Vanessa Lovely was barely twenty-one, and had straight auburn hair - more brown than red - and bright blue eyes. She had a willowy figure, full lips, and perfect, pale skin. Her eyelashes were long and dark and accentuated the electric blue of her eyes, and her cheekbones were high and sculpted, giving her a delicate appearance.
She lived up to her surname quite well.
And she knew it.
She was not, however, arrogant or haughty, nor did she seem to hold the notion that her superior looks made her any better than everyone else. She wasn't sweet, and she wasn't cruel. She was average. She had been average in her studies at Hogwarts, and she had been average at her attempts to play Quidditch, and she had been average at her ability to write.
But she was stunning and she did know it, and she also knew how to use that to her advantage.
Which was why she had ended up as a Quidditch reporter for the Daily Prophet. She might be mediocre at writing, and she might be less than knowledge about the sport in question, but she would bat her eyelashes and pout her lips and famous Quidditch players would fall all over themselves to answer any question she asked.
Her stories for the newspaper were always juicy.
Which was why, when she showed up at the Quidditch pitch with a quill tucked behind one - perfectly shaped, perfectly formed - ear and a scroll of parchment in one hand, Edgar Shaw cursed under his breath and said to his gathered team, "Try to keep your wits about you today, gentlemen. We have trouble."
Several pairs of eyes turned to focus on Vanessa, and several mouths started issuing grumbling comments. Everyone knew that the reporter was dangerous, and yet somehow, the male players still continually made fools of themselves in front of her.
James stared at Vanessa for a long moment, then said flatly, "She's nothing special."
Shaw looked at him, then laughed. The rest of the team joined in.
Carlotta Prewitt flipped a few strands of blonde hair over her shoulder and said dismissively, "Everyone says that the first time. Watch your back, Potter. I assure you, you won't be any different from the rest of the idiots on the team."
"Hey!" Bagman interjected defensively, "who are you calling an idiot?"
Prewitt snorted. "Ludo, last time she came, you actually told her that you were boffing that Corine girl. And both of you had significant others who were less than pleased."
Ludo flushed.
James looked at Vanessa again. "She's pretty, but…I dunno. She's just… still kind of… bland. She doesn't have any affect on me."
"Bollocks," Price said.
At the same time, Shaw said with a smirk, "Go talk to her, then."
There was an immediate silence from everyone else on the team. Shaw's comment had garnered several astounded looks, and a few accusatory ones as well. No one in their right mind would tell an eighteen-year-old male to talk to Vanessa Lovely.
But Shaw was just staring challengingly at James, waiting for an answer.
James ran a hand through his hair and stared down at the broom he was holding. They had just finished practice, and he knew that he had flown exceptionally well. In fact, he wouldn't be at all surprised if they let him play for a bit in the next match, just to see how he did under pressure.
He wouldn't be a reserve for long.
"You want me to talk to her?" he said finally. "What do you want me to say?"
Shaw rolled his eyes. "We just had tryouts, Potter. We have three new members on the team. Not to mention all the rumors surrounding Hespera's… accident. Rumors I would like to emphatically deny."
The rest of the team laughed, and James was hit with the sudden suspicion that those denials wouldn't be truthful. Was it more than just rumors? Had Shaw actually been behind that? Had Hespera? Had it all been an elaborate trap?
One look at Shaw's smirking expression was enough of an answer.
"Why don't you try talking about those?" Shaw continued. He was silent for a beat, then added, "Unless, of course, you think she might be a bit more of challenge after all."
James handed his broom to the nearest player - Jimmy Wilkinson - and said, "Can you hold this for me, mate? Thanks. I'll be back." And he turned and walked towards Vanessa with a look of determination in his eyes.
Wilkinson looked down at the broom he was holding, then up at Shaw. "What was that for?" he demanded.
Shaw shrugged. "If he really can talk to Lovely without making a fool of himself, then we just picked up a very useful weapon against scandal. And if he can't…" A sly grin appeared on his face. "Well, it will still be amusing, won't it?"
Prewitt laughed, and Daphne Dumare shook her head in amusement.
"You're a cruel, cruel man, Shaw," Bagman said. But he, too, was grinning, and his eyes were sparkling with definite bemusement.
"What's a little friendly hazing between teammates?" Shaw countered. "He's new to the team, he's got to expect a little of this." And he glanced over at the two other new players that he had taken on, the other reserve Chaser and a reserve Beater, and said pointedly, but with a hint of friendliness in his tone, "Watch your back."
The two new players shifted uneasily.
"Poor bloke has no idea what he's getting himself into," Dumare sighed, watching as James approached Vanessa. "I almost feel sorry for him. But only almost." She caught Prewitt's gaze, and the two women exchanged pointed smirks. Quidditch was a male-dominated sport, and always had been. While the presence of female players was no longer as rare as it had been only a few decades ago, it was still unusual, and both players didn't mind seeing their male counterparts get taken down a peg or two.
Just to even the score.
"Alright," Shaw said. "The rest of you, head back to the locker rooms, practice is over for today. Carlotta, you're a girl."
"Oh, well spotted, Eddie," Prewitt said sarcastically.
Shaw rolled his eyes. "Stay out here and keep an eye on Potter. You're immune to Lovely's charms, so go pull him away from her if he starts making a complete fool of himself. Alright?"
"Alright," Prewitt agreed.
The rest of the team made their way towards the changing rooms, laughing, joking and slapping each other on the back, and Prewitt stayed behind to observe Potter and Lovely. The team was collegial, and they were all incredibly focused on winning, but they were also not above playing pranks on each other. She didn't know Potter well, but the little she had heard about it made her think he would fit in quite well here.
Shaw always found a way of humiliating the new recruits within the first few weeks of practice. He said it made them feel like part of the team - once the embarrassment had worn off, of course. And it usually did, because after they had gone through whatever ordeal Shaw had arranged, the rest of the team would tell them about their own hazing experiences and just how mortified they had been.
It built camaraderie.
This was the first time Shaw had ever sent anyone to deal with Lovely, though. It was brilliant. She was a little surprised that they hadn't thought of it before.
But then Prewitt thought about how serious Potter had been when he said that Vanessa Lovely wasn't anything special, and for a moment, she wondered if he might actually succeed.
"I'm James Potter," James said, introducing himself and flopping into the seat next to Vanessa. "I hear you are a reporter for the Daily Prophet."
"Yes," Vanessa said. "I report on Quidditch teams." Her voice was almost seductive. But not the fake kind of seductive. Not the sort of tone someone used when they were trying to seduce another person. No, her voice seemed to be naturally seductive and, as such, it quickly slipped past most men's defenses.
James wasn't most men. When she turned to face him, the sun caught her hair, turning it almost red, and he thought of Lily.
"Vanessa Lovely, right?" he asked.
"You can call me Vanessa, Mr. Potter," she replied, batting her eyelashes at him.
"Then you can call me James," he replied.
She slid closer to him on the bench. "I saw you playing Chaser during the practice. Are you a new recruit?"
"I am," James answered. "Reserve Chaser."
"Mm… that must be exciting," Vanessa pressed. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and looked at him earnestly with her brilliant sapphire eyes. "How long have you played Quidditch?"
"Oh, since as long as I can remember, really," James answered in an offhanded manner. "My father bought me my first broom when I was four. A real one, not those toy brooms that only go a little ways of the floor."
Vanessa considered this for a moment, then asked, "Potter? There was a Potter who was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts last year."
James inclined his head. "That was me." He hesitated, then said, "You really do your background work, don't you?"
Vanessa laughed lightly. Her laugh was soft and gentle and made James' his face flush.
"You know, I am more than just a pretty face," she said. "I take my job seriously."
"Is that why you reported that Hespera's accident wasn't really an accident?" James asked, knowing that this wasn't the best topic of conversation to bring up, given his current suspicions. Still, he wanted to hear how Vanessa would defend herself.
For a moment, Vanessa looked surprised. Then she sighed. "Ah, yes… I had a feeling that latest story would not sit well with Shaw. But you should do your own background work before making accusations, James. I didn't report that Hespera's accident was a set-up. I reported that Puddlemere United had accused Shaw of that. It was the accusation that was the story, not the rumor." She tapped her quill idly against the scroll of parchment and said, "It's not my fault that people are always looking for the gossip and the scandal. And it's not my fault that people think Shaw might actually do something like this."
"You think Eddie would actually…" James started.
"You don't?" Vanessa demanded. Her skin was flushed a slight pink and she was gazing at him with defiance in her eyes, daring him to challenge her. "You don't think he would want to beat Puddlemere United by any means necessary? Sabine was a good player, but she wasn't great. It was a sacrifice anyone would be willing to make. But even if Shaw wasn't behind any of what happened, it is still interesting that he has enough of a reputation for being ruthless that people are willing to believe this of him."
"He's not ruthless," James defended the team captain. "He just cares about the sport. He wants to win."
"Everyone wants to win," Vanessa countered. "That's the point of the game. Yet not everyone is perceived as being brutal."
"He's hardnosed. He's uncompromising. He's a fierce player, and I suppose he can be intimidating," James said. "Those aren't bad things. That's how the game is played. It's about winning."
"And reporting is about selling stories," Vanessa replied, "but that doesn't mean I go out looking to destroy my opponents."
"And your report on Bagman and Corine?" James questioned. "Was that not about the scandal?"
This time, Vanessa looked angry. "What exactly is it about Quidditch players that makes them think they are above the rest of us mere mortals?" she demanded hotly.
James ran a hand through his messy hair and looked away from her. "What makes you think we're so arrogant?" he asked in reply.
"Bagman was furious at me when that came out. But he's the one who was sleeping with a girl other than the one he was dating. He and Rhonda Davis had been going together for nine months and everyone thought they were going to get engaged, then it turns out he's been shagging some other girl on the side and I'm the one who doesn't have morals?" She huffed impatiently and flicked auburn hair out of her eyes. "He didn't even apologize to Davis, you know. But, Merlin, he acted like he was the one who was wounded. Arrogant prick."
James didn't say anything. That rant reminded him far too much of Lily. She had often accused him of the same thing, of thinking that his prowess at Quidditch made him better than everyone else.
Vanessa eyed him. "Oh… I hit a nerve there, didn't I?" she said shrewdly. "Who's the girl?"
"What?" James asked, surprised and taken aback.
"The one who called you an arrogant prick," Vanessa answered. "There was one, I can tell that much. And I'm guessing you liked her. A lot." She studied his face for another moment, then said softly, "And she hated you. Am I right?"
It was disturbing just how right she was.
James rose to his feet. "I should go," he said awkwardly.
Vanessa reached out and caught his arm. "James, I'm sorry," she said quickly, and he tried to ignore the look of regret in her eyes or the way his skin tingled at her touch. "We don't have to talk about the girl," she said.
"I thought Quidditch players were arrogant pricks," James replied. "Why would you be willing to avoid talking about a girl who agrees with you?"
"Because you actually seem to care," Vanessa replied. "Most people I've spoken to don't care about the girls that don't fall all over them. Most would give up the minute it got even a little bit difficult. But you clearly still like this girl, and it still hurts that you can't get her to like you."
"So Bagman's just looking for an easy shag but I'm something special?" James drawled.
Vanessa laughed. "Well, you're hardly something special," she replied, pulling on James' arm until he resumed his seat next to her. "But I do like talking to you. Besides, an article on a decent Quidditch player might actually be a nice change of pace for my readers."
James considered this for a moment, then said flatly, "I doubt it."
Vanessa shrugged. "Yeah, I know. They'll miss all the juicy rumors and gossip and want to know why I didn't report on the more sordid details of your life."
"What makes you think I have sordid secrets?" James asked.
Vanessa gave him an enigmatic smile. "Everyone does," she answered. "You're hardly an exception to that rule." She clicked her tongue against her teeth for a moment, studying him appraisingly, then said, "So you made the team right out of Hogwarts. I'm impressed."
"You should be," James replied immediately. "I am that good."
Vanessa laughed again, and James found himself liking the sound of her laugh and the look of mirth in her eyes. He tried to think of something else, tried to think of Lily, but he couldn't. Vanessa was leaning against him, her hair tickling his skin, and all other thoughts started slipping from his mind as he stared into her blue eyes.
"Really?" she asked. "You have quite the opinion of yourself, don't you?"
"Why bother downplaying my talents?" James answered.
"Is that how you managed at Hogwarts? By showing off your incredible talents?" Vanessa asked.
"Nah. Only in class. On the Quidditch pitch, I was more of a team player," James answered. "It's the Seekers that show off, you know, with their flashy dives and feints."
"So Seekers are arrogant show-offs and Chasers are humble team players?" Vanessa repeated.
James frowned. "Now you're twisting my words all around," he accused.
Vanessa just smiled. "It was a joke, James. It's a team sport, so I do actually know that all members of a team are supposed to be team players." She gave him a cross look and added, "I'm not entirely inept at my job. I do know a bit about this sport."
"Does everything always end up as an argument with you?" James asked sharply.
"You don't seem so bad at arguing yourself," Vanessa shot back. "Have you had a lot of practice with this? If I didn't know better, I'd say you have quite a bit of familiarity with how to turn every conversation into a dispute."
"So what if I have?" James snapped. "There's nothing wrong with arguing with people, particularly if they are wrong. It doesn't make me arrogant and it doesn't make me a complete prat."
"I don't know, James," Vanessa replied doubtfully. "If you have people calling you a prat quite frequently, maybe they are right. Do many of your friends find you arrogant."
"No, it's just bloody Lily Evans and she…"
He stopped, then stared at Vanessa in a mixture of horror and admiration.
"You are good," he said in awe.
Vanessa nodded. "I am," she agreed.
The problem with Vanessa Lovely wasn't just that she was beautiful or that she knew how to use her looks to her advantage. It was that she had one very important talent outside of her looks; she knew how to read people. And if she couldn't manipulate a man based on her looks…
Well, James was proof that there were other ways to get what she wanted.
"Was that all just manipulation?" James asked quietly.
"Of course not," Vanessa said dismissively. "It is far easier and more effective to get what you want if you make sure the things you say actually match how you feel. I do, in fact, think that Bagman is a prick. Just like I do think that Shaw probably orchestrated everything with Hespera Sabine, but the real story isn't so much that he did that but that he has been accused of doing it."
She looked down at her notes, reading over them with a self-satisfied smile, before tucking the quill behind her ear once more.
"How did you know all the right things to say?" James asked.
"The team knows who I am," Vanessa said. "They know my reputation, and many of them have had less than pleasant interactions with me. Yet you walked over to me like you weren't worried about anything, and that meant one of two things; you were either arrogant enough to think that you would be different from every other member of the male gender that I've ever spoken to, or you were head-over-heels in love with someone else and didn't think my looks could tempt you to say anything damaging."
"I didn't say anything too damaging," James protested.
Vanessa looked down at her notes, then said, "James, when I asked you if you thought Shaw was behind Sabine's memory loss and subsequent elopement, you replied," she cleared her throat and read the direct quote, ""He's hardnosed. He's uncompromising. He's a fierce player, and I suppose he can be intimidating. Those aren't bad things. That's how the game is played. It's about winning." She looked up at him. "How do you think that is going to be interpreted?"
"I didn't mean it like that…"
"You also called Seekers show-offs, claiming that they their flashy dives and feints were ways of getting attention," Vanessa remarked. "And you admitted to being in love with one Lily Evans."
"That's not… that's all…"
"Nothing quite as scandalous as some of the other stories I've written," Vanessa continued, ignoring James' stammering, "but still… I think my readers will like this story."
"You manipulated me into saying all of those things," James accused.
Vanessa met his gaze. "Yes," she said bluntly. James seethed, but she asked quietly, "Tell me one thing, though; did you not mean what you said?"
"What?" James asked.
"Do you not believe that Shaw could be responsible? Do you not think that Seekers are show-offs and you are more of a team player? Are you not in love with Lily Evans?"
James didn't answer. He couldn't answer, because everything she had said was true. He did believe all of that, although his comment about Seekers was more of a joke than anything else. But… well, Seekers did show off. Their spectacular dives were what drew many fans to the game.
He thought about Shaw, and then about Lily, and sighed.
"You are good," he said again. Then, on a whim, he asked, "Go out with me?"
"A date is not going to make me forget about this story," Vanessa replied. "Besides, I'm three years older than you."
"So?" James argued. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this, why he was asking her out. He liked her. He couldn't explain it, because she had just spent an entire conversation manipulating him into saying some rather damaging things, but despite all that, talking to her had been… fun.
"Three years is a big difference at our age," Vanessa answered.
"You'll have fun," James said confidently. "Come on, what could it hurt?"
"What about Lily Evans?"
"She has a boyfriend."
"Ah."
"I'm not trying to make her jealous."
"Of course not."
"I really like you."
"Is that so?"
"Let's make a bet out of this."
That caught her attention. "A bet… interesting. What are the terms?" Vanessa asked, looking intrigued.
James hesitated, then came up with the perfect idea and couldn't stop the smirk that spread across his features. "I bet that you'll not only have a good time, you'll say yes when I ask you on a second date. If I win, you don't print that story or any of what I said. If you win, I'll go on record saying that I have proof that Eddie and Hespera conspired to lure the Puddlemere United Seeker away from the team."
"You don't have proof," Vanessa said.
"I'll find proof," James said.
"Even if Shaw is innocent?" Vanessa asked skeptically. "That isn't the kind of reporting I do. I don't blatantly lie."
James gave her a pointed look and she realized exactly what he was trying to tell her.
Shaw wasn't innocent.
"Well, now this has just gotten quite a bit more interesting," she murmured. "You do realize that this means I will spend the entire date trying not to have a good time?"
"I know."
"And that I could win the bet by refusing to go on a second date with you even if I do have a good time."
"But you won't do that," James challenged, "because you have too much integrity to lie."
Vanessa considered the terms, then nodded. "You have a deal, James Potter."
James watched her go, his heart hammering in his chest. He was thinking of Vanessa and how good she had smelled and how her eyes had been so stunningly blue and how she had held her own in their arguments and even had enough skill to manipulate him. He was thinking of how much fun it had been to talk to her, to argue with her, to laugh with her.
But Vanessa was a reporter.
He ran a hand through his hair.
He really needed to think through his actions a bit more, instead of acting on instinct. He'd just made a bet with a Daily Prophet reporter - one he thought he might actually fancy - and if he lost the bet, he could lose his spot on the team and any possible chance of playing Quidditch for any other team in the future.
Oh, Merlin. What had he just gotten himself into?
"Well, well, well… if it isn't little Pettigrew…"
Peter started at the sound of the haughty voice and spun around, eyes widening in surprise and a little bit of unease as he gazed at the two wizards approaching him.
"Avery," he said, nodding his head and doing his best to appear unafraid, "Mulciber."
Marcus Avery was not tall, but he had a stocky build and a pair of large, thick hands that were currently curled into menacing fists. Dante Mulciber was tall and could easily loom over Peter. He was holding his wand loosely in one hand.
Peter found himself wishing fervently that James or Sirius were there.
A woman appeared behind Mulciber. She had jet black hair and heavily lidded eyes, and her mere presence made Peter very nearly turn into a rat and scamper away. He'd never had much in the way of actual contact with Bellatrix Lestrange - she'd been out of Hogwarts before he had even started - but he knew her reputation. And he'd heard stories from Sirius.
"What's the matter, Petey?" Lestrange crooned, lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Don't I get a greeting, too?"
Peter swallowed nervously. "What do you want?" he asked, frustrated that his voice began to waver.
"Oh, is the poor ickle Petey afraid?" Lestrange continued in that same infuriating babying tone. "Is he scared without his precious Potter and Black to protect him?"
Peter backed up a bit, but said with as much bravado as he could muster, "I'm not afraid of you."
Mulciber and Avery both laughed.
"Nice little store you've got here, Pettigrew," Mulciber said. He had a gravelly voice that did not quite seem to match his tall and somewhat wiry build.
Peter looked around. It was his father's shop. He'd been helping with the newest shipment of goods, stacking merchandise and taking inventory. Ever since his mother's death just two years earlier, he had spent most of his free time helping out, trying to make the burden easier for his father.
"It's so… quaint," Lestrange agreed. "Of course, I never did anything quite so demeaning as work in retail, but it has its… charms."
Her tone left little doubt that she meant all of this as an insult, and Peter bristled in response. She looked at him, daring him to say something, and he sagged. He could barely think in coherent sentences with the three of them standing right in front of him, how was he supposed to fight back?
Lestrange might be older and… well… terrifying, but Avery and Mulciber, he reminded himself, were both the same age as he was. They had been at Hogwarts together, and maybe they did both know more Dark magic than he did, but their marks couldn't have been that much better. They were bloody Slytherins, after all.
He had to be brave. He had to stand up to them. He had to.
But he couldn't. Not on his own, not without Sirius or James. Or even Remus.
Avery walked over to a nearby shelf. "A toy store," he said with a snort. "And they aren't even good toys. Pathetic." He picked up a miniature train, an almost exact replica of the Hogwarts Express, and studied it. "Where's the magic?" he asked.
"There isn't any," Mulciber replied before Peter could say anything. "They're Muggle toys."
"A Muggle toy store in Diagon Alley?" Avery repeated, sounding disgusted.
"It isn't a Muggle toy store," Peter interrupted angrily, flushing slightly. "My Dad just likes selling toys that don't have a lot of complicated spells on them. But some of the toys do incorporate magic…"
The three Slytherins ignored him.
"I can see his filthy Muggle mother's influence," Lestrange said contemptuously, picking up a doll. She pulled at its hair, pulling hard enough to nearly tear the head from the neck, then discarded it carelessly. Peter scurried over to pick up the doll from where she had dropped it and replaced it carefully on the shelf.
He turned around, and Lestrange was right in front of him, blocking any chance of escape. Mulciber and Avery came to flank her on either side, both staring at Peter with identical looks of anticipation.
Peter swallowed nervously.
Lestrange reached out and ran her fingers along the length of Peter's arm. Her touch was light, her skin cool, and Peter began to shake almost uncontrollably.
"Wh-what do you w-want?" he stammered, backing away until he was pressed up against the shelf behind him.
"I want that mangy cousin of mine," Lestrange replied quietly. "I want him to give up his ridiculous blood traitor notions and come back to the family before he completely embarrasses us. And I want Potter knocked down a bit. I want him to remember his place."
Somehow, her hushed tones just made her all the more terrifying.
"I don't… I…"
"The name Potter should mean something to him," she continued, speaking over Peter's stammered protests. "He has a bloodline to uphold, but his parents' blood traitor influences are clearly too much for him to overcome. Instead of casting his lot with those of us that matter," and here she paused, smirking again as she nodded to her two companions, "he wastes his time chasing Mudbloods and befriending half-bloods like you. And what do you call yourselves? The Marauders? Pathetic."
"I'm not going to…"
She stepped closer to him, and he had no more room to back up. "I want your little group torn apart, ickle Petey, and you're going to help me do it."
"I won't," Peter said with determination, feeling pride at how well he was standing up to her.
"Then your Daddy's precious little shop is going to go up in flames," Lestrange countered. She stepped back and moved towards the door of the store, gesturing for Mulciber and Avery to follow her. She paused just before exiting, and looked at Peter once more. "I'll give you some time to think it over, Petey. But don't think too long…" Her eyes glittered malevolently. "I'm not a patient person."