The Quidditch Ban

"You're joking!"

"No, Potter, I'm afraid I'm not."

Professor McGonagall gave the young Gryffindor a pitying look. The scowl on his face deepened, and he ran a hand through his already untidy raven hair. "That's impossible!" he muttered half to himself. "Y-you can't ban Quidditch... It's just... It's not doable, Professor!"

On James Potter's right side stood another boy with a mutinous look on his handsome face, Gryffindor Beater Sirius Black. This was his first year on the team, and he did not take kindly to this sudden announcement. If McGonagall thought she could ban Quidditch without answering to the Gryffindors first, she was off her rocker.

"It is doable, Mr. Potter," McGonagall sighed in exasperation. "I believe I have just proved that by doing so. Look, there have been far too many injuries! Madam Pomfrey has complained continually that she would have less than half her average number of patients if there was no Quidditch."

James was Captain and star Chaser to the Gryffindor Quidditch team; their Seeker, Thomas Keane, always joked that even if he didn't catch the snitch, James would have scored enough goals for a win anyway.

"So charm the damn bludgers not to hit so hard," James said crossly, folding his arms across his chest. "Don't ban the whole sport!"

"At the end of the week I shall send my decision to the Board of Governors," she told him firmly, "and that will be the end of it." There was no mistaking the disappointment in her voice as she added, "I'm sorry, Potter, but that's my final word."

As she swept away, the boys' other two friends, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, quickly joined James and Sirius; they had been hovering close by, listening to the conversation.

"No luck, huh?" Peter said sympathetically. "Well, I suppose that's that, then--"

"What do you mean, Pete?" interrupted Sirius, a spark catching in his dark eyes. "Were you listening to the same woman as I was? According to old McGonagall, we've got a week to change her mind."

Remus heaved a sigh of resignation. "I don't suppose your master plan includes a whole lot of good behavior," he acknowledged dryly.

The statement was greeted by the silence it deserved. Of course Sirius didn't hope to win her over by means of impressive cooperation in class. It soon became clear, though, that Sirius's plan was largely academic.

"Mr. Lupin, will you collect the essays?"

It was the morning following James and McGonagall's row, a crisp Tuesday. The day before, McGonagall had assigned the sixth year Transfiguration students a short essay on why human transfiguration was more difficult that that of an animal.

As Remus took his paper, James checked to make sure McGonagall wasn't looking and then tipped him an enormous wink. Remus just shook his head, smiled, and placed the stack of papers neatly on McGonagall's desk.

"Today we shall be practicing human transfiguration," McGonagall announced, taking her place in front of the class. "As you read about and explained in your essays--" Sirius snorted "--this is considerably more difficult than what you have practiced so far with animal transfiguration. We will start simple; you will divide yourselves into pairs and take turns changing each other's eye colors." She demonstrated the incantation on herself, turning her eyes a miraculous shade of yellow and then back to brown. "Don't forget to indicate your desired color; if anyone has troubles restoring their original eye color, see me after class."

She sat at her desk, pulled the pile of essays toward her, and dipped her quill in an ink bottle. The class came to life as chairs scraped away from desks and students rushed to find a place to work with their partners.

"I wonder what our marks for the essay will be," Sirius remarked vaguely. "Vertipictus violacea," he added, waving his wand and turning James's hazel eyes to pure violet. "I feel as though I didn't put all the effort into it that I could have."

"Really? I know I did." James scrutinized Sirius's face thoughtfully. "I think you'd look dashing with pink eyes." His spell caused Sirius's eyes to take on a hue reminiscent of bubblegum. "Aha! The girls will be fawning over you now."

James and Sirius had of course practiced human transfiguration before -- how else would Snape have woken up with blond hair one morning? -- but the rest of the class were less experienced. It took Remus only a couple attempts, but Peter struggled, his face screwed up in the effort to make the spell work. Finally, Remus's eyes turned an emerald green to rival those of Lily Evans. It was while the other Marauders applauded his triumph that McGonagall spoke two words that frosted the very air in the room.

"Mr. Potter."

Unfazed, James strolled to the front of the room and leaned against her desk. "Yes?" he said innocently, twiddling his wand in his fingers. No one else made a sound except for Sirius, who was trying and failing to fight the desire to laugh. "Is something wrong?"

"I think you know what's wrong."

James just looked at her, not giving anything away. She flared her nostrils impatiently and pushed his essay toward him. "I suppose you see nothing wrong with this, then?"

The piece of parchment was the exact size she had asked for, and labeled with the heading she had instructed them to use. At first glance, it was an essay like any other. The content, however, stood out. Anyone who read it would come across sentences such as While transfiguring a head into a quaffle does suit some people quite nicely, it is wise to learn the counter-spell beforehand or One should not transfigure any part of their body into a bludger if they do not wish that body part to be treated as such.

"Judging from the title, you did not forget what the subject of this essay was intended to be. Perhaps you did not understand what it was asking?"

"Oh, no, Professor, I understood," James assure her earnestly. "I thought I explained it rather well. No? I figured it would be glaringly obvious that transfiguring, say, a cat into any sort of Quidditch equipment would be much simpler than doing the same thing to a human. After all, a cat can't really complain as much once you lift the spell."

McGonagall glowered. "What a ridiculous attempt to return my focus to Quidditch. I can't say I wasn't expecting something of the sort, but this wasn't even up to your usual par -- not that I'm encouraging you. You will do lines on learning to do the assigned homework, rather than manipulating it to suit your purpose. My office, tonight, seven o'clock."

James marched back to his friends and smirked heartily, an expression that became more pronounced when Sirius's own essay was marked. All McGonagall had to say on the matter was, "You will be joining your friend, Mr. Black."

The two boys' detention stretched longer than either one had expected. Then again, James reflected, McGonagall had probably done that in purpose to serve as a double punishment. He and Sirius had wreaked more havoc in Charms, conjuring bludgers that cuffed people over the head every time they tried to speak. Flitwick had been kind enough to restrain from a punishment, but McGonagall no doubt had other plans.

"You will forgo these lowly attempts to change my mind," she told them sternly before she dismissed them. "I don't like it any more than you do, but Poppy has put her foot down; we can't risk losing our medi-witch to something as trivial as a sport."

That, at least, revealed a weakness, but for once James couldn't see a way to turn the tides in his favor. He and Sirius strolled gloomily through the halls to the kitchens; a snack prepared by the house-elves might cheer them up and even stimulate their minds.

Once on the other side of the fruit portrait, the house-elves scurried about to bring the two Gryffindors a large tray of treacle tarts and pumpkin juice. The food was good, if not particularly inspirational. "We're screwed," Sirius said glumly, having swallowed his last gulp of pumpkin juice. "There's no way we'll be able to come up with something by the end of the week, not something that'll change her mind." He heaved a great sigh that made a couple of the house-elves look up from the spot of floor they were scrubbing. "I guess our flying days are over."

James was about to admit his agreement when a slightly mocking voice said, "Take heart, brother. It's not over yet; or do all Gryffindors give up so easily?"

Of course Sirius recognized the voice, but he mightn't have believed it if he hadn't heard the word "brother." "Regulus?" he asked incredulously, spraying a few crumbs of treacle tart on the "s." "How do you know how to get into the kitchens?"

Regulus Black, boy who could have been mistaken for Sirius at a distance, rolled his eyes. "I'm a Slytherin," he reminded them, sneering. "You thought you two geniuses were the only ones who could figure out how to get in? A third year could've applied the magic it takes to--"

"Who cares how you got here; what do you want?" James cut in rudely.

The smug look of superiority that spread over Regulus's face was enough to make James curl his fist into a ball. Oh, what he would give to get in a good punch, but he could never do that to Sirius's brother, no matter how big of a git he was. Unless, of course, Regulus gave the first hit. Then nothing could stop James from pounding, or better yet, hexing him into oblivion.

"The same thing you want, I imagine," Regulus replied airily. When James and Sirius remained silent, he added with exaggerated patience, "Quidditch. I want to save Quidditch."

James was taken aback, but recovered quickly. "We've already tried," he shot at the younger boy. "Sirius and I -- we've had talks with McGonagall, we've tried to make a point--"

"You call writing phony essays and conjuring a couple of bludgers in class 'trying?'" Regulus scoffed. James opened his mouth to ask exactly how Regulus knew what they had done when he realized that he would probably get an answer along the lines of "I'm a Slytherin," and frankly, he didn't care to be reminded which House Sirius's family was generally associated with.

"I'm a Slytherin," Regulus went on anyway, and James groaned loudly, "and I don't know if you've ever paid attention to the Sorting Hat's songs, but one main attribute we're associated with is cunning. That means I know how to work my way around people. That said, I won't pretend our dear medi-witch Madam Pomfrey has any fond feelings for me. Like it or not, I can't persuade her to change her mind alone, and as you two, for reasons I have yet to discover, seem to be deep in her good books, I… can't do it unless you're there to back me up. And as I'm the one who knows how to read people and get around them, you can't go there without me. You need me."

James gaped. A Slytherin wanted their help reinstating the Quidditch cup? And he expected them to think of it as their needing his help? He turned to share his outrage with Sirius, only to see his friend nodding slowly. It was then he remembered that the two were brothers. Different though they may be, they were still brothers, and Sirius had never hated Regulus.

"You can't seriously be thinking of teaming up with him?" James pried weakly, but he knew the answer before it was given. It made sense, he admitted to himself grudgingly. He would do anything if it meant having Quidditch back. But this was a Sltytherin…

Sirius gave him a dark look. "We've got to," he said gravely, as though they were agreeing to fight Dark wizards rather than accompany another student to talk to the medi-witch.

Though every cell in James's brain was screaming in protest, his shoulders slumped and he had to accept defeat. "All right," he said heavily, trying to stress that he would rather do anything but this. "We'll do it."

"That should do it, Miss Evans," Madam Pomfrey was saying kindly to an all-too-familiar redhead in James's class. His heart turned over when she saw the tearstains streaking her face, and a potion bottle in her hand as she stood up from the bed she was sitting on and left the hospital wing, hardly seeming to register that there was anyone else present.

James vowed he would get one of Lily's to tell him what was wrong later; he knew Madam Pomfrey would never say.

"Do it now," Regulus hissed in his ear. He and Sirius stood on either side of him, waiting for him to make the first move. They had gone over what to say the night before, and it wasn't as though James had never tried to sweet-talk any of the professors. It felt somehow wrong when it came to Madam Pomfrey, though.

"Hullo," he started off lamely. His mind raced frantically back to what Regulus had told him. "Uh - lovely day out, isn't it? Perfect to get some fresh air. You don't seem to have any patients; care to join us for a little stroll?"

Madam Pomfrey glared at him suspiciously. "You wouldn't happen to want something, would you, Mr. Potter?" she barked shrewdly. "No potions to keep handy in case one of your stunts goes wrong?"

"Nothing like that, Madam," James assured her, giving her a winning smile. "We - Regulus, Sirius, and I - just thought you'd enjoy the fresh air, and perhaps a friendly bit of conversation."

He had begged Regulus to let them stay inside. After all, how many students just invited a staff member to join them for a walk? Regulus had insisted on it, though, and there was no changing his mind.

"I suppose," Pomfrey said reluctantly. It was clear she still suspected that something was off, but Regulus took her by the arm and led her out through the hospital wing. The four of them crossed through the entrance hall and made their way to the grounds.

"Nothing like a good bit of fresh air," Sirius sighed, stopping for a moment to breathe in deeply. James sniggered; this may be what they had agreed on, but it looked and sounded positively ridiculous.

"Air is good," Regulus agreed heartily, clapping Madam Pomfrey on the shoulder. She scowled at him and crossed her arms, but didn't say anything. "Say… it's a shame we older students aren't allowed out very often. Between sitting in lessons and studying for exams and doing all our homework, we've no time to come out except on Hogsmeade weekends. Of course, we used to come out for Quidditch, but I guess that's over now."

Madam Pomfrey's scowl deepened. "Yes, it is," she said icily. "I won't deny that a spot of air is healthy, but it's not worth all the oxygen in the world to be out playing dangers sports that could cause serious injury! I'd rather have you half-suffocating inside the castle walls than up in the air, getting chased around by bludgers and making horrid dives that you just barely pull out of in time! I've made up my mind; the sport has to go!"

She was fuming, practically foaming at the mouth, but the boys held their ground. "All that ever really happens is a broken bone or two," James coaxed her gently. "That can be fixed in about a minute, can't it? You've put up with it all these years -- why ban it now?"

"Besides," Regulus added before she could say anything, "Quidditch is the only way some students feel accepted. Without being part of the team, they're just a nobody. This could lower some people's self confidence, and could lead to depression." His eyes were dark and serious, and James had to admire him. If he hadn't known this was scripted, he might have thought Regulus was speaking straight from the heart.

"I've made up my mind…" Madam Pomfrey repeated, but she didn't sound as sure. Students with depression? That wasn't something easily treated.

James pulled out his final hope, his winning card, the reason Regulus had needed him to come along. "You've fixed up a lot of me and my friends' injuries," he said, giving her a small smile. "I think only one of them was ever from Quidditch. But keep in minding, banning the Quidditch Cup doesn't mean that students won't still fly around the pitch and play their own games. It wouldn't be as fun as playing in front of the school is, though -- or as safe. Surely it would be better if there were hundreds of people nearby to help, rather than just a handful of other students? What if someone died because there wasn't a teacher around to save them? What if, say, Sirius hit a bludger at me and I fell off my broom? He certainly doesn't know any healing spells, and all the professors would probably be inside teaching."

The last two lines weren't planned, but they helped get the point across, and James couldn't resist making a dig at his friend.

Madam Pomfrey exhaled through her nose. "I see you three aren't about to let up," she observed. "All right, fine, you can have your game. But don't think that the next time you show up in the hospital wing because you were hit in the head with a bludger that I'll let you forget this was your idea."

She walked away, back to her office in the hospital wing, and Regulus, Sirius, and James exchanged looks of glee. For one day, they had been able to forget that they were normally on opposing sides, and the result was the return of their favorite pastime.

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES!" the commentator shouted; it was the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match of the season, and the majority of the spectators were clad in scarlet-and-gold. The Slytherins' cheers for their team were not outshone, though. No one could say they lacked in House spirit.

James whooped loudly, having just scored a goal. It was 120-30, Gryffindor in the lead. The Seeker, Thomas Keane, circled the pitch like a hawk searching for prey. Regulus Black was hovering near the Slytherin goalposts, squinting out at the vast stretch of sky in front of him.

The quaffle was back in James's possession. He shot forward, dropping it down to Chaser Howard McCormack, who passed it back as a green-and-silver blur tried to steal it from him. James was nearly at the goalpost. He aimed to throw the quaffle in the middle goal, but before he released it, Regulus suddenly shot upward. Thomas Keane was racing from back farther towards the Gryffindor end of the pitch. James rushed closer to get a better look, and soon he was on one side of Regulus, and Keane was on the other.

Regulus tilted his face a little until he could look James straight in the eye. "Thanks for your help, mate," he said with a wink, and then it was over. The snitch fluttered in Regulus's hand, which was raised triumphantly in the air. The Slytherins' screams drowned out the groans from the Gryffindors by far, and even James could hardly resent the win.

Just this once, he would let the Slytherins have their victory in peace. In the end, a lost Quidditch game was better than none at all.

The philosophy would not last long, though, for next game, he would beat them, and no shared bond with Regulus would stop him from gloating.