Girl Girls
TUESDAY. SEPTEMBER 7, 1971.
The Gryffindor common room is packed full well before breakfast. James hasn’t seen it this busy since the first-years had finished picking rooms. Even then, it hadn’t felt quite so crowded. After all, first-years are teeny.
James uses this fact to his advantage as he squeezes between the clusters of older students. The air is thick with nervous energy. It looks like a couple third-year boys are crying. What they could possibly be crying about so early in the day, James has no idea.
It’s quite nice outside today. A bit chilly, but nothing terrible. Breakfast is sure to be good. Most professors haven’t started assigning too much work yet. Things are good, honestly. So what’s all this fuss about?
“James!”
Marlene, the girl from flying class and quidditch tryouts, is seated on the sofa near the fireplace. She waves James over.
“Oi oi,” James grins as he complies, flopping down into the seat beside her. She returns his smile. “What’s all this then?”
The majority of the commotion appears to be centralized near the bulletin board. It’s functioning as a hub. When someone enters the common room, they make a beeline straight for it, then fight their way through the crowd to get a glimpse of whatever it is they’re all staring at.
“Stephen’s posted the list for the second round of tryouts.” Marlene’s sat on her knees, facing the back of the sofa to watch the crowd.
“Brilliant!” James immediately whirls around to mirror her. It’s useless, of course. The crowd is much too dense for him to see anything of value. “Did you get a look? Was I right about Lee?”
“No,” Marlene shakes her head. Her golden plaits whip around her face. “Not a good one, at least. Pretty sure Lee got cut, though.”
That’s too bad. Lee was decent at tryouts. James thought he might make for a good Keeper with a little more work.
A lanky boy escapes from the fold, looking dizzy. He stumbles over to the sofa and grabs at the back to steady himself. Clearly, he’s seen the list. Perfect!
“Hey! You!” James calls out, pointing at the second year. “Did Cecil Lee get cut?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” The boy croaks. Honestly, James believes him. He looks rather green at the gills. Cecil Lee is quickly forgotten.
“You ought to sit down,” James stands up, offering the older boy his spot on the sofa.
The boy collapses into the chair and buries his face in his hands. James and Marlene share a look. She’s pressing her lips together firmly, trying not to snicker, but her eyes give away her bemusement.
“Got cut?” She asks, patting his knee. She manages to sound sympathetic despite the mirth rippling across her features.
The boy shakes his head. “Worse!”
“Worse than getting cut?” James feels himself pull a face. If you ask James, there’s no such thing. He’d just absolutely die if he didn’t even make it to the second round next year.
Not that that would ever happen. Obviously. James fully expects he’ll be a chaser next year. Honestly, he ought to be a chaser this year, but first-years aren’t allowed to try out. It’s a stupid rule.
“I knew I should have just tried out for Chaser.” The boy groans.
James does his best to quickly flick through tryouts in his mind. This boy was there, which means James has seen him before. But placing his face to a name on the roster is difficult. After all, it’s not like James would have gotten a good view of the guy’s face. Not if he was any good, at least. James has to imagine anyone who was flying slowly enough to have their face memorized would have gotten the boot.
Marlene beats him to it.
“Oh!” She snaps excitedly. “You’re Longbottom! Beater, right?”
Of course! Frank Longbottom. Second-year. Used a Nimbus at tryouts. Now that James has pinpointed Longbottom’s identity, the reason for the other boy’s squeamish appearance is pretty evident.
Longbottom had stuck around for the Beater portion of tryouts. Everybody knows Stephen Gould, captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, plays Beater. Longbottom must still be vying for the second spot.
“I’m an idiot!” Longbottom drags his hands through his shaggy hair. “Why did I listen to my mum?”
Finally, Marlene can’t keep herself from giggling any longer. Longbottom shoots her a withering look. She covers her mouth.
“I remember you!” James exclaims, trying to recall the exact number of bludgers the older boy had managed to hit. “You were pretty good!”
It’s not a lie. Longbottom had been pretty good. A little unsure of himself, perhaps. Which, of course, is not a quality one wants in a beater. But he was fast and pretty strong! Plus, Gould must think he’s got potential if he wants to see him again. Really, James thinks, he doesn’t have any reason to be getting so spun out.
“Don’t worry so much.”
“He should worry.” A girl’s voice floats over from the crowd near the bulletin board.
“Piss off, Alice.” Longbottom groans, sounding absolutely miserable.
Alice Fortescue, a second-year girl with short brown hair, laughs and perches herself on the back of the sofa. Her James remembers right away. She’s rather petite, maybe only a bit taller than Remus. When James saw her at beater tryouts, he’d nearly laughed. But she was good. What she lacked in wingspan, she made up for in enthusiasm. And she certainly didn’t seem to have Longbottom’s confidence problem.
“Feel like forfeiting?” She asks, “Would save us some time.”
“I don’t forfeit,” Longbottom says, jutting his chin out at her.
“Just checking.” Alice’s voice is all singsongy. This entire interaction is a game for her. “I’ll see you on the pitch.”
“Not if I see you first!” Longbottom snaps.
Alice laughs, and he quickly turns as red as his tie.
“I guess it’s a race then,” She winks.
Longbottom turns even redder as Alice hops off the couch and walks off. James had previously been unaware people could blush that particular shade.
“Excuse me,” Longbottom says, quickly pushing himself to his feet and scrambling after her.
As soon as he’s out of sight, Marlene starts laughing again. James reclaims his seat next to her. “That was weird.” He says.
Marlene wipes her eyes. “A bit, yeah.”
James stares after the second-years; he can practically feel the gears in his head turning. They’re moving much too slowly for his liking. “Why’d he get all red?”
Marlene’s laughter stops momentarily. She blinks at James. “Are you serious?”
James shrugs. The conversation had been going perfectly well, then Longbottom got all flustered. He practically handed her the win.
“Are you daft?” She rolls her eyes. “He obviously fancies her.”
It’s like a veil has been lifted from his eyes. The previous interaction becomes much clearer. Longbottom hadn’t been nervous about Gould. He’d been nervous about Alice … Well, that’s much less fun. James frowns. He sort of wants the veil back. “Ew.”
“Ew?”
“Bit gross, isn’t it?” James scratches the back of his neck. He suddenly feels put on the spot in a way he’s not quite accustomed to. “Girls are gross.”
Marlene punches him. Pain shoots up his shoulder.
“What was that for?!” He yelps as he grabs his assaulted shoulder. Marlene’s hands may be small, but she’s awfully strong.
“I’m a girl!” She growls.
“Well yeah. ‘Course.” Duh. James knows Marlene is a girl. He has eyes, thank you very much. “But you’re not a girl girl or anything.”
“Of course I’m a girl girl!” She insists, looking affronted. “I’m a girl!”
“Right. Fine.” James surrenders, still not completely understanding her sudden rage. “But you’re not gross.” He explains.
‘You’re cool.’ Is all he means. It’s all he meant in the first place!
His forfeit seems to have placated Marlene. She nods once triumphantly as if to say, ‘Glad that’s settled.’
James lets her have the victory. He hadn’t meant anything offensive anyway. Not even when he called girls gross. It’s not that bad! It’s just sort of… true most of the time. They tend to like weird things and speak in code.
Not all girls! Just girl girls. But it’s difficult to tell which girls are girl girls before you speak to them. Alice didn’t seem like she’d be a girl girl, so maybe it’s not too gross for Frank to fancy her.
Still, James can’t imagine himself ever trailing around after a girl like Longbottom just now. Especially not one who was his competition in quidditch! That has to be some type of treason.
“I’m going down for breakfast,” Marlene announces, standing up and brushing herself off.
“I’ll come too,” James says, springing up as well. “Let me just go wake Peter.”