the girlfriend experience, james potter
𝒔𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟕
chapter seven, LOSSES AND LUCK
✧ ━━━ · ✦ · ━━━ ✧
"WHY DOESN'T SHE LOVE ME?"
James' bed creaked under his body, as he flopped onto the mattress in defeat, and as his voice looped around the room, like a depressing song from a romance movie. A romance movie, where the romance aspect, is failing.
He had asked Lily Evans out again. Invited her to Hogsmeade this weekend. She said no (no surprise there) and to say James is disappointed, would be an understatement. The boy's crushed. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. Why wouldn't she want to go out with the James Potter? He's practically a Sex God. It's a complete mystery to James. What's wrong with him? No, actually, what on earth is that unappealing about him that causes Lily Evans to refuse a simple date with him on numerous occasions? Not only does the fact that he still hasn't gotten her to go out with him is bad enough to live with, but the fact that he doesn't know why hurts even more.
"Maybe you need to approach it in a more subtle way?" Peter suggested, perching himself on the bed beside James'. The Seeker folded his hands behind his head, and sighed, staring into the abyss that is the roof of his four-poster bed.
Sirius scoffed, "Subtle?" he repeated incredulously. "James Potter doesn't do "subtle"."
Both statements are very true. James Potter probably could try a more toned-down, sophisticated way to ask the poor girl out (or accept that she doesn't like him and move on, but that would never happen) since every time he's done it up until now has been far too extravagant and therefore irritating. But then Black's statement is just as correct ─ James Potter doesn't know how to be calm and quiet. It's just not in his nature.
James pondered for a moment, analysing every last detail of the fabric hung in a dome above his bed. After a few seconds of hard thinking, he propped himself up on his elbows, and stared straight ahead, where his third friend was peacefully reading on his bed. "Remus."
Remus Lupin didn't look up from his book. "Oh God, here we go," he muttered just under his breath.
James took no interest in whatever Remus had just uttered to himself, and stated simply: "You're smart."
Remus exhaled out, predicting that his friend's flattery was simply a manoeuvre to get Remus to do something. Remus flicked over a page in his book aggressively and forced a smile, "Thank you, James."
James sat up, and crossed his legs underneath his body, "Help me out here," he said.
Remus was yet to look up from his book. Maybe if he avoided eye contact for long enough, James would go away. "I don't want any part of this."
James cocked his head, "How can I ask Evans out in a way that guarantees she'll say yes?"
This was the exact question Remus expected to hear and yet he still internally groaned. Remus had been putting up with James' Lily shenanigans for far too long, and as Lily Evan's friend, Remus wanted to help her out and get James off of her back. He had heard Lily complain about James for hours, and he agreed with every last word of it ─ James Potter is arrogant and far too entitled. But then, for the past six years, Remus has always had the duty of being James' best friend and helping him get the girl of his dreams in any way he could. Remus was stuck in the middle. Remus didn't want any part of this anymore.
He finally glanced up from his book and lowered his glasses to sit further down his nose, "Don't?" he suggested.
James seemed to be baffled by the suggestion as if there was no way on planet earth giving up on Lily Evans was an option. His brows furrowed and he stared at Remus like the boy had three eyes and tentacles for arms. "Don't?" he repeated in disbelief.
Remus shrugged, "Yeah, don't ask her out," he said bluntly, shoving his reading glasses back up his nose and redirecting his eyes back onto the pages of his book.
"I think you missed the point of the question, Moony," Peter said, his face scrunched up a little.
"I understood perfectly," Remus replied. "The reason she keeps saying no is because she doesn't like you, James."
James Potter had never felt so offended in his life. He silently gasped, retreating back to his headboard. "Harsh," he spat, folding his arms across his chest.
Being the child he truly is, James grew out of his sulking phase quite quickly and sprang to his feet seconds later. "Well, that's definitely not it, so Moony's useless," he determined, causing Remus to pull a confused face. Concluding that this was always James' problem and never his, Remus shook his head, folded his legs into his chest, and buried himself deeper into his book. James looked at Sirius then down at Peter; his eyes not resting until someone gave him a brilliant idea to solve his heartache. "Anyone else got any bright ideas?"
The dorm went silent ─ Sirius rubbing his thumb along his chin; Peter piercing his eyes into the bin across the room lost in deep thought; James biting his lip; and Remus, well, Remus didn't care what they were up to.
Suddenly, Sirius' face lit up with glee and he snapped his fingers. Remus wanted to switch off his ears. "I've got it," Sirius declared, and James suddenly let go of his lip and gawked at his friend in anticipation. "Tomorrow's match!"
"Elaborate," James drawled, his grin creeping up his face.
"Win the match tomorrow," Sirius said, "and she'll have to go out with you."
It was Gryffindor v Slytherin the next day, one of the most important matches of the season ─ the very first one. Two great rivals battling it out on the pitch, till sudden death. James has quite possibly, the most important role out of his whole team ─ he's the seeker. 150 points, all in the palm of his hand.
Remus narrowed his eyes at his group of friends, all collected on the other side of the room, apparently, none of whom had any knowledge on how the female brain works. "I'm not sure that's how this works-" he began questioning their logic, but James cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
"Padfoot's right," James said. "If I catch the snitch tomorrow-"
"-Which you will," Peter interjected, his smile broader than ever.
"Which I will," James agreed. "Evans will have no choice but to date me. I'll be Gryffindor's most wanted. If she doesn't go out with me sooner rather than later, I'll be taken before she can even say the word Quidditch."
✧
"HE SHOOTS AND HE SCORES! TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!"
Sirius Black's voice boomed around the Quidditch stadium, accompanied by the roaring choir of the Gryffindor stands, where flags were waved, and banners thrusted into the air.
The score was 40-70, Gryffindor in the lead, and James Potter's ego was through the roof. Even if he had nothing to do with the thirty point lead, and was not pulling his weight due to a lack of snitch sightings ─ he just liked to be on the winning team.
Bronwyn Ward, however, adorned in glowing green robes, wearing her Slytherin emblem on her chest with pride, wasn't as happy as she planned to be, forty-five minutes into her match against Gryffindor.
She had flown high enough to spectate the entire pitch in one glance, and her eyes were like darts, switching from one player to the next, while also keeping alert for a tiny golden speck that could appear at any minute. The only thing that was keeping Bronwyn from screaming out of pure frustration because her team, her team, was losing to the Goddamn Lions, was the fact that James Potter hadn't shown any signs of locating the Golden Snitch either, and that kept the angry demon at bay.
Her heart was beating against the walls of her ribs and she prayed Sirius Black would shut his bloody mouth for just five wonderful seconds so she could put her head on straight and win this fucking match like she planned to. She had faith in her chasers to pull through, but the feeling of being thirty points behind made her sick to her stomach.
Bronwyn noticed James fly higher, to the point where he was almost level with her. He swooshed in one smooth circle and rotated inward to face the pitch. The two of them hovered in the air, on opposite ends of the pitch, spectating the match before them, just like the other hundreds of students in the stands. It was like a staring competition; some scary shit out of a movie. His eyes pierced on hers and even if he was a good hundred meters away from her, she could smell his smugness from where she was floating.
She had to win this match. She Goddamn had to. Otherwise, she'd never hear the end of it. Imagine if she lost the Interhouse Cup to Gryffindor altogether. Imagine the family dinners. James would blabber about the texture of the victory cup beneath his fingertips to her parents over a game of Scrabble after a word reminded him of the time he beat Bronwyn. He'd talk about all that sappy crap about being so grateful for such amazing opportunities with such an amazing team. A shiver ran down Bronwyn's spine, and she felt the vomit ascend her throat. Gosh, what an ugly thought.
Just then, a flash of light blinded her peripheral vision. A glimmer of gold, darting from one place to the next, tearing through the air. Bronwyn could recognise that feeling anywhere, that initial spark of aureate marking the turning point of the game. Of course she would recognise it, it's her shitting job.
Her eyes were set to high alert, and she tightened her grip on the stem of her broom. Her ears listened for the faint flattering sound that followed the coveted Golden Snitch, and when she heard it for a second time, the nerve endings all over her body stood up, like the hairs on her arms.
A second later, and she was in pursuit of the Golden Snitch. She didn't feel as sick anymore. If anything, her heart was beating faster, in the most excited way possible, and the blood was rushing through her veins faster than her broom was carrying her through the air.
The snitch was in her tracks now; straight ahead, almost at arms reach. But James had caught on and was on her trail. She struggled to shake him, and after a few seconds of strategic steering and tipping against her broom, James was racing by her side. The two seekers bolted through the air, like professional streamlined athletes, chasing the tiny ball all across the pitch. Every set of eyes was on them, and both of them could feel it. What once was a thrilling, individual hunt for the snitch, that made her engines ignite, and her core to spark with anticipation, now felt like a massive weight on her shoulders.
James reached out his hand, causing his broom to lean to the side, and therefore knock against Bronwyn's. Her weight faltered to the side, and she sent him a nasty scowl, that made his face light up with priggish glee. He swished his hand closer to the snitch, but it dodged his grasp, and his new weight distribution caused his whole body to rock forward. This left room for Bronwyn to accelerate ahead, and she had now gained at least a meter on her opponent in red. James was going to struggle to close the gap.
She plunged her body weight forward, nudging her broom to speed up just that little bit more. And when it did, it gave her the confidence to reach out her hand and grab the tiny speck of gold that was twitching in front of her. And let Bronwyn tell you, there is nothing better than feeling that shiny, smooth surface beneath your touch, and having the golden light reflecting in your eyes as you hold it in your hand, and admire your glorious win.
The Slytherin stands erupted into roaring praise when she launched her hand into the sky, to show off her achievement. Her team enveloped their Captain in a celebratory hug, cheering loudly in a huddle in their air. Sirius Black's voice echoed around the stadium, announcing Bronwyn's attainment of the Golden Snitch, and Slytherin's newly awarded 150 points, ergo announcing Slytherin's win; his tone a lot less triumphant than earlier. The wings of the snitch fluttered outward in her still raised grasp, and James coward on his broom from the sidelines, his head hung low, avoiding the sparkle of the Golden Snitch that his opponent held rightfully in her hand.
After losing to your top rival, the worst part is the shaking hands at the end of the match. Madam Hooch thinks it's the most important part in sport ─ making peace after a loss. James just thinks it's stupid. He's going to beat Slytherin next time, he guarantees it, so why should he temporarily bury the hatchet, just to uproot it come the next time he plays them?
With a scowl permanently fixated on his face, James trudged to the middle of the pitch, where the Slytherin team stood in a line, expressions of grandeur modelled on each of them. James started at the end, forcing an awkward smile every time he shook the hand of a new player.
He stared at the ground when he got to Bronwyn. Her hair was neatly tucked behind her ears, and she sported a delightful grin, that only widened when James shuffled in front of her. She held out her hand boldly, resisting every urge to act even more pompous than she already was, and James could have vomited in his mouth.
Don't be immature. Don't be immature. Don't be immature.
"You're just lucky the wind was behind you."
Or just be immature that's okay too.
Bronwyn chuckled, her amusement radiating off of her, and she grinned broadly when she refocused her gaze onto the sulking boy. She had always known James Potter had some growing up to do, but it seems he's the same sore loser he was when they were seven. "Lucky?" she repeated incredulously, her tone still thick with hilarity. "Oh no, sweetie, I'm just good."
James loured at the girl, specifically the arm she firmly held out, ready for him to shake. He dismissed her invite for a truce and narrowed his eyes into hers. "You knew our strategies," he said. "I'll bet you used them against us."
Bronwyn toned down her wide grin, to a more subtle get over it, punk smirk. "Like I said before, Potter, I didn't catch any of your strategies, nor did I want to," she said. "We're just better than you. And the sooner you accept that, the better."
James clenched the muscles in his jaw even harder and his whole face began to ache. But no matter, he maintained his foul glare and continued to ignore her outstretched hand.
Bronwyn's shoulders sagged and she exhaled deeply, "Just shake my Goddamn hand, will you, Potter?" she snapped. "You're holding up the line."
James rolled his eyes and reluctantly connected their hands in an awkward shake, only because his teammates were nudging at him to keep the line moving. He released his grip at the first appropriate time, three seconds later, and stormed away like the sore loser he remains to be.
As the rest of his team finished off shaking the hands of the winners in green, James stood on to the side and gazed wistfully at the depressingly silent Gryffindor stands, where flags had been lowered, and banners folded up. And only one thing came to mind: his game plan had failed abysmally.
Catch the Golden Snitch? Fail.
Win the match? Fail.
Therefore successfully ask Lily Evans on a date and get the answer he wanted? He didn't even want to try with that one. Another Big Fat Fail, with a capital F.
What the fuck does he do now?
———————————————