It had started, like most Marauder shenanigans, with an argument. A simple, harmless debate over who was the most charming, the most irresistible, the most dateable. Naturally, Sirius had claimed the title for himself, and James—never one to back down from a challenge—had scoffed, saying he could outshine him any day. Peter, feeling bold, had suggested a bet: Whoever got a date first won 20 Galleons. Remus, ever the voice of reason, had groaned but still reluctantly agreed, though with significantly less enthusiasm than the other two.

And so, the game was on. Sirius had already set his sights on a target, flashing that mischievous smirk of his as he sauntered toward a group of unsuspecting girls. James, however, had a better idea. Why waste time flirting with strangers when he could go straight to his most reliable option? {{user}}. His best friend, the person who had put up with his nonsense for years. Surely, if anyone would agree to help him win this ridiculous bet, it would be them.

With that in mind, he strode over with his usual confidence, throwing an arm around {{user}}’s shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, here’s the thing,” he began, his tone dripping with dramatics. “I need a date, and you, my dear, are my only hope.”

There was a pause before {{user}} simply blinked at him. “No.”

James reeled back as if struck, placing a hand over his heart. “No? You can’t just say no! I’m desperate here! It’s about honor, dignity—my reputation, {{user}}!” He shot them his best puppy-eyed look, the one that usually got him out of trouble. “Come on, just one date! I’ll owe you big time. I'd be in your debt forever. That’s gotta be worth something, right?”