Stupid Snitch

By Matelia-legwll

Disclaimer: No, definitely not Jo Rowling still.

I wish I could've stayed in the Hospital wing as well, just to get rid of this massive headache those two gave me. Who invented Quidditch spirit chants anyway? Alright, the chants themselves are pretty clever: "Touch gold, Gryffindor!" and "Ravenclaws, touch bronze!" Except gold is the win and bronze is third place. I'll have to remind Justin Turner about that. I bet he forgot.

Whoa! There's Potter! Where is he going, and why is he running away so fast? Looks like he's heading towards the Quidditch pitch.

I slid off the windowsill and started down the flight of stairs. I paused midway through a step. Why am I following Potter?

I continued walking, more slowly, still thinking about the answer to that. I knew I needed to, but I had no clue why. As I reached the end of the stairs, I thankfully paused again. If I hadn't, Black would have trampled me underfoot as he charged in the opposite direction from the Grand Staircase.

They've obviously been up to some Marauder mischief, I assured myself.

For some reason, whether boredom or curiosity I couldn't tell, I found I was still wandering in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. I momentarily entertained the thought that I could go back up to the common room and ask permission to borrow Beth's broom, but I did that last week and I'm too lazy to go back up the stairs. I feel like talking to Potter and I'm not sure why. Maybe I could tell him off for contributing to my headache.

"Potter!" I called as I moseyed onto the pitch. "Potter!" I narrowed my eyes as I spotted his tufts of black hair poking out from the woodwork. "Potter! Where are you hiding?" I yelled, knowing full well the answer, but wanting him to admit it.

I heard a sigh, then Potter stepped out and waved to me, a stupid grin coming over his face. "Hey Evans," he drawled.

I marched over, driven by my purpose for now. "What did you think you were doing?" I demanded, waving my arms to include everything around us.

"What, now? Hiding in the Quidditch supplies."

I frowned. What a smart mouth.

"Here, come in before she sees you," he insisted, nearly pulling me in as he made sure the door was closed behind both of us.

"Who else was looking for you?" I asked curiously, and yes, I know I was very easily distracted.

"Never mind that," he dismissed, ruffling his hair and straightening his shoulders. Admittedly, yes, he does look more attractive when he does that, but I can't let him know that. "What did you want to see me for?" he asked, his voice pitched lower than usual.

I narrowed my eyes. He really needs to stop that. "It's not going to work this time, Potter," I warned him.

He shrugged and leaned back on a box behind him. "When has it ever? Go on, let me have it." He crossed his arms and looked at me expectantly.

Wait, why was I irritated? Oh yeah. Headache.

"Did you realize Madam Pomfrey is going to murder you and Justin?"

Well that came out slightly different than I think either of us expected. I sounded excited about the impending deaths.

"No," Potter said slowly, probably questioning my sanity. "Where'd you hear that?" He was still straight faced. I'll have to keep with it.

"Straight from the nurse herself," I stated, finishing with a nod to reaffirm the authority of my claims.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did she specify our names?"

Rats! I don't think she did. Wait! I know what I could tell him instead. "No, but I told her you were the one responsible for Justin's condition."

I was so proud of myself for coming up with that retort. And Potter's reaction was totally worth it. He started, his eyes going wide as he pretty much yelped, "Why'd you tell her that?" He quickly cleared his throat afterward and composed himself a little better, but I knew I still had his full attention.

"Because you are!" I insisted. "And Madam P swore that she'd murder the next person that came in with a Quidditch spirit related injury, and the person that caused the damage."

So there. Take the cowardly way out and run while you still have a chance. Er… did I just call Madam Pomfrey by my super secret nickname for her in front of James Potter?

"So you mean to stop this from happening again?" he asked calmly.

Seriously? Calmly? Why does he always have to ruin my plans? How can I get him back to being uncomfortable?

"She threatened to start with you," I pointed out obviously, rolling my eyes. Honestly, I'm not that low where I need to invent an excuse to talk to Potter about something that may or may not happen in the future.

"You're warning me, then. Thanks." The arrogant, blind jerk. I'm not that pathetic.

"No!" My frustration spiked, and I stomped a foot. "I realize that it's nearly impossible for you to connect an action with a consequence. Unfortunately, you're a Marauder. You're not concerned for your own life or consequences at all. But at least show a concern for others' lives. You don't have to be blind as well as stupid, Potter," I snapped at him.

Out of air and not having anything else come to mind to say, I paused. Great, my temper had taken control of my tongue again and made me say some things I didn't mean. Surprisingly, in spite of the twinging of guilt, I do feel marginally better now. I glanced up at him, slightly concerned at his lack of response.

He was glaring at me, so my gaze quickly returned to the floor.

"Admittedly, I'm not as concerned for Turner as you are," he retorted sharply.

The level of guilt rose. I had not been concerned for Justin Turner since I left him in the Hospital Wing, and here I was trying to convince Potter to be concerned about him and these possible consequences.

"But how many times have you been in the Hospital Wing?" he asked, surprising me with the subject change.

Did he really expect me to have counted every time I escorted someone to the Hospital Wing? "What do you mean by that?" I asked, my confusion overruling my pride.

I was also hoping for an out before the guilt rose unbearably.

Potter shrugged one shoulder before patiently asking, "How many times have you been there because of your own injury?"

Oh… hm… My own injury. I can't think of a single time—wait. I can think of one.

"Er… once, maybe," I said slowly, trying to remember if there were more times than just the time in second year when I sprained my ankle. Maybe…

"Your sprained ankle, right?" he stated more than asked.

In surprise, my wide eyes flew up to his face. Big mistake. I hate how easily I lose my train of thought and end up just gazing at him. Thankfully, I kept enough of my wits about me so I could hide my staring with the question, "How d'you remember that?"

The corner of his lips quirked slightly and I tore my gaze away from his face as he refocused his attention on me. "Anyway, just to let you know, regulars never get hurt without Madam Pomfrey spouting off death threats if it happens again. She never follows through on them."

Stubborn Potter. Didn't even answer my question. He knew it too. And that was even a real question, not like the one the conversation requires now. "But how can you be sure she won't this time?" I insincerely acted overly worried by the prospect as I added, "You didn't hear her."

The insincerity went completely over his head. I can't imagine how. Those lines were as cheesily put together as anything on the wireless. But for some reason I had caught James Potter in a serious mood. Usually it's the other way around, but today I didn't mean half the things I'm saying and he's taking me seriously. His straight faces will kill me someday.

"No, but I can sure picture it."

Now so can I. Thanks so much Potter. Great, he chose to flash a smile. Wish I could stop myself from swooning ever so slightly.

"Honestly, Evans, I'm a lot more worried about you following through on death threats than Pomfrey's ravings."

I pouted at his flattering words. Nothing ever goes according to plan with him. Admittedly, it wasn't much of a plan. Just trying to make him feel threatened and uncomfortable. I'm still not sure if it is actually possible, but it was worth a try.

"Fine. Be stubborn. But don't tell me in the afterlife that I didn't let you know," I warned.

Hang on, what's that floating behind Potter's head? Or, rather… flying? Is it a bird? How long has that been there? Could it be a snitch?

"You feel guilty for telling on me, don't you?" he asked arrogantly. Self-centered Quidditch playing…

"Hardly," I scoffed. Honestly, he must have been messing with the snitch before I came in. How else could it have dislodged itself so quietly?

"But you came all the way out to the Quidditch field, inside the supplies cupboard with me, to tell me of Pomfrey's threats."

The alarm is going off in my head: Bubble alert! Potter has invaded my personal bubble. I wanted to glare at him so he'd step back, but the stupid snitch is holding all my attention. It's hovering behind his head, first on one side, then the other. "So?" I kept my eyes on it. He'd better not think—

"Evans, why are you still here?"

I'm not going to answer that. Stupid flying ball. It must hate me.

"Oh," I huffed, displeased with myself for getting into this situation. "You want me to leave. Alright." I turned and started for the door, feeling better in spite of his protests.

"No," "Wait," and "Listen to me," I was able to successfully ignore. "Lily!" stopped me dead in my attempt.

I don't think he comprehends the effect it has on me emotionally whenever he calls me by my Christian name. I'm glad my back was to him. I was sure that if he was watching my face, he would have recognized the emotions I felt—pleasure, confusion, loyalty, regret, irritation, sorrow, impatience, anger—all in that single moment of silence after he crossed that line. I spun back after I had settled my face on anger.

"Don't." Step. "Call." Step. "Me." Step. "So." Step. "Intimately," I ordered, firmly enunciating each syllable.

The snitch was hovering close to his ear, (I don't know how he could ignore it so well) so on an irritated whim, I quickly snatched it.

"Whoa!" Potter cried, belatedly ducking.

I peeked at the snitch, proud that I had caught it. The wings fluttered then withdrew into the golden ball. Noticing that I now had something I could throw, I tossed it at Potter, adding, "And here's your stupid snitch."

I was aiming for it to hit him on his thick head, but I suppose his shoulder will have to do. His stupid reflexes were quick enough to catch it before it fell to the floor, but his wince was quite satisfying. I watched him as it turned into wonder. "How'd you catch—" He stopped his question with a shake of his head. His brain caught up with his mouth before it could dig a pit for him to fall into. Not that I would've answered a question like that.

"This isn't a practice snitch," he announced. "This is the one for the game." His wonder and amazement slightly annoyed me.

"And that matters why?" I asked, impatiently. Potter had been messing with the snitch before. Why was he suddenly putting on this act? Why did he never believe me when I said I could see through his antics?

"Never mind," he muttered, stuffing the snitch in his pocket. For some reason, I had mixed feelings about him keeping it. I'm not sure why.

"Do you realize how brilliant of a Seeker you'd be?" he asked.

And to make a point, I met his gaze again. "You'll never get me off the ground, Potter," I replied, dismissing the proposal before he got the question out.

He pursed his lips. "I've seen you fly before," he stubbornly insisted. Yeah? When? First year? I rolled my eyes.

"Not in front of a crowd," I promised. I don't want the ego that comes with Quidditch. Flying? Yes, I love flying. I wish I could fly better, sometimes, but that's still no reason to play sports on a broomstick.

"Well, no. But the crowd doesn't matter," he said earnestly.

What words just came out of Potter's mouth? I tilted my head and stared at him incredulous. "Doesn't it?" I asked slyly. If I could get him to say it twice, perhaps I could shut him up when he pesters me to come.

Potter frowned, leaned against a case, and crossed his arms. "You're a tricky one, Evans," he muttered finally.

I rolled my eyes. Typical. I started moving slowly towards the door again, trying to think of something to say to end the conversation. "Don't hide too long, Potter," is what flew out of my mouth before I shut him alone in the Quidditch supplies cupboard once more.

Brr. It's colder out here than I expected. I pulled my cloak tighter around me as I hurried back to the castle. I hope Potter takes my advice, despite how flippant and awkwardly it was put.

Looks like a storm is coming in.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

Anonymous, since you are anonymous, let me respond to the two issues you brought up in your review. First, Remus was a conscious decision to exclude. Full moons happen on Quidditch games more often than not, and James wouldn't fret about Remus not being in the crowd. Second, anything Dumbledore can do, James Potter can do better. And from what I remember, everyone-Hermione, Ron, Scrimgeour, and Harry-knew that the Snitch opening for Harry was a possibility. Not Dumbledore inventing something brand new that had never happened before. It had been done before, and that was the whole point Scrimgeour came personally. A big cookie and my thanks to you for reviewing!

Reviewers get cookies!

Again, thank you! Enjoy!