The Time of Cupids
There are twelve small, teensy, faded freckles splattered across James Potter’s nose. Yes, I counted correctly. No I didn’t count one freckle twice. How am I so sure? Because I just spent the past hour staring at his face, counting his cute, little, freckles. Hush up; I’m not a creep. I’m just in love.
My best friend is a cupid. He thought it would be funny to make James Sirius Potter and I fall in love. I thought it would be funny to shove his bow in places where the sun does not shine. We’re still not even.
Love is pain. Literally.
“You know, you should really learn how to keep that arrow of yours to yourself.” A small chuckle slipped past my lips as I caught my best mate hiding behind a suit of armor, his bow and arrow in hand. There was a familiar glint of mischief twinkling in his open eye, as he focused on a tiny, fourth year Hufflepuff walking beside a short, stout boy. “It’s rude to meddle with other people’s love life.” I whispered in his ear, attempting to congeal myself behind his tall, lean body.
Meet Mr. Pierce. Desmond Pierce. My best mate since age eleven.
If you must ask—yes, hiding behind suits of armors and stalking young couples (or any couple for that matter) is part of our daily routine. (No, I’m not kidding)
You see, Desmond here, is a Cupid—a very rare magical creature that have almost gone extinct in one of the earlier Wizard Wars. Why? I have no clue. I mean, what could a cupid possibly do in a war? Make enemies fall in love, so that they skip off into the sunset holding hands, forgetting that the entire world has gone to shit? That’s rather unlikely. Anyway, this little history lesson is irrelevant to my point.
Meet my best mate. He likes eating grass flavored jelly beans (I know, disgusting, right? I think it’s a Cupid thing), Quidditch (one of the many reasons why I love this boy with all my heart), and Layla Miller (the girl of his dreams, and my best-girl-friend. Although, he'd never, ever say it outloud). He hates—well what do you know—Valentines Day.
“Merlin, Vic. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He whispered nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the couple slowly approaching him. It was as if he was being sarcastic… I couldn’t really tell. I find it slightly hilarious that little Dessie here tries to pull of sarcasm as well as I do. “One,” he breathed. “Two,” Hey, look at that. Dessie knows how to count to two. “Three.” Oh damn. He knows how to count to three, too.
Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? My name is Victoria Rose, but no one in this world ever calls me Victoria except my irritable Grandmother who refuses to die. (Seriously, the woman is a hundred and five years old.) I love to play Quidditch, and I hate curly hair. It’s rather unfortunate that my hair is naturally curly and irrefutably refuses to stay flat. I’m extremely opinionated, and too sarcastic for my own good. Now enough about me. My life story is a bore.
A cry of pain echoed throughout the corridor as sharp, red arrow dug into the poor boy’s flesh. Personally, I think it’s unfair, and incredibly stupid for the arrow to have to go into person’s arse, just so it would work.
“God, Des.” I groaned. I absolutely detested hearing the cry of pain that came from the poor, unfortunate soul that has just been struck by a love arrow. “You couldn’t have warned me?”
He rolled his eyes, and walked back into the secret passage he came from. “I started counting! You knew what was coming.”
I sighed, following him through the small, dark corridor, pulling the suit of armor behind me. “I know—I just can’t ever get used to that.” I admitted. “Love sounds so… incredibly painful.”
Desmond chuckled, as always. “Love is pain, baby.” He hopped out of the portrait hole, and held out his hand for me to take. “That’s the one thing I learned as a Cupid. Love is pain.”
I chortled. “You’ll have to remind me of that next time.”
“Ah, ‘next time’.” We began walking down the corridor and Des slipped his arm over my shoulders casually. “The next time, shall be when you are out of Hogwarts, with a steady job, and completely stress free.”
There he goes being the over-protective git he always is. So I do what I always do. I elbowed him in the ribs. “Git.” I muttered under my breath.
He chuckled. “Alright, alright—you can have a boyfriend in Hogwarts. BUT he needs to have the Desmond seal of approval before he goes anywhere near you.”
I rolled my eyes, and fought back a smile. “As if I need your approval to date anyone.”
He laughed again, but this time, he did not look so playful. “Vic, take me seriously for once. I’m doing this for you. I’m only protecting you for all those heartless blokes out there. If only you can see a fourth of the heartbreak I’ve seen over the years, you wouldn’t even want to find love at all.”
Sighing, I wrapped my arm around his waist and pressed myself closer to him. I loved Desmond. “Thank you Des. But I’ll take my chances. I will be okay.”
I knew he cared. That was all Desmond ever did. Care and worry about me. But eventually, little girls need to learn how to stand on their own two feet.
“Mother of Merlin, James! CALM DOWN!” I screeched, attempting to project my voice through the large Quidditch Stadium. My stupid, idiotic Quidditch captain forced us (his poor, miserable team) to run laps. Why? Because he found his girlfriend—well, now ex-girlfriend) shagging the Slytherin Quidditch Captain in the broom shed.
That girl was daft anyway. She couldn’t tell the difference between a Snitch and a Quaffle. You would think that a girl like her would be familiar with all different types of balls by now. Bloody idiot.
Anyway. Back to my homicidal Captain, who by the way is currently lounging on his fucking broom, hovering above us as he watches us sweat and suffer under the heat. “IT’S NOT OUR BLOODY FAULT THAT SHE CHEATED ON YOU.” I grumbled loudly. “MAYBE IF YOU PERFORMED UP TO STANDARD, THEN SHE WOULD STILL BE SHAGGING YOUR PATHETIC ARSE.”
I get a little bit overboard when I’m tired, pissed, and hot. I can literally feel the sweat rolling down the side of my face, and down my cleavage. Let me tell you, it feels disgusting. I wouldn’t mind jumping into the Black Lake right about now. At least it’s cold, and the Giant Squid isn’t some stupid, heart broken teenager who takes his anger out on his fucking team.
Merlin, I hate Potter.
Oh, by the way. Meet James Sirius Potters. He’s hot (or so the entire female population of Hogwarts says). But be warned, he’s also the biggest prat alive. He’s Desmond’s best mate. I don’t know how, but he is. I know, I question it all the time too.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I heard him shout, being the almighty King of Prats that he is. Honestly, what is the purpose of asking what I had just said, even though we all know that he heard me perfectly? “Ten more laps, Rose!” And there it is.
“Fuck. Him.” I grumbled under my breath. “I fucking hate him.”
So I ran. Those ten, horrendous laps, I ran. And with every step I took, with ever collision between my foot and the dirty, I cursed Potter under my breath. Oh yes, I cursed him to bloody oblivion. Unfortunately, every time I took the last turn around the pitch, he was still standing there, right in the middle of the pitch, consuming valuable airspace with that ginormous head of his.
“Vicky, you know better than to speak against Potter.” I wanted to punch this idiot in the face for speaking to me in such a condescending manner. ‘Fuck. You.’ were the only two words running through my head at the moment. I knew I always hated him. Meet Peter Lockwood, the most annoying little bugger on the face of this planet. He’s our replacement keeper for the rest of this season until our real seeker, Rupe Tuttermen, gets better. He took a bludger to the head about two weeks ago—work of a Slytherin of course—and McGonagall refuses to allow him back on a broomstick until he is fully functioning. He’s rather loopy right now.
I ramble too much, don’t I?
“Shut the fuck up, Pete.” I snarled angrily, walking away from the tosser. I spotted Desmond and the lovely Layla Miller lounging on their broomsticks not far from the hoops, and I made my way over, hoping that either one of them could put me out of my misery.
“What?” I snapped furiously, turning around.
Potter was a lot closer than I expected.
Thanks to my graceful long legs, I smacked right into his chest—his rock hard chest. Since when was Potter so… built?
Focus girl. You’re mad at him, remember?
I glare at him. “What do you want?”
“I’m not finished with you yet.” He began, his eyes turning into slits as well. “You need to learn how to shut that annoyingly large mouth of yours, Rose. It could get you into trouble one day.”
The nerve of this guy. “What the hell is your problem Potter? You’ve been picking on me all day!” I snapped. “Did you even care to notice that Peter has missed every single quaffle thrown at him? Or that the snitch is still fluttering around in the air? And you’re the bloody seeker! Did you even notice that Layla was almost hit by a bludger because of Fred’s failure to comprehend the fact that bludgers aren’t a bloody toy? No! Because you’re too busy being a bloody prick to even realize that your team is falling apart!”
Boy, if I were a boy, Potter would’ve beaten me into a bloody pulp by now. I could see the red flush spreading through his neck and up to his cheeks. I could almost see the steam escaping through his ears. “Ten more laps, Rose.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he raised his arm and pointed to the track. “Go.” He growled, his low voice rumbling through his throat.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “No.”
“No?” he asked incredulously, incredibly surprised that his little ‘minion’ had just defied him. “No? You’re saying no? I’m your captain, Rose. I could easily kick you off this team like that.” He snapped his blasted fingers in front of my face.
Arguing and bickering as if there was no tomorrow was completely normal behavior for Potter and I. This little situation between us could have been worse. I mean, look around. No one is even paying attention to us. Well, maybe except Desmond and Layla.
“Go ahead.” I retorted in a low, challenging tone. “Kick me off the team. As if you will find a better chaser by the time the next game comes around—or for the rest of the year for that matter. You know very well—as well as I do in fact—that you need me on this team.”
Potter raised his big, fat, high and mighty head, and proceeded to scoff his brains out. “Oh please. I could replace you in a second. I’ve actually been looking at other students with potential out there to be a chaser.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh cut the crap, Potter. Even if you did find someone to replace me, this team wouldn’t be as good as it was.”
“I beg to differ, Vicky.” Ohhhhh, I quiver with fear.
“Alright then, Potter. Just remember, you got yourself into this shit hole. I fucking quit.” Is it just me, or does anyone else find it really weird that everyone suddenly just got really quiet?
After a couple of seconds of silence, I suddenly heard Layla’s ridiculously loud voice slicing through the air. “Vic.” She said in her ‘you better stop or you’ll get yourself into trouble’ tone. “Don’t be rash.” And that was Layla—the reason behind everything. “James, just stop it, you know very well that Vic is the best chaser out there.”
“Fine.” Potter said, completely ignoring the voice of reason that was Layla. “Quit then—you’ll be replaced by tomorrow’s practice.”
I laughed loudly and rather sarcastically. “I’d like to see you try, Potter.”
He glowered at me. “I can replace you in a heartbeat.” This boy was too confident for his own good. He’s going to land himself an empty Chaser position by the time the next game rolls around.
“Fine.” I assumed it was because I am too incredibly prideful and stubborn, two of my better traits. “I quit.” I spat the world out viciously, hoping that this prat standing before me would drown
in it. Potter thinks he can have me replaced in a heartbeat? I’d love to see him try. He will be groveling at my feet in about a week. No other Gryffindor will last a day
with James Freaking Potter as their captain.
I don’t know why I did it, honestly. Not being on the Quidditch team would mean that I would have all this spare time on my hands, and I would simply end up roaming the castle in search for something to occupy myself with. Also, not being on the team would mean that the lovely James Potter would no longer be available as anger/stress relief. I guess that’s one (more like the only) pro of having Potter as my blasted captain.
“What?” I heard Layla screech, having watched our entire dispute. “Vic, you can’t quit! We’ve got a game in two weeks! If you quit, James will end up working us all to the ground!” From the corner of my eye, I watched Layla viciously slap Desmond’s arm, who was looking incredibly nonchalant standing beside her. She begged him to do something about my stubbornness. “Des, would you please knock some sense into both of them?” she exclaimed, pointing to both Potter and me. “There is no way in hell that I am going to spend my next two weeks in this pitch, working until the dirt has permanently settled into my skin.”
Now, when Layla demanded for Desmond to knock
some sense into both Potter and me, I expected something along the lines of oral reasoning—probably a little speech that sounded a little like ‘You two are crazy—Vic, you’re not going to quit the team, and James, stop being such an arsehole’. You know, the standard speech that would come from a mutual best friend. However, I suppose I was stupid enough to expect the usual from Desmond of all people—Desmond who was in fact, a Cupid! Distastefully, Cupids believed in the unexpected nature of love. Unexpected in the sense that it may blossomed from the most unlikely pair in the world, which is probably why Desmond thought it was necessary to shoot my
arse with a bleeding arrow. Unwillingly, a cry of pain escaped my lips as the arrow tore through my flesh and mingled with my flowing blood.
Guess who was the first man I saw.
James Freaking Potter, that’s who.
Desmond won’t get away with this. No—not until I’m buried ten feet beneath the ground.
Oh gee—I never noticed how James Potter was so… cute.
another new james/oc! tell me what you guys think :)