"What are you doing?" His voice cracked as he watched her lean toward him.
"What, Potter?" A smirk caught her lips as she got even closer. "Gryffindor's chaser isn't used to being chased?"
°°°
Wisteria Rose Cresskle has always been a fan of games:...
noun 1. a state of extreme physical or mental fatigue.
"Leave me to wallow in my own exhaustion."
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~*~*~*~
Peter Pettigrew could recall every detail of how James' second attempt to ask out Lily Evans had gone.
While the first had been private and by the black lake, the second one had been public and far less romantic. Peter only remembered it because it had been his idea. More than that, it had been the very first idea of his that the rest of the Marauders had deemed brilliant enough to pursue. So, consequently, the memory had been burned into his brain for all time as if it were a trophy: an award declaring he was finally a real member of the group.
That's why he couldn't seem to pick his jaw off of the ground as he stared at Wisteria Cresskle standing on the Gryffindor bench in the middle of the Great Hall during dinner.
News of her rejection a few nights before had spread like wildfire through the school. Some people sent her pitying glances, others scoffed at how desperate and obnoxious she was being. But in that week, though she hadn't approached James again, Wisteria had continued sending letters and bouquets. Perhaps at a more manageable amount—the semester had really gotten into full swing now—but they never ceased. Peter found it funny how James tried and failed to look annoyed at her constant gifts. No matter what he said, Prongs was prideful as a peacock every time a letter arrived.
But this wasn't a letter.
James was blushing head to toe as he stared at the girl calling for the great hall to quiet themselves. Surprisingly, this was an easy task as everyone in the school—teachers included—were far more curious than they cared to let on. "Can you hear me alright, Potter?" She asked with a cheeky grin. The marauder nodded slowly in reply, eyes wide and ears tinged pink. "Wonderful. Now, I would like to lay out the benefits of dating me." James gulped at the intensity of her grey eyed stare. "First, I'll bake your favorite cookies." Nevaeh Albright appeared from behind the girl with a plate full of salted carmel cookies.
Peter felt Moony still beside him at the sight of the Albright girl. Peter had stilled as well, but for a much different reason. That had been the line. The first line. The beginning of his suggestion for wooing Lily. Peter had even had to go on a mission to learn the girl's favorite cookies because, for some reason, James had all of the wrong information on the love of his life (for goodness sake, the girl loved oatmeal raisin and was allergic to peanut butter. Why in the world would James think peanut butter cookies were her favorite?). What were the odds? The cookies and standing on the bench in the Great Hall: was it a coincidence?
"Second!" Wisteria grinned, immediately quieting the whispers that had spread throughout the room. "I certainly don't have chicken legs." She winked at him while pulling her skirt up just a little, making the blush spread from James' ears to the top of his nose. At her words, a chicken leg appeared on his plate. Whistles were ringing out across the hall: Sirius being the loudest of all. "And third," she remarked with a devilish grin, kneeling onto the table and leaning over the food. Wisteria grabbed his tie, her lip between her teeth as she yanked him closer to her. Their faces were only a few inches apart and James Potter seemed to have forgotten how to breathe properly. "I'm told my lips taste like strawberries."
