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post-001. january 1976.
Dec. 2nd, 2010 10:12 amJanuary, 1976 — 17:25 hours.
Hogwarts, Scotland.
Outside the Quidditch arena.
James Potter has just finished practice out on the Quidditch Pitch with his team.
Naturally, this means he is at his absolute best.
He's a bit dirty, but not overly so; his hair is mussed up in just the perfect way; and he's a little flushed. There's a healthy glow about his cheeks that he's certain makes him look a whole lot cooler than he would usually look in his robes.
(Though he is of the opinion that he looks quite cool in those, too.)
After a quick chat with a couple of rather enthusiastic Gryffindor girls (and one Hufflepuff) waiting outside the arena, James heads into the change-rooms.
Almost reluctantly.
A week of snogging several girls and being watched from the stands of the Quidditch Pitch has not erased the images of that fateful evening with the mistletoe from his mind. Oh, it's been brilliant in the meantime, but it hasn't been the same.
He'd been absolutely torn (sometimes unbothered, sometimes miserable) during his Christmas hols. Sirius started to deeply regret ever laughing at him because he had to suffer the brunt of James' unpredictable moods.
Drinking themselves through five bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey turned into a whinge-fest.
By the end of it, James had a feeling Sirius was beginning to think Christmas with the Blacks was actually the better alternative. They barely made it through Christmas dinner and it was all thanks to Mrs Potter who refilled Sirius' plate another time, and then another, to keep him from going on about James' ridiculous reaction.
Well, serves him right, James had thought. Even now, he doesn't feel like too much of a git about it.
Peter is waiting for him outside of the changerooms when James emerges dressed once more in his Gryffindor robes, book-bag slung over his shoulder.
Peter's manner seems meeker than usual. James could daresay he almost looks a bit ... scared. (Well, that would explain why Wormy 'turned tail' and left quite quickly whenever he was about.
Until now, of course.)
"Um. Prongs! There you are. C-could I have a word?"
"Yeah, all right." James eyes his friend. "I haven't seen you all week, Wormtail. Busy earning those O's?"
For a moment, there's nothing but awkward silence.
Then Peter starts to laugh.
A lot.
"Oh — ha ha. That's — that's a good one, James."
James ... doesn't say anything else to that. "Er — so are you all right? How was your holiday?"
"It was fine. Though, ah — we'd run out of floo powder the evening before Christmas, which caused an awful stir getting the rest of my family to the house. My mum and my aunt Enid got into a huge row about it. Took the train, I think." He twists his fingers together, keeping his glance down. "Anyway. Ah — I was just. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It's about what happened before we all left for Christmas."
"You mean with Evans."
"Yes. I just wanted to — I didn't — that is, I never got the proper chance to apologize for it."
"Blimey, Wormtail. What've you got to apologize for? If anything, Evans ought to apologize to you for — coming on to you like that."
(Yeah, that's his story and he's sticking to it.)
"Not the other way around."
Peter laughs again, nervous. Jittery. He's always had the ability to transfer those nerves to James who suddenly feels a bit uncomfortable himself.
Never mind.
He puts an arm around his friend. "Forget about the whole thing, yeah? Listen, why don't we head to Hogsmeade later this evening. I'll buy you a round of butterbeers. No hard feelings or anything like that."
"R-really? Oh." Peter's eyes start to take on that shiny look that strongly resembles a — well, rodential creature. "Brilliant. Uh — thanks, James. Thanks."
"Of course. Anything for my mates."
Never mind that it'll take at least another five girls to snog for him to balance things out.
Hogwarts, Scotland.
Outside the Quidditch arena.
James Potter has just finished practice out on the Quidditch Pitch with his team.
Naturally, this means he is at his absolute best.
He's a bit dirty, but not overly so; his hair is mussed up in just the perfect way; and he's a little flushed. There's a healthy glow about his cheeks that he's certain makes him look a whole lot cooler than he would usually look in his robes.
(Though he is of the opinion that he looks quite cool in those, too.)
After a quick chat with a couple of rather enthusiastic Gryffindor girls (and one Hufflepuff) waiting outside the arena, James heads into the change-rooms.
Almost reluctantly.
A week of snogging several girls and being watched from the stands of the Quidditch Pitch has not erased the images of that fateful evening with the mistletoe from his mind. Oh, it's been brilliant in the meantime, but it hasn't been the same.
She stands up, brings the hand
with the mistletoe up over
Pettigrew's head and then
kisses him full on the mouth.
"Merry Christmas, Peter."
He'd been absolutely torn (sometimes unbothered, sometimes miserable) during his Christmas hols. Sirius started to deeply regret ever laughing at him because he had to suffer the brunt of James' unpredictable moods.
Drinking themselves through five bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey turned into a whinge-fest.
By the end of it, James had a feeling Sirius was beginning to think Christmas with the Blacks was actually the better alternative. They barely made it through Christmas dinner and it was all thanks to Mrs Potter who refilled Sirius' plate another time, and then another, to keep him from going on about James' ridiculous reaction.
Well, serves him right, James had thought. Even now, he doesn't feel like too much of a git about it.
Peter is waiting for him outside of the changerooms when James emerges dressed once more in his Gryffindor robes, book-bag slung over his shoulder.
Peter's manner seems meeker than usual. James could daresay he almost looks a bit ... scared. (Well, that would explain why Wormy 'turned tail' and left quite quickly whenever he was about.
Until now, of course.)
"Um. Prongs! There you are. C-could I have a word?"
"Yeah, all right." James eyes his friend. "I haven't seen you all week, Wormtail. Busy earning those O's?"
For a moment, there's nothing but awkward silence.
Then Peter starts to laugh.
A lot.
"Oh — ha ha. That's — that's a good one, James."
James ... doesn't say anything else to that. "Er — so are you all right? How was your holiday?"
"It was fine. Though, ah — we'd run out of floo powder the evening before Christmas, which caused an awful stir getting the rest of my family to the house. My mum and my aunt Enid got into a huge row about it. Took the train, I think." He twists his fingers together, keeping his glance down. "Anyway. Ah — I was just. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It's about what happened before we all left for Christmas."
"You mean with Evans."
"Yes. I just wanted to — I didn't — that is, I never got the proper chance to apologize for it."
"Blimey, Wormtail. What've you got to apologize for? If anything, Evans ought to apologize to you for — coming on to you like that."
(Yeah, that's his story and he's sticking to it.)
"Not the other way around."
Peter laughs again, nervous. Jittery. He's always had the ability to transfer those nerves to James who suddenly feels a bit uncomfortable himself.
"And honestly, Potter, mistletoe,
enchanted or otherwise,
isn't going to change the fact
that we've all known him for
five years and ... well, no one
I know has a crush on Peter Pettigrew."
Never mind.
He puts an arm around his friend. "Forget about the whole thing, yeah? Listen, why don't we head to Hogsmeade later this evening. I'll buy you a round of butterbeers. No hard feelings or anything like that."
"R-really? Oh." Peter's eyes start to take on that shiny look that strongly resembles a — well, rodential creature. "Brilliant. Uh — thanks, James. Thanks."
"Of course. Anything for my mates."
Never mind that it'll take at least another five girls to snog for him to balance things out.
