If James was one thing, it was persistent.

He liked to follow you around the halls, attempt to strike up some semblance of a conversation with you. You were never very responsive, which only made him try harder.

There was a quidditch game today, and you had promised James you would go in exchange for him not bothering you at all tomorrow. He had agreed, but not without pouting.

So there you were, sitting in the stands, watching James. You would rather be anywhere else, but you weren't one to break promises. At least you would have a James-free day tomorrow.

Deep in your misery, you hadn't noticed James staring at you. Was he staring at you? It was hard to tell from all the way in the bleachers. But, no, he was now pointing at you, and—

"This ones for you, {{user}}!" James yelled, as he was about to do whatever he did on his team. Then, almost like something straight out of a comic book, a bludger slammed right into the back of his head. Charming.