So, here goes. It's another one-shot, but I'll be starting my multi-chapter ideas soon, I promise!
The Death of James
Harry Potter sat next to his wife in the front row of the gigantic stadium. Even though the game was played in the air, front row seats were still exclusive. However, they were also the seats that were reserved for the family members of the players. That was why they were there. His son, James, had led England to its first World Cup final since 1864.
"Aaaannnddd… POTTER!" he heard the announcer call as he watched his son fly to join the rest of his team. Harry smiled as he remembered his own quidditch fantasies after his first World Cup game. Although it was a very exciting match, with some of the most evenly matched chasers Harry had ever seen, he had eyes only for his son. He flew above the rest of the players, seemingly doing nothing, but Harry, being a seeker himself, knew better.
Suddenly, he saw James rocket upward. "Go James, GO!" he shouted. Through his omnioculars, he had seen the sudden intense look of concentration that could only mean one thing; James had seen the snitch. The other seeker followed close behind, but she was too late. James already held the elusive ball in his grasp. He raised the hand containing the snitch over his head as the crowd below erupted into cheers.
No one, not even Harry, noticed the other team's beater take careful aim as he hit a bludger at James. Very few even noticed as James pitched forward off of his broom as the bludger hit him in the back of the head. By the time anyone had stopped in their celebrations long enough to notice, James was less than 100 feet above the ground and there was no time to stop the fall completely. The mediwizards and referee used a spell to slow the seeker's fall, but even then the CRUNCH of James hitting the ground echoed through the stadium.
Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was on his feet running towards the barrier, pushing through the crowds of Weasley cousins who had also just realized that something had gone horribly wrong. The guards at the barrier attempted to stop him, but he pushed through, all the while shouting "Let me through! That's my son!"
When he finally got to James, he was already surrounded my mediwizards attempting to revive him. He heard one of the wizards commenting to an official, "We got him conscious, but probably not for long. It's a miracle he's still alive after that fall."
Right before he got to James, a mediwizard stopped him. "Mr. Potter, before you see him, you should know that he isn't likely to make it. The fall nearly killed him and the head wound isn't helping. He probably won't survive the night."
"All the more reason for me to see him now, then." He pushed past the numerous wizards surrounding his son.
"James! James, come on. Stay with me son." Harry had finally reached him, but he didn't look good, to put it lightly. His limbs were twisted at strange angles and his messy red hair was soaked with blood. Harry made his way past the other healers and held his son for what would likely be the last time.
As he saw his father, James attempted a small smile that turned out more like a pained grimace. "Hey Dad. We won." He said weakly as he opened the hand with the snitch in it. And as the small golden ball flew away, the son of Harry Potter closed his eyes and went limp in his father's arms.
So, I tried to improve the ending, but that's the best I came up with… As for the last time England made it to a World Cup final, I completely made that up. If anyone actually knows, tell me! And, REVIEW! PLEASE!