I am a member of a team, and I rely on the team, I defer to it and I sacrifice for it, because the team, not the individual, is the ultimate champion.

~Mia Hamm

Chapter Eleven

Quidditch

"Well, gentlemen. I was really hoping to avoid this. I was hoping that a summer off and several months would have matured you some. And yet, here we are." Professor McGonagall spoke, looking down at the boys through her half moon glasses. "Your Halloween escapades left the Great Hall in quite the shambles. Now, normally, the hardworking house elves are left to clear up after meals and feasts but, seeing as you four are responsible for the disaster behind me, it just didn't fair to make the innocent house elves clean up after you.

"So, this," Professor McGonagall pushed open the doors of the Great Hall, revealing four long tables and a fifth head table absolutely covered in bits of pumpkin. In fact, there was barely a spare surface that wasn't covered in bits of pumpkin. In fact there was barely a spare surface that wasn't covered in pumpkin. James, and he strongly suspected the others as well, was trying extremely hard to hide his glee.

"This is your responsibility boys. Every single inch of the Great Hall must be pumpkin free by breakfast tomorrow morning or you'll be spending every evening of the next week in my office un-transforming objects. And, because you can't seem to remember that pranking your fellow students is strictly forbidden, you will be doing it with these, and only these."

McGonagall motioned to an area just inside the door. From their position, the four boys couldn't quite see what it was she was talking about, but James was almost certain he wouldn't like what he saw. Slightly apprehensively, the four took a step forward into the Great Hall. They turned to see what McGonagall had pointed at and, when they saw the mops, brooms, sponges, and buckets, their hearts' dropped.

"No magic. I'll be back in a few hours to see how you are doing," Professor McGonagall stated with finality, and then strode out of the Hall. As her robes billowed up the nearby staircase, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter all turned to each other.

"Well, this is going to suck," Sirius stated, though his tone was more bored than anything. A little reluctantly, the four boys grabbed a tool, a mop, or a broom, or a sponge, and set to work. James wasn't sure how they were going to reach the bits of pumpkin that were spattered high on the walls, and especially the bits that were sticking to the ceiling several feet above their heads. Hopefully, when McGonagall checked back in to see how they were progressing, she'd let them use magic to reach those particularly difficult places.

"Next year," Remus spoke as he sponged off the Hufflepuff table, "I say we pick a prank with less mess."

"Well, that was probably the best practice we've had yet. I think we're finally starting to work cohesively and like a well-oiled machine. Keep this up and we'll definitely wipe the floor with the Slytherins. By this time next week, no one will remember the –ah– unfortunateness of last year. Until then, get lots of rest, eat and drink often, and keep your minds focused on our Quidditch plays and strategies. We can win this!" Frank Longbottom spoke to the fathered Gryffindor team. His tone was meant to inspire the players to light their desires to win. However, all the speech managed to do to James was cause him a great deal of stress.

Despite James' years of practice, the countless games he worked and listened to, the involved conversations over strategy he had with his dad, James did not feel ready. He'd only been on the team for a month. He didn't have enough practice with his team under his belt, nor enough practice on the school pitch with the school equipment. He was underprepared to be playing in the game. Especially against Slytherin.

James and his friends had humiliated the Slytherins last year, had led to their disqualification from the Quidditch cup competition. They would be out for blood. They would want revenge, against James especially, but also against Gryffindor. After all, it had been on the lion house that the slimy snakes had tried to pin the illegal and immoral broom tamperings the year before. On top of that, they Slytherins had been extremely close to winning the cup before their disqualification. They would want to score as many points and achieve as many victories as possible to show the students and staff that they could win without dirty tactics.

It all combined to be an extremely heavy weight on James' shoulders, one mostly self-imposed, but heavy nonetheless.

He managed to hold himself together extremely well as he and the other members of the Gryffindor team slowly made their way back to the common room. It wasn't until James was safely in his room, away from judging observers and alone with just his friends, that James finally felt able to drop the weight.

He collapsed, face first, onto his bed and let out a long, agonized groan. Remus, who was across the room on his bed, nose buried in a ratty old book, slowly lowered it. Peter, who had been busily scratching away at a piece of parchment (most likely his homework) looked up at James, worried about his friends. James groaned into his pillow for a second time before rolling over and staring up at the ceiling.

"You alright, mate?" Sirius asked from his perch in front of the window where he was focused on cleaning and mending his broom. Sirius had made the reserve team and was supposed to be prepared to play, though the chances of that happening were slim. The reserve team was there in case a member of the actual tam got hurt, or sick, or couldn't play for whatever reason, but seeing as that didn't happen very often, they most likely wouldn't see much time on the pitch. Because of this, they normally attended half of the practices as the others on the team. That was why Sirius was up in his room and not down on the pitch with James.

"I have to play Quidditch against Slytherin tomorrow and I'm going to absolutely blow it, I'm sure." James responded, still staring up at the ceiling.

"Wha- No! You're going to be fantastic!" Peter sputtered, scrambling off his bed. In his haste, Peter got his foot tangled in his sheets and he tripped and landed on his face just beside his bed.

"Peter's right," Remus chimed in, "you've been practicing like crazy. Just get some sleep and I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning." Remus got off his bed, but went to help Peter instead of James. James and Sirius didn't say anything and, eventually, James rolled over and fell asleep.

When James woke up the next morning, the morning of the first Quidditch match of the year, he was disappointed to find out that Remus, despite his calm and assured tone, was wrong. James, if it was possible, felt worse. He was more stressed and nervous; he felt sick to his stomach and like there were a million butterflies flapping around inside him. It took all of his available effort, and Sirius standing silently over him for several seconds, for James to get out of his bed that morning.

"Look at it this way," Sirius spoke as the pair slowly made their way down to breakfast, "by the time we graduate, by the end of seventh-year, no one will remember the outcome of your first Quidditch game. We'll have done so many more memorable and noteworthy things that today's match will be an insignificant blip." Sirius looked encouragingly at his friend, hoping his little pep talk would help perk James up. James just continued to face forward and walk down the hall, not really acknowledging Sirius' words or even his presence.

"If I completely implode, everyone will remember that. And I don't have enough practice so I'm definitely going to implode. In front of the whole school and in a game against Slytherin. That is all anyone is going to remember." James spoke, his tone of voice calm despite the fact that his words were anything but. He honestly wasn't sure where all this self-doubt was coming from; it wasn't a normal state for James to be in. normally, he was cocky, confident, and so self-assured that he was positive it annoyed others. Yet, something about this match was playing strange tricks with his mind.

"James!" Sirius exclaimed, retching James from his thoughts by grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing the messy haired boy to look him in the eye. "You're being ridiculous! If you were a bad Quidditch player then you wouldn't have made the team. If you were sucking in practice, then Frank surely would have sacked you by now. He obviously has no concerns; he thinks you are going to do a fantastic job and you shouldn't think any different. Stop stressing, and worrying, and just think about the fact that you get to play Quidditch today! Now buck up, and let's get some food in you!"

Sirius then continued to stare James down, letting his message and words sink in to his friend's thick skull. The pair stood in the hallway, staring at each other for several seconds before something in James finally clicked. He felt all of his previously tense muscles relax and a huge smile cross his face.

"I get to play Quidditch today!" James exclaimed, joy and excitement filling his voice for the first time in a twenty-four hour period. He then turned and, with a spring in his step, sauntered off down the hallway in the direction of the Great Hall and the warm, delicious breakfast that waiting him there.

James felt alive, more alive than he ever had before. The wind rushed through his hair and whistled past his ears. It was absolutely exhilarating. He expertly weaved between the hulking Slytherin chasers and beaters, and made a beeline for the three large hoops at the other end of the field. Suddenly, a Slytherin figure popped up in front of him without giving James a chance to get around him. As if on instinct, James flung the Quaffle to his right and into the awaiting hands of Frank Longbottom, who then took off down the field.

With his path still blocked, James stopped short and watched Frank's progress across the pitch. The older boy flew through the air like a firecracker; not a single Slytherin was able to keep pace. Only a few feet from the goal, Frank wound up and let the Quaffle fly, right over the head of the Slytherin keeper.

"Longbottom scores! Gryffindor with another ten, making their lead 120 – 30. And the assist goes to the eager young star, James Potter. The second-year sure has been making a name for himself this game. He was an excellent get for the Gryffindor team who are trying, and if I do say so myself, succeeding, to rebuild after the, ah, problems of last year." James allowed the excited praise of the announcer, a sixth year Hufflepuff named Karlson, to wash over him for a few seconds before he blocked it all out again and focused back on the game.

Slytherin had the Quaffle and were slowly making their way across the pitch, greatly hampered by the efforts at the Gryffindor beaters. James and the other Gryffindor chasers quickly surrounded the Slytherins and joined in on the harassment. A well-timed bludger hit the Slytherin in possession of the Quaffle to drop it after being hit heard in the chest. The third Gryffindor chaser, Price, shot after the Quaffle and picked it up a few yards from the grass.

With the Gryffindors back in possession, James shot across the pitch to his spot according to the playbook. He waited and watched as Price and Longbottom essentially played keep-away with the three Slytherin chasers. Then, when they'd drawn close to James, they passed him the Quaffle. James took off like a flash, leaving the unsuspecting Slytherins in his dust.

"And now Potter's got the Quaffle and he's off across the pitch! There isn't a Slytherin anywhere close! He's lined up with the goal, just him and the Slytherin keeper, McNair. Potter shoots and, it's good! 130 – 30 for Gryffindor! Someone put Slytherin out of the misery. First being unmasked last year as the Quidditch broom tamperers and now being absolutely trounced by Gryffindor. How much more can they take?" Karlson's voice reverberated through James' skull. That was his fifth goal of the game and it still felt as exhilarating as his first.

As James flew a victory lap, he searched the crowd for his friends' faces, most certainly beaming at his success. He found the three of them exactly where he expected, and they were indeed beaming and crazily cheering on his success.

In that moment, he had absolutely no idea whey he'd been so worried about the game earlier. This was absolutely fantastic.

Gryffindor won, after Karen Wilde, the Gryffindor seeker, expertly caught the snitch. The final score was 300 – 50. And, after their victory, Gryffindor celebrated. They'd once again bested Slytherin, and in dazzling fashion. It definitely deserved a wild, raucous party, and that's exactly what Gryffindor did. And James was almost a guest of honour of sorts.

In his reckoning, things couldn't get any better, and then they did.

As James lounged on the couch with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, basking in his victory and glory, Lily Evans approached him, albeit apprehensively. She stopped a fair distance from him and stood around awkwardly for several seconds, before lifting her head. She focused in on Remus first, and something seemed to pass between them. Then, Lily turned and looked at James.

"Congratulations, James! I thought you'd be absolutely terrible, and Marley here bet me that you'd be amazing. Unfortunately, I lost and now have to come congratulate you. So…" Having said her piece she turned on her heel and almost fled from his spot but James didn't care.

Lily Evans had congratulated him.

He'd won his first ever Quidditch match.

He was on cloud nine.