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Finding Out About A Little Thing Called Love by JamesSiriusPotterII
Chapter 1 : Bludgers+Bats and Meeting HER
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 4

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A/N: New story peeps! I was going to wait till Just Go With It and BAMF crew were finished but I couldn’t help it. I’ve already been requested to do a Marauder fic and I hope it’ll be popular. I’ve got quite a few ideas, and if you haven’t already, check out my other two fics and don’t be put off by the fact that the BAMF crew isn’t based on JKR’s characters. I always try and keep to what she writes anyways. So, ENJOY!

'My collection of Muggle items that help with incontinence are not for ‘borrowing’ thank you very much' -Sirius Black

“Oi, Padfoot! Get your arse out that bed now before I have to personally move it for you!” I rolled around stuffing the pillow over my face. I didn’t need to hear that barf worthy voice this early in the morning.


“Shut up Prongs- any man needs his sleep,” I replied, my voice muffled.


“More like you need your beauty sleep,” muttered Prongs. How dare he? After all, I look 200% goddamn hot without even trying. He’s just jealous of my amazing looks- I swear, if I were not straight and me, I would date myself. I happen to know for a fact my snogging abilities are worthy of Veela models round the world.


I suddenly felt something swished off of me, the so highly treasured heat escape from my body, and I was about to die of coldness. I began violently shivering and wailing.


“I want my blankie!” I shrieked, and heard footsteps coming around the corner of the bedpost. It was a disgruntled looking Remus, massaging his temples.


“Do you have no sympathy for a werewolf who’s got a transformation in 3 days?” moaned Moony. Poor lad, but if we didn’t have sympathy he wouldn’t have 3 awesome companions every transformation. But, I would never say that, or he would begin feeling guilty again when he really shouldn’t be.


“He took my blankie!”


“He won’t get up!”


Prongs and I had complained at the same time, and Moony rolled his droopy eyes lazily. He was probably the only normal person who could deal with us and make sure we didn’t blow each other up. But we all love each other- it’s like a little happy family!


“Padfoot, up now or you get no food, since you can’t be late to trials or the stag here will trample you. Prongs, return Padfoot’s blankie to his bed or no Quidditch trials for you today.” Now of course, we both had to comply. Food was the equivalent of oxygen to me, just as Quidditch was to Prongs. Once his parents attempted to ban him from Quidditch for the Summer so he could spend his time doing other things, but he started shaking on the ground in a fetal position when he realised his broom was in a cupboard. I swear he cares about that Shooting Star more than he cares about me!


We reluctantly obeyed Moony’s orders, and I quickly put some clothes on along with my Quidditch robes, brushed my teeth once (even though they didn’t need it, they were that perfect). While I was doing that, Prongs returned my precious blankie and had grabbed his broom with a large folder of plays and names of people who wanted to try out in the other hand- he took tryouts as serious business. Even more serious than my name. Get the pun? If you don’t, you must have something wrong in the head. Serious. Sirius. Seriously. Siriusly. Anyways, I do not waste my time teaching primitive life forms such as yourself who have the equivalent brain cells to a lemming. Do you know their suicidal? They jump off cliffs at time of migration. Moony told me, and he’s never wrong. Especially about lemmings.


Moony had decided to return to the safe haven of his bed- these were the times I envied him for not being on the Quidditch team and not having to suffer the Quidditch Nazi himself, James Potter.


“Are we getting up Wormtail?” I asked, looking at the sprawled out chubby boy on the final bed in the room. At first, we only included him because we felt bed for leaving him out with only us four as the male Gryffindors in our year- it was a small year. Eventually, he became a funny, slightly clingy but cool dude, and officially welcomed as a Marauder. We never regretted his addition to our bad ass wicked group, and never will.


“Nah, no point. Him and Moony can keep each other company- we need to go to Quidditch tryouts!” squealed Prongs. Sometimes I questioned his masculinity- yes mine was questioned by my mates, but I kept mine strong by hooking up with a new girl everyday and I wasn’t really want to give a shit about feelings excluding the Marauders. Apparently, I’m the ‘bad boy’ type. Moony got them using his sensitive side, apparently he was the ‘sweet’ type. Prongs was too smitten with Miss. Evans to snog or shag any other willing fittie. Oh well, more for me!


“Yeah, yeah, don’t wet yourself please, Prongsie,” I snorted.


“Wouldn’t dream of it Paddie- forgot to borrow some of your diapers,” he quipped. I scowled. I’ll have you know I found diapers to be ingenius! Most pureblood idiots a.k.a. my dastardly mother just use an impervious charm on a pair of pants, which can just wear off and have dire consequences. Trust me- I know. Let me just say it involves a pure-blood formal dinner, an awkward potty moment and a 3 year old awesome me.


“My collection of Muggle items that help with incontinence are not for ‘borrowing’ thank you very much,” I grumbled, and Prongs smirked. I was distracted when I spotted the glory that was food in its plentiful supply. Ravishing roast beef, beautiful banana pie, stunning steak, sexy strawberries with fit fondue, oh and not to forgot the gorgeous gateau. I would give up girls for food any day. Could you snog food? But they wouldn’t return the snog. Or would they? You never know at Hogwarts…


I ran towards the Gryffindor table in that slow motion way when two lovers are united. In this case the two lovers are food and I. I love food. I was completely oblivious to anything else, therefore I ended up banging into someone on the way. We both fell to the ground are books splaying out. We began picking up our things, and this would be the point where most would hand each other their books, touch hands, look into the other’s eyes and fall in love. Right now, instead of that, she was glaring at me quite frighteningly and I swear her eyes flashed red. Scary. She snatched her book roughly from beside me, glowered at me once more before hauling herself up and strode out the Great Hall. Guess someone doesn’t like me. But that’s impossible, every one loves me.


“Not really, Padfoot,” snorted Prongs. Did I say that aloud? Even if I did, what kind of friend is he, snorting at me? Someone needs some lessons on how to be a good mate.


I was once again distracted by food, so thoughts of that peculiar girl left my mind. The only girl in my life was Ms. Roast Turkey. Oh, and my current girlfriend. What was her name? Hmm… It’s passed me, but no matter. I’ll busy myself with Ms. Turkey for now.




“Alright wannabe Gryffie beaters, listen up. I need someone to match my standard. Well, obviously no one can match it, but at least near enough,” I shouted across the half of the pitch that I had. There was only two positions up for grabs this year on the awesome as Gryffindor team- beater and chaser. Prongs was determined to do the most brutal and rigorous of trials, deciding to give 8 hours for it, and that’s with him only doing chaser and giving me (the amazing deputy captain) responsibility for the new beater! With 10 minutes only for some food every two hours! Such blasphemy…


In front of me, some of the wimpiest, scrawniest, lankiest and chubbiest students I have ever seen came in front of me. Well that’s an exaggeration, there were a few decent looking ones (and I don’t particularly mean in looks, as they were obviously guys) but this was not going to be an easy task.


The first step in picking out a beater is to make sure they can fly. Well that’s useful in any Quidditch position, however a beater needs to be easily able to perform loops and shoot in front of a bludger at any time.


“Laps! Perform any tricks that would be useful for beaters. I don’t wanna see any Wronksi Feints or such, we don’t need a seeker, understood primitive Quidditch minds?” Everyone quickly nodded in agreement, and got flying.




Within the first few minutes, half of the hopeful candidates had gone. Only the best flyers left- around 10. Nevertheless, flying was no good, if they couldn’t hit shit with a beater’s bat. I’ve found that Muggle baseballs are much more effective than Bludgers at the beginning of trials to avoid the incompetent ending in the hospital wing, and our team getting suspended. Prongsie would have an organic spasm. And then die. And then I’d be shipped off to Azkaban, because somehow their deaths would trace back to me. Ha. As if. I’d never be responsible for my best mate’s death, nor go to that horrendous place called Azkaban- that’s why I ran away from my tosser, Voldemort loving family.


I put them all in a line, and enchanted a baseball to fly back to them wherever they hit it.


“Alright to be a half decent beater, you’ve got to have power, aim and co-ordination. It is obvious why power and aim are needed and without co-ordination you won’t be able to put bludger to bat.”


“Where are the bludgers?” squeaked a tiny second year. He may be able to fly, but if he can hit the proper bludger further than a metre, my name is Merlin. Cool name, no?


“We are using Muggle baseballs for now, in case some-”, I directed a glare at the offending second year, who looked terrified, “cannot handle bludgers and end up bleeding in the hospital wing.” He nodded timidly, and I smirked superiorly. I love being bigger then people. Cue evil laugh.




Well, we had the hopeful beaters down to three people after bringing out the bludgers as well. A fair amount of injuries ensued, but not so many that McGonagall threatened to blow her top on us. These were the unnaturally unscathed, awesome aiming, power presenting, chockin’ co-coordinated players that were left from the thousands. Or hundreds. Or like 30. But that’s still quite a bit, to be honest. I decided to get their names from now, and hear how to pronounce them; so that the announcement of the newest Quidditch beater’s name had the dramatic effect required and did not simply fail. Also, I had to do the examination of the guys who could be my partner.


So, I approached the first contender. Stocky, burly, good build for a beater and had power, but had a bit of a dazed look and could probably get hit in the face by a top-speed bludger if he wasn’t on full concentration. His name, I discovered, was Aaron Christ and he was in fifth year. If he was devoted and had a good background knowledge he could have a shot at being captain- that was the good thing about having younger players. They could take over the team. Though we already have a current 4th year who’s got captaincy in the bag for next year apparently.


2nd option was lanky and lacking in power but had a good backhand swing- something hard to find and useful for bludgers coming from the back. He had a sharp sense of aim and seemed like he knew what he was doing, but lacked the spark, initiative and bravery a beater required. More Hufflepuff than Gryffindor. His name was Paul Tradore, and he was a surprisingly tall third year- I’d prefer someone a bit older to partner with. They’d be easier to work with, have a more appropriate build, and my language can get pretty foul up in the air- I can even start shouting at my partner if it’s a really frustrating game. Luckily, my old partner, Davidson, took it all in without wincing once because of his cool and calm personality. Damn him.


The third option I was pretty pleased with as a beater. He had quite a good build, maybe slightly lacking some muscle, but nothing we couldn’t work on. He performed some excellent techniques, such as powerful two handed hits while still maneuvering his broomstick with ease and had good grip and timing. He took quite a few risks in order to get the bludger in the right position. One of his most outstanding points was when his bat so speedily he was able to pass it to himself in theory. Even I find that quite the challenge to do, but it is very useful in games when your team has the Quaffle and you don’t want to let the bludgers into the game incase the other team’s beaters get them and shoot them towards your chasers or seeker. As ‘The Beater’s Bible’ by Brutus Scrimgeour says, “Rule One: Take Out the Seeker.” I went up to him, still looking at my clipboard at the good and bad points I had recorded about him, and asked him his name.


“Alex Mayfield,” he grumbled. I’m sure that name was familiar…


“What year are you in?” I asked, generally curious about the answer.


“Your year,” he answered, and I nearly squealed with delight. Old enough, powerful, good aim, knowledge about techniques and I could talk to him about techniques in the NEWT subjects he took with me this dude sounded awesome.


“Well, mate, I’ll tell you now,” I began whispering, bending towards him, “You’re a shoe-in for this position.” He nodded simply, and I guess he was just slightly odd. But heck, the odd people are the ones who have the hidden talent in them.




Yes, Mayfield was most definitely getting this position. He was at ease in the air with a bat in hand, and hitting bludgers was as easy for him as it was for me. The other two were nothing compared to him, but they probably had a chance after we had left.


“Alright, wannabe Beaters, down on the ground now,” I hollered to the three in the air, and they flew down, Mayfield doing some awe-inspiring jumpy thing to get down. I liked that kid. Though, he was the same year as me so I couldn’t necessarily call him kid. “Now you all were pretty wicked, but there was a clear person who stood out to me for good reasons. We’ll head down to the other end of the pitch and there Prongs and I will announce the new players. Okay?” They nodded and I could tell they were relieved that tryouts had ended. I was relieved because now I could eat freely.


We made our way down to the other end in somewhat of an awkward silence. The big announcement time was fast approaching so I was silent in trying out voices in my head and seeing which one sounded the most dramatic. We arrived, and Prongs looked at me, and I turned my clipboard subtly so it was in his line of vision. He examined Mayfield for a moment curiously then shrugged before something in the stands caught his attention and he suddenly looked desperate to finish off practice with a twinkle in his eyes that could only mean one thing. Evans.


She was a nice, smart (a tiny bit geeky), quite stunning, and mostly perfect girl, but a bit snobby at times and I would approve of her more if she didn’t break my best friends heart on a daily basis. Prongs could do better. And I don’t mean bimbos or the Marauder’s fan club girls. Though they were fun to mess around with.


“Alright, so the new Chaser is Martin Applington, 4th year and the new Beater is Alex Mayfield, 7th year. Well done all the rest of you, sorry, and try again next year,” he muttered, looking distracted. I was gob-smacked. Why in the name of Merlin did he not do the announcing voice let alone let me announce the new beater? Oh, that’s right, it’s because Miss. Evans was too deeply engraved on his big heart. What a sod. The words Sirius Black should be there. Or maybe not because that would mean Prongs would be in love with me, and that would be awkward to say the least.


“Potter,” snarled Evans, but Prongs seemed oblivious to this and simply stared lovingly at her. I want to barf. It seems Mayfield shared my thoughts because he was looking disgusted at this love, in a different way to Evans. If she was a guy, I would’ve punched her by now- no one messes with Prongs like that. She continued, “Have you adjusted the Rotas for the rest of the Prefects like we were told? Cause if not I’ll need to do everything just like I thought and-”


“I’ve done them. Double checked them with each and every prefect. I’ve also organized Hogsmeade dates till Christmas. People will most likely want them before Christmas and Halloween because they’ll want to buy costumes and sweets, etc. Plus no one really needs one at the beginning of September because they usually have everything they need. If you want you can see them? I’m sorry if you wanted me to do them with you, but you can change them if you think they aren’t don’t correctly. Padfoot can take over the ending of the trial, we’ve picked the new players anyways. They’re in my dorm, I can fetch them?” Lily looked as if she’d been stunned, enervated and then slapped on the face.


“Um… um… y… yeah, I guess,” she spluttered, still unable to pronounce proper words. I was smirking from behind, and Prongs looked exceptionally pleased with himself.


“You can wait in the common room, while I go get it, how does that sound?” Well, isn’t Prongs being a right gentleman! He told me he wanted to be more mature with his position as Head Boy, and even though I’m proud of him for taking something seriously, I’m glad he will always be his true, childish self on the inside. I’m proud of myself for being a child on the outside as well! I’m just amazing to be honest.


While I was complimenting, I hadn’t realised that Prongs had gone off with Evans meaning I was left with a team that had two newbies to give the basic gist of what the team meant. I was about to launch into the speech, but I was interrupted by Marcus Opal, the sixth year who seemed to know everything about everyone.


“Wait- isn’t the Gryffindor team all guys? It always has been because the girls are too flirty and prissy!” What was his point? Of course it was all guys. “Especially the beater position.”


“Well, Mayfield and I are guys, thank you very much,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. He needs to get his head checked. Marcus looked at me strangely.


“No- Mayfield’s a girl.” I gaped, turned to the hoodie and slack wearing guy who was apparently a girl. I snorted.


“Ha! You really had me going there. That’s not true! Alex Mayfield’s a guy!” I laughed. He sighed and put his fingers to his temple.


“Apart from the Marauders, what other guys are there in seventh year Gryffindor?”


“None,” I replied. Obviously.


“What are all of us?”




“And what year is Alex in?”


“Seventh year.”


A few seconds after saying that my eyes widened and if I was drinking some Butterbeer just then I would of done the most exceptional spit take.


“HOLY FUCK YOU’RE A GIRL!” I screamed in a high pitch voice, and promptly sat on the ground, putting my hands around my knees and began rocking.


“No shit sherlock,” she mumbled. I didn’t need sarcasm thank you very much! I just discovered that I have not snogged the whole of the female Gryffindor population 5th year and up! Well, how depressing is this… “You saw I’m a wicked beater. And trust me I most definitely won’t be a priss,” she garbled. Well it sounded like garble because I am currently that depressed. I’m having an emotional break down.


“IT’S NOT THAT!” I wailed, and realised I sounded more like a banshee rather than a depressed human being. “It’s because,” I continued sobbing but softer in my sexy voice, “that means I haven’t… snogged… the whole of the female Gryffindor population 5th year and up!” Saying it out loud made it hurt so much more. It felt as if I had been hit by that horrific spell Snape and his slimy wand created called ‘Sectumsempra’. I looked up for a minute and sniffed to be met with mostly amused faces, with two shocked. Naturally, the newbies did not understand the vast penetration that this fact has cut into me. “And I can’t snog a basically guy like you! I will never achieve my goals in life!” She had quite the snarl on her face.


“I’m sorry I’m not capable of satisfying your man-whorish desires,” she seethed, “And I am fine without any disgusting shit like that.” I sniffed one last time, gained some composure and got up to face my team who had all become quite serious because Mayfield had put her hood down and her face was looking quite similar to Voldemort’s when he wanted to Avada Kedavra someone…


“You were that girl who I knocked into and glared at me instead of swooning!” I exclaimed. What a sense of déjà vu.


“Never…” she replied, sarcastically. I could tell because I have a magical sixth sense that can sense sarcasm. It’s totally awesome. I guess I will have to compose myself for my team, excluding Mayfield of course.


“So… now we’re back on track and while I recover from depression, I’ll go through the consequences of being a part of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team… 1) Instant Popularity. Everyone will know your name. 2) Hexes. From opposing teams before matches or after matches as revenge. 3) James the Quidditch Nazi. He will work you till you have to crawl on the ground to get somewhere. 4) Girls. You will get loads of them. Excluding Mayfield of course. 5) Grades. Sometimes your grades and homework levels can go down because of the excessive Quidditch work, but nobody here really cares about that,” I finished and then heard a screech of ‘WHAT?!’ from Mayfield.


“Yeah, sometimes grades can go a tad down or you might have to miss classes for practice,” I explained. What was wrong with that? But it seemed that something was, because Mayfield was now looked extremely fearful.


“I… I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head. What? She seemed ecstatic to be on the team before. What’s happened now?


“Why?” I gaped. I couldn’t just bring the other two back- she was amazing. We couldn’t let her go!


“Because… I… I… just can’t, OK!” she shouted, and sighed deeply. I needed to know why, and I don’t think she would let it out in front of the whole team. I grabbed her wrist.


“Mayfield come with me,” I demanded. She looked like she was about to protest, before she reluctantly gave in but shook her wrist out of my grip. The team was left behind, as we walked towards the changing rooms. “Look, you need to tell me otherwise we won’t be able to sort this out.” I looked into her eyes- they were so dark brown, they could be classed as black, yet they shimmered and glowed brightly. I could tell this was a subject quite deep, but Quidditch came as a priority to Prongs, and I knew he could end up a lot harsher than most people expected.


“I… I can’t tell you,” she declared, gaining firmness in her voice. “You won’t understand, and I know that truthfully because to understand you have to have been in the person’s shoes and your situation is hardly the same as mine.”


“Well, fine, but why should this stop you from playing Quidditch?” It would be hard to find a beater like her again, excluding myself. She stared determinedly in my eyes.


“I want you to make an unbreakable vow.” I gaped at her. What was she thinking?


“What is the vow?” Why did I just ask that? I should’ve just said no straight out! Now, she’ll have hope!


“None of the practices will interfere with my classes or homework timetable.” I nearly burst out laughing. She was worried about that? What a geek… But she was a good player. How could I convince Prongs, the Quidditch Nazi, to not make her go to some practices? I examined her, plain slightly tanned skin (that wasn’t fake) without any foundation. Long black eyelashes that weren’t covered in blots of mascara. Dark red lips that didn’t look dull even though they had no lipstick or gloss on. Before I knew what I was saying, I had agreed and she was somehow doing the binding part herself as well. I was too stunned to pay notice. I had just made an unbreakable vow. No matter if it was a ridiculous one, I had still made it! I could fucking die because of this stupid girl! Wait, make that will die! If I don’t do it, I’ll die because of the vow, and if I do, then Prongs will strangle me and her with his bare hands!


“WAIT! REVERSE IT!” I shrieked, and her eyes flashed, and I swear I saw a hint of a smirk on her lips.


“You can’t go back now.” It seemed as if she had purposefully defined each word, letting it slip off her tongue. What a Slytherin move to do!


“You’re horrible!”


“Oh, really? I’m the horrible one out of us two,” she snarled. Well, yes! You just manipulated me into making an unbreakable vow. “Do you even remember me, Snuffles?” she whispered. Where had I heard that nickname before? I can’t think… Whenever the nickname came to me, I thought it was a side name Prongs had given me… Who is she?


“I can’t say I do,” I answered honestly. She sighed profoundly, and gave a weak smile to me.


“And here I was thinking that I was maybe still somewhere in your brain. Goes to show what school can do to people, no?” It sounded wistful and weak, so different to what Mayfield had shown me recently. Why was she talking like this? Was she some ex-girlfriend of mine? Have I actually snogged the whole female population Gryffindor 5th year and up? I don’t usually remember my exes anyways, so that probably was the case. It would be best to get that cleared up, before she started on the team.


“Look, are you one of my exes? If so- OW!” I was punched in the stomach! That was one hard punch… I think I’m suffering from internal bruising and bleeding! Oh, woeful times…


“I am definitely not one of your ex-sluts thank you very much and never will be! If I was, I wouldn’t expect you to remember me anyways, the way you go through birds. It doesn’t matter though, if you don’t remember it and have forgotten about it, then who am I to say anything about it? After all, I should be honoured with the fact I am able to be with the glorious Sirius Black, no? A mere geeky student?” Some of those nargles that Xenophilius Lovegood keeps on going on about must have flown in my O-shaped mouth. What the hell was she even talking about? “Anyways, see you at the next practice,” she said, grabbing her broom and walking towards the castle.


“What about class?” I asked. Wasn’t she in our year? We must have some subjects together? She snorted loudly.


“If you’ve not noticed or remembered me in the seven years we’ve had class together, I’m not expecting you to notice me now,” she muttered and stalked off. Well not stalked, because that’s what Evans does, although according to Prongs its meant to be a turn on. More snobby to me to be honest. For Mayfield, slouched, and strode off would be the more appropriate term.


Boy, was she one complicated person. Who knew that that one day could change everything for both her and me? Not me for sure…


A/N: How did you find it? Rubbish? Good? Wow, I want to marry this story? Or I want to put it in a pile of poop? Keep reviews PG, and be awesome and favourite(: BYEEE.

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