Seven by shoelacy

Sixth

“I still don’t understand why she won’t just give me a chance,” James complains as he throws his bag on the floor and falls on his bed with a dejected sigh.

“Well you’ve only acted like a bloody wanker around her since fourth year,” says Sirius as he tosses his tie in the general direction of his trunk and inspects himself in the mirror.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sirius ducks as a pillow comes flying in his direction.

“Her words, mate, not mine,” he says as he walks out for a rendezvous in an empty classroom with some Hufflepuff. James can’t remember her name and neither, he suspects, can Sirius.

“I have a hard time believing the words ‘bloody’ and ‘wanker’ are a part of Lily Evans’s vocabulary,” James mutters to a closed door, more for his sake than for anyone else’s.  He frowns as he places his arms behind his head and stares at the ceiling in silent contemplation.

The realization dawns on him slowly, and half an hour later he’s figured it out. James Potter, in all his infinite, sixteen-year-old wisdom, finally understands that he’s gone about wooing Lily Evans the wrong way.

Now, he is beginning to fear, it may be too late.