. His fingers drummed even faster.
On the bottom of the parchment, he wrote, 'Something's off about Harris.' Drum, drum. He continued, 'McGonagall upset.' Drum, drum. 'No one is that average.' Drum, drum. 'Dark Arts spell?' He looked up at Harris, then at Evans next to him, calmly taking notes, and his eyes widened in alarm. She'd been spending a lot of time with Harris, and she was also acting quite unlike herself. His fingers drummed furiously. He wrote, shakily, 'Manipulating L.E.?'
Sirius nudged his foot, breaking him out of the train of his thoughts, then eyed his fingers significantly. James rolled his eyes, but stopped drumming his fingers. Remus and Peter turned around, and gave Sirius relieved smiles. James scowled, but subsided.
He glanced at McGonagall, who was eyeing their area with great suspicion, and endeavored to look as if he'd been paying attention. He fastened his eyes to the board, and worked out what the lecture was about. By that time, class had ended, and McGonagall handed back their essays.
When James started to unroll his scroll to see what marks he'd made, McGonagall came over to him, face flushed. "I'm quite sorry, Mr. Potter," she said in a brisk voice, snatching the scroll out of his hands. "I accidentally gave you the wrong essay." She handed him another scroll. "This is your work."
"That's all right, Professor," said James, confused at McGonagall's abrupt manner.
McGonagall walked back to her desk where, James noticed, Evans and Harris were standing. McGonagall stopped in front of the boy, and handed him the scroll, and said, "Make sure to put the correct name on your essay, Mr. Harris." She glanced at Evans, and for a moment her stern expression slipped into puzzlement. She shook her head, then said, "Miss Evans, please excuse us. I would like to have a talk with Mr. Harris in private."
Evans nodded, and turned to Harris. "I'll be waiting outside, Harry."
"Thanks, Lily," said Harris.
James started to pack up his things, when he came across the parchment with a diagram, and some writing on the bottom. He started shoving his things into his bag without a care.
"Ready, Prongs?" said Sirius, standing with Peter and Remus.
"Go on without me," said James, without looking at his friends, watching as Evans walked out the door.
"Good luck, Prongs," said Remus, giving him a warm smile.
"All right, then," said Sirius.
"We'll save you a seat in the common room," said Peter, then rubbed his stomach. "Wonder what we're having for dinner?"
Evans was outside of the classroom, leaning against the wall, with her bag at her feet. He stared at her, at a loss as to what to say. All he had were a bunch of scribblings on a bit of parchment. He wasn't even sure about his sanity, so how could he expect to convince her?
"There's no need to send them away," said Evans, crossing her arms, and nodding at the retreating backs of his friends. "I don't want to have anything to do with you. My answer is still no."
"I wasn't going to ask you out," said James, ruffling his hair. "Really," he said, then added to salvage a bit of his pride, "There are plenty of other girls in this school, girls who'd love to go with me."
For some reason, Evans ducked her head into the classroom, as if checking to see if something was still there. "There is always that possibility. There are other girls with green eyes, and he could be mistaken."
James didn't know what to make of her comment. "That's not the point. Right now I don't care if you spend all your time with that pillock Prewett, or the giant squid, just don't spend it with Harris."
Evans blinked at him. She opened her mouth, as if prepared to say something, then shut it. She blinked at him again, then said in a cool voice, "Why shouldn't I spend my time with him?"
"Well, do you know where he's from?" said James, proceeding carefully.
"Well, no."
"How about who his friends are, or who he associates with. Do you know that?"
"No."
"Do you know his views on the War?"
"I assume they're the same as mine, or yours."
"You assume—he could be a Death Eater!"
"I doubt that."
"He could be from a Dark family," said James. "You don't know—his parents could end up being You-Know-Who's most loyal followers—"
"Well, I do know who his parents are," she said, interrupting him.
"And?" James demanded.
"His mother, well, if she really is his mother, is all right, and his father is an arrogant sod I wouldn't put anything past," said Evans, eyes glinting at what seemed to be a private joke.
"See, what I mean?" said James, gesturing towards the classroom door. "Who knows what sort of things he's learned from his father? The best way to enjoy a spot of torture? How to be the best sadistic bastard who gets his jollies off other people's pain?"
Evans burst into laughter. At that moment, Harris came through the doorway, and stood looking between Evans and James. "What's going on?"
James took a step towards Harris, drawing his wand out. "Look you, I don't care what your father's taught you, but if you so much as try anything, you'll have me to deal with."
Harris gaped at him, while Evans doubled over in her laughing fit.
Harris said, "What are you talking about?"
Evans gripped Harris' sleeve, and for a brief moment, James was hyper-aware of the both of them, as if they were standing in strong sunlight while the rest of the corridor was cast in the dim shadows of the late afternoon. Evans told Harris what was going on, in a loud, giggling whisper.
Harris looked as lost as James felt.
Evans stopped gasping for breath, and straightened up. Her cheek twitched as if suppressing a smile, and her eyes glittered, as she addressed James. "He's not his father."
"You don't know that for sure," said James.
"Everyone does keep comparing me to my father," said Harris, expression shifting through a quick succession of indecipherable emotions.
James glared at Harris. "You see? Even he admits it. Who knows what he picked up—what filthy, conniving things he's done—what sort of trouble his father encouraged him to get into—"
Evans pressed her hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking, before the laughter seemed to burst out of her. She doubled over, laughing so hard it looked painful. James and Harris gaped at her. She sank to the floor, shuddering and half-gasping and half-choking, as she struggled to laugh and breathe at the same time.
Harris took out his wand and cast a Sobering charm on her.
"Thanks, Harry," she said, still giggling quietly to herself, before she glimpsed Harris' expression; the mirth melted off her. "I meant it. You're not him." She flashed a wry smile. "Besides, you were hatched, remember?"
Harris groaned, looking from James' half-wrathful and half-bewildered expression, to Evans' peculiar facial contortions as she attempted to suppress her laughter, and said, "As if my life weren't strange enough."
"So it's not very nice." She cast her eyes down. "But you've got to admit, it is pretty funny," said Evans, starting to giggle again.
"Maybe," said Harris, then seemed to catch Evans' mood, and fought down a smile.
James, looking between the two, at their identical half guilty and half amused expressions, had the feeling that they were sharing a private joke. At his expense.
"Fine," he said, desperately attempting a bored, unconcerned tone. "Be it on your own head then. I don't care if you snog him to your own doom."
His statement was met by identical stares of incomprehension.
Harris roused himself from his stupor, and then said, "She would never—that's just—how dare you!"
James and Evans stared at Harris, trying to figure out what was behind the vehemence of his reply. Then Evans' eyes widened in realization, and her face flushed.
"You think…" said Evans, clenching her fists, and looking at James as if he'd just called her the M-word. She glared at him, and shouted, "I'd give myself up to the Death Eaters first, before I'd ever do something so monstrous!"
James, who felt like he was missing some vital part of the conversation, said, "What?"
Evans' anger collapsed, and her eyes widened in horror, as if a horrible thought occurred to her. Trembling, she turned to Harris, and said in a shaking voice, "Er…I don't, do I?"
Harris gaped at her for a moment, before he shook himself. "NO!" he bellowed. "You would never! NO!"
Evans sagged against the wall. "Oh," she said faintly. "That…that's a relief."
Harris shuddered, and glanced at James out of the corner of his eye with great circumspection, as if what James had said was indicative of a diseased mind, and he didn't want to set James off. "I think I'm going to head up to Gryffindor. I need a shower."
Evans straightened up, and grabbed her bag, and eyed James as well. "Good idea."
They eyed him and sidled around him, before breaking into a brisk walk that was nearly a run.
James was left standing in the middle of the corridor, which was thankfully empty, as classes had ended for the day, and the only thing here were a bunch of classrooms.
"What the bloody hell just happened?" said James to the universe at large.
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Author's Notes:
To anyone who's reading this, I apologize for the lateness. My internet is possessed, and keeps kicking me off every two minutes. This is being posted on an outside computer. Then I had some trouble with this chapter, where it dragged and ran on too long without getting anywhere, so I had to cut half of it, and start over.
To anyone willing to give advice, does the pacing seem off? Is it too slow, or is rushed?