Well, now… chapter 14. Quidditch part 2; aka, the sport from the eyes of James! Yeah, it isn't the best, but I wanted to try my hand at writing a sport. Sue me! No, please, please, PLEASE don't sue me… I have nothing left…

Anyway, who do you all think will win? Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw? And by the way, I'm making quidditch out to being a six-game a year deal; playing each team once sounds boring, doesn't it?

I started my creative writing class Wednesday. It was quite possibly the awesomest experience I've ever had, and my teacher super rad. She seriously has the greatest name in the world. What is it? I can't tell you. But the only thing that would be better than that class would be seeing a nun punch a shark underwater with Optimus Prime swimming nonchalantly in the background.

I started typing this chapter on a piece of Microsoft Word that had some of my drabbles on James Dean's character bio, and I was too lazy to cut, paste, and save either of these on a new document, so you all get to see into the character from the author's(me!) perspective. Yippee…

Oh, and as for the sneak peek last chapter? You're not supposed to know ALL of whats going on. Like... WHY is the four of them at Privet Drive, of ALL places? Why was Travis making Brian go to church? Why did James and Lily leave them there, when Sirius and Remus or Quincy the Butler could have handled it? These are questions you are all supposed to be asking yourself, and then saying, "Hey, I TOTALLY wanna read this new fic now! It sounds MYSTERIOUS!" Savvy?

"Recommended" Listening: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

Artist: The Offspring

Album: Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace

James stood at the entrance to the quidditch pitch with a gross feeling of apprehension. According to Roger, the others had been upset that Jeremy Stretton had been replaced, and they weren't at all ready to accept a First Year, of all people, as his replacement.

"Here goes…" James muttered. He walked forward and made his way to the Ravenclaw locker rooms.

"Ah, there you are," Desmond greeted as James walked in nervously.

"'Sup," James greeted back, nervously taking a seat next to a young, pretty Asian girl who smiled at him.

"Hi," she looked him up and down anxiously.

"Yo," James nodded at her.

"I'm Cho. Cho Chang."

"Bond," James smirked, feeling confidant for the first time in days. "James Bond."

"You're a fan of Sean Connery?"

"Fan? The man's my freaking idol!"

"Ahem," Desmond coughed, glaring at them. "You two done playing footsie?"

"Footsie? I was thinking more along the lines of 'Guess Who.'"

"The band?" another one of the players asked, a beater judging by the bat between his legs.

"Exactly," James nodded with a smirk.

"I like him," the Beater announced, looking at Desmond while pointing at James.

"Can we get on with the team meeting, please?"

"Sure, Dez."

"Yes, lets," a tall, light-blonde girl agreed with a hint of annoyance.

"Good. Now, I'm going to introduce James to you all and you to him. He is going to be playing for Jeremy, at least for now.

"James, the tall, blonde girl over there in the corner is Atris."

James waved half-heartedly at her, but she merely glared at him.

"The two sods sitting in the middle of the bench there are Jason Samuels, and Duncan Inglebee," Desmond motioned to the two in the center of the locker room. "They're our Beaters."

Jason, the Beater who had the bat between his legs, nodded at him and grinned, trying to be welcoming. He had dirty blond hair and a crooked, broken nose. Duncan, a thin and average looking Fifth Year tilted his head, sizing James up.

"Our Keeper, Grant Page is the guy standing over there," Desmond pointed out the stocky, muscular Keeper. He was leaning against the wall nonchalantly, looking like he was ready to rip James apart if he looked at him wrong. Then he smiled a friendly grin that looked wholly out of place.

"Welcome to the team," he addressed with a slight lisp. He mimicked tipping a hat at James and laughed. James was reminded of a large and savage looking, but ultimately gentle teddy bear.

"And you have already gotten acquainted with Cho; she's our reserve Seeker."

It seemed like Atris did not like this little fact. Her expression went cloudy, with a high probability of cat-fight.

"Now, Dumbledore has given us permission to have James on the team for as long as possible-."

Jason raised his hand. "Boss?"

"Yes, Jason?"

"I think it's safe to ask, y'know, uh… why is Jeremy's replacement a First Year? I mean, his brother was good in one game, but still… Don't you think you're just trying to make him into another Harry? Are you just doing this just for the, er, publicity, I guess?"

Desmond was silent for a moment. He moved his jaw and leaned forward on his Nimbus 1700. "Look. I know this sounds like a gamble-"

"You're telling me," Atris muttered.

"Atris, not now," Desmond seethed. "I know this sounds like a gamble, but I want you to know this; me and Roger have been training him personally for the past month, and dammit, he's twice the Chaser that Jeremy is. He's a child genius, and he learned the full set of formations and passing patterns and he's a natural on the stick. He. Will. Be. Good."

James felt his chest swell slightly with pride. Desmond thought he was good? Or maybe he is just hyping the team up, James thought pessimistically. He deflated at the thought. Wait, since when am I such a critic?

"That's another question I think should be brought up," Atris suddenly attacked, leaning forward and glaring at Desmond. "What is your obsession with handing the team right off to Davies? He's just a third year, and has only played for a year yet you are just ready and willing to hand him, of all people, the reins of this team once we're gone."

Roger's pale face went beet red. James couldn't tell if it was in anger, shame, or both; his features were locked in a neutral expression.

"I think you should watch who you criticize, Atris," Desmond shot back quietly. "Need I remind you who cost us the championship last year, Miss Concussion?"

It was her turn to flush. She quaked slightly, trying to quell her anger. "Is that why she's here?" Atris pointed accusingly at Cho. "To replace me when I prove too fragile to play?"

"No. She's here to learn from the best Seeker Ravenclaw's had in years so that she can replace you next year. Or do you fancy yourself a muggle magician; you never want to reveal your secrets?"

"If you're questioning my-"

"I'm not questioning your team-first mentality. I'm questioning your anger. Why are you being so crass?"

Atris opened her mouth to bite back, then stopped mid reply, snapping her mouth shut. Finally, she turned her head down and said no more.

"James will help us. He will not be a hindrance. And I sure as bloody hell didn't go through putting my neck on the line with Dumbledore just to garner a little bit of publicity, controversial publicity at that. He is a part of the team, and if any of you are the people I know and trust, you will come to not just accept him, you will inevitably like him. Roger is going to be referred as the captain next year because he deserves it. He is as good a Chaser as I, and an offensive genius to boot. Any more useless questions? No? Then let's get out to the pitch."

James found out quickly that quidditch players were as rough around the edges as anyone could be. The Beaters cracked lewd jokes as they high-fived each other, Grant had allergies and would blow snot-rockets in-between reps, Desmond liked to chug water and a gloppy mixed drink that was said to build muscle and renew energy, and Roger needed "special cream."

It seemed like the only two who stayed civilized were Atris and Cho. However, James wouldn't exactly say Atris was being "cultured" with Cho. She kept getting impatient with her, and even had butted her out of the way with the tail of her broom just to catch the Snitch, which in a real game would have been a foul.

James didn't pay them any attention after the Chasers started their drills. For what felt like an eternity, they went over formation after formation and passing pattern after passing pattern, all while being grilled by the Beaters. It was the toughest thing James had ever done, including Father Duke's old pee wee football practices.

James lost count how many times he was blown into an uncontrollable spiral after getting hit by a Bludger, falling of his broom, and got sent flying through the grass of the pitch. This seemed to please Duncan and Jason to no end, and they cheered every time he popped back up like it never happened.

"Oi, I think we got a keepuh," Duncan would scream to Desmond occasionally in his thick Irish accent.

"Aye, a Keeper!" Jason would toss in, throwing his bat at Grant who, being the quick-handed Keeper he was, caught the wooden club easily and would chuck it back angrily, to Jason's glee.

"Keep your damn clubzth to you-thelz!"

"Gladly," Jason would answer back suavely. "You're not our type anyway, right Dunk?"

"Aye, I ain't no knobjockey."

By the time practice had ended, James was tired beyond belief but was in the best spirits he had been in since Desmond told him he would be playing. He made quick friends with Duncan and Jason, and Grant had quickly taken him under his wing, giving him pointers on his form.

"I notithed that you wath leaning a little to the weft on that lafth thot, Potter."

"I'll keep that in mind, man."

"You better. We need a good weplathement for Jeremy."

Again, the only one who wasn't in good spirits was Atris, who stormed out of practice that night alone, Cho trying to catch up to her.

"But that Wronski Feint; how am I supposed to turn into the dive-"

"Go away!"

"But how-"

"I said go away!"

Cho lowered her outstretched hand and dropped her gaze to the ground. Dejected, she shuffled back to the locker rooms with a metaphorical tail in-between her legs.

"What's up with that Atris chick, anyway?" James asked Roger as they tossed their practice gear into the lockers. "She seems like she's got a…

"Stick up her arse?"

"Yeah."

Roger sighed as he unclamped his leg guards and dug his fists into his thighs. "Last year, she was the best Seeker in school. We had gone four and oh, never defeated. And then in the second to last game, bang! Derrick and Bole, the two Slytherin Beaters, double-teamed her when we were up by seventy points. She fell off her broom, broke her leg, and almost cracked her neck. The force of two bludgers slamming into her skull gave her a really bad concussion. We were given double penalty shots for the infraction, but without a Seeker... we lost that game. Higgs caught the Snitch. The next game she was back in, but she had lost her touch. We lost that last game and the Championship to Slytherin because she pulled out of a dive. People have ridiculed her for it. Called her a coward, a scaredy cat. A fool."

"Wow… and she's still… playing?"

"Yeah. She has it still, but she's all determined. Prove them all wrong, she wants. The thing that stings the most for her, I think, is that of all the people who have criticized her, Ravenclaw house has been the worst."

"Her own house?"

"She cost them a shot at glory, a chance we haven't had in over ninety years."

"Oh. Fickle are the masses?"

"Exactly," Roger stated as he closed his locker and pulled his shirt on. "C'mon, I heard that there's going to be pot roast, garlic-buttered potatoes and ice cream for dinner. Don't wanna miss out, do we?"

"Hey, Potter," Desmond called out as they both walked out of the Great Hall that night. "Can I show you something?"

"Uh… sure."

"Don't worry, I'm the Head Boy, remember? Nobody's going to question why you are out late if you're with me."

"Right," James nodded. That's exactly what I was afraid of.

Desmond led him through the corridors and up the stairs that led to the Trophy Room. He opened the door and led James in, marveling at the shiny silver and gold cups and figures in their enclosed crystal panes.

The trophy room was a large, open room with rows upon rows of awards students of a high stature had won. It was almost a full museum in the amount of showcases it held, all of them describing the history behind its contents. To James' immediate right sat a small cabinet which listed the winners of something called a Tri-Wizard tournament. A row near the back of the room held international gobstones club winners. A modest case showed academically prevalent students who went on to become very important names in magical history; Mungo Bonham, Mnemone Radford, Hambledon Quince, Jocunda Sykes, and all four of the Hogwarts founders were premiered in it. However, the majority of the Hall held quidditch history.

"Here it is," Desmond whispered.

"The trophy room" James said dully.

"The place where the great are immortalized," Desmond continued his voice small and faint with awe.

"The Big Kahuna," James agreed, bored but slightly curious about what Desmond wanted with him.

"Did you know that over ninety percent of the students at Hogwarts who played quidditch never got to hoist that trophy?" Desmond pointed at the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. "That those players never had their names placed in records?"

"What?"

"Yeah, mate. Unless you win a championship, names of players are not officially kept. They are labeled in things like yearbooks and the occasional newspaper article, but Hogwarts doesn't keep paperwork for the gloryless masses. The only ones marked as true quidditch players, are the players who won."

"That's… I don't know what that is. I mean, it sucks for all those who worked hard to just be on a team, but…" James trailed, afraid to continue.

"It's fitting that only the best of the best make it to this place."

"Yeah. So there are no records, of like… most goals scored? Most games won?"

Desmond laughed despondantely. "No." The Head Boy walked forward and looked at a row of trophies from the seventies. "Your dad is in here, y'know that?"

"He is?"

"Yep. Look here," Desmond pointed at a section that, unlike any of the others, held a great deal more memorabilia than the rest. "Played since he was a Third Year. Won the championship three times, twice as a captain. Won the scoring title three years in a row, from his fifth 'til seventh year. Holds the record for most goals scored in a career, circa modern era."

"Modern era?"

"Aye. Quidditch is a very old sport, steeped in tradition. It started out as a game with a bunch of players playing with a ball while on brooms in a marsh. It owes a lot of its popularity to its roots. Games like Stichstock and Shuntbumps were all localized games that Quidditch was derived from. The 'Ancient Era,'as recorded by a Gertie Keddle in an old diary tells how it originated. The 'Old Era' came around when a lot of the modern parts of the sport where added, like Bludgers and the like. The 'Modern Era,' Quidditch as we play it today, was started around 1269 when the Snitch was made an official part of the game, and wide-spread play flourished. Funny how a couple of blokes playing around in a marsh with a leather ball and a couple of rocks could be turned into the glorious game it is today, eh?"

"Yeah…"

"You have no idea how many times I have come into this room, and just sat here in awe, staring at the cases in this room. To be a part of something like this… it would be a dream come true. And no matter how many times I walk through these rows, I always come back to this one case, right in front of us."

"Why?"

"Because of your father. His final year, 1977," Desmond answered as he put both of his hands to the glass and rested his forehead on the glass pane, looking in at the display. "The Greatest Show on the Pitch, as called by then announcer Fiddly Farmsworth. The only undefeated team in Hogwarts history... No team has gone through a full season in Modern Era quidditch without even a single loss. But your dad… He himself was the greatest Chaser Hogwarts has ever seen. It's almost a shame he didn't go pro."

James looked in at the display, and was almost awestruck himself. The trophy, a gleaming gold with the words Gryffindor: 6-0, 1977-78 etched into its polished side. A picture sat at its base, with the players of the team posing for the picture. His father and two other Chasers (both girls) kneeled to either side of him, all grinning roguishly and confidently. The two beaters stood behind him, with a beautiful red haired girl smashed between them, looking at James brightly. At the back, on a raised platform was the Keeper, a thin, tall guy with a trace of stubble on his face.

"There's your mum, too. The seeker?"

James brought his attention back to the girl in the middle and almost jolted with shock. He knew she had played seeker, but he had momentarily forgotten. She looked so different. He had never seen her without her wheelchair, much less a picture of her without one. She looked happy, free, and… in love.

As the figures in the picture moved, she would jump onto his father's back and give him a big, sloppy kiss to his cheek, to which he would respond with gusto and just a tinge of a blush.

"I look at this and wish to God, to Merlin, to any higher power that I could have that kind of glory. To be the second team in history to be undefeated... I want that so bad."

"Maybe we will this year."

"Not likely."

"And why do you think that?"

Desmond turned his back to the glass and slumped on it, sliding to the floor. He put his elbows on his knees and stared up at James. "I'm not that good."

"What?"

"My dad was a Chaser, y'know? He led Slytherin to a couple titles before going all the way to the English National team. My mum played in Hogwarts, too. They were so great; they all won championships before their seventh years. They didn't have the pressure to win one like I do."

"This is a favorable spot, then."

"Huh?"

"Dude, this should be the situation you would want to be in, dream to be in."

"How's that?"

"It's do or die. The pressure is on and the only way you'll get the glory is if you put it all on the line right now. Like a quarterback in football; the ideal situation is having less than two minutes on the clock, no time outs, and you're down by four points. A field goal ain't gonna tie the game, but a touchdown'll win it all. It's do or die, go or go home. The best thing; it makes winning it all that much sweeter."

Desmond pondered James' words for a moment. "I have no idea what you were talking about, but you know… I do get what you are saying. This is my one and only shot, and winning it all this time around… the taste will be that much sweeter if we get there."

"Once we get there," James corrected, holding his hand out to Desmond. "I don't know how much time I will get to play, but I guarantee you this; every second of it will be dedicated to getting you that trophy."

While it only took one practice to get the team to warm up to James, the rest of the school was a different matter. Other first years looked at James and Harry enviously, and attributed their spots on the team to fame and rich parents. Desmond heard one Hufflepuff saying this loosely during a class break and had reamed her so bad she was seen running to her common room in tears.

While the flak from the First Years were bad, the older students were even worse. They jeered at them that they were only on the team because they were famous and that they were only there because of publicity. It was true that the Daily Prophet had made a story out of them being on the teams, but it was hardly on the front page. Nevertheless, the reception to them playing was overall bad.

James had listened to very little of the rumors, and didn't even acknowledge the people who actually confronted him on it. He merely shrugged them off and went about his business, acting like it was just another thing for him to do.

The day of the game, however, was a different story.

"James, you need to eat," Harry reprimanded, though James thought he was merely doing to him what he did to Harry.

"Shut up. I promised Desmond I would help him get the championship, but doing that is a lot harder than saying it. What if I screw all this up?"

"Remember that first game in pee wee football when we faced that team from the east side of New York?" Brian asked suddenly, giving James a stony look.

"Yeah, it was our first football game ever. We clobbered them thirty-one to three, and I threw two touchdowns."

"And ran for a third. But remember how you were before that game?"

"Yeah, I was begging Father Duke to bench me and play Tim Thompson as quarterback, but he refused."

"Remember what that little rich punk said to us before that game?"

"He called us a bunch of orphan-freaks that nobody wanted. He said we'd lose because we were worthless losers."

"You weren't nervous after that. You ran that ball fifty yards and bowled that little jerk over for that score."

"Oh yeah… I remember that! He looked so mad, and then his coach benched him for trying to start a fight."

"Yeah, well, you see Lou Ferrigno over there?" Brian asked, pointing at a tall, muscular, thick faced Hufflepuff Fifth Year with black hair and beady eyes. He was clad in a Hufflepuff uniform and had his bat hanging from his belt.

"Uh huh."

"He called Mom and Dad glory-seeking losers who were selling out their kids."

James tore into pancakes like a beast. Nobody insulted his mother. No one.

James had decided that the best course of action was to let Sweet Lou beat himself. James would put himself in a position where the brutish Hufflepuff would have no choice but to commit a foul, and reap the rewards from it. By the time Desmond had concluded his pre-game speech, he had a preliminary plan all laid out.

It turned out that the Hufflepuff captain had assigned the kid the specific task of bringing James down; that worked heavily in his favor. By the time James was out on the pitch, he had his plan officially signed and sealed in his head. He looped his leg around the borrowed Nimbus 1500 and shot in the air, lining up with the Hufflepuff Chaser he was assigned to cover.

The pitch was full of people. The top ring was lined with people in bronze and blue and black and yellow. James saw Clare standing on the northern edge of the pitch, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her friend Lyra sat in the seat next to her, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

There was a familiar sense of déjà vu as James looked at "Lou Ferrigno." He grinned at him maliciously and James nodded at him confidently. The brute laughed and showed off a mouth missing half of its teeth*, and sneered happily at James. He looked like a predator who thought it knew that its prey was in its grasp.

Desmond shook hands with the Hufflepuff captain and they both kicked off. Hooch threw the quaffle in the air, and the game began. Desmond caught the red ball at its peak of ascent, and tossed it to Roger. James and Roger had already flashed away from their opposition, and were flying at break-neck speed to the goalposts. Roger caught the pass one-handedly and braked, causing the two Chasers bearing on him to fly right by him. Roger turned his broom on an invisible axis throwing the quaffle to James as he sped off to get into a formation with Desmond.

James caught the quaffle. As soon as he did, the third Chaser came to get him. James, in a flash of brilliance ducked underneath the girl's outstretched arms and shot the quaffle at the goalposts. The Keeper was distracted by the chase and had been expecting the girl to strip James of the ball; the ball soared threw the center hoop.

"Potter scores! Ten to nothing, Ravenclaw!" Lee Jordan announced happily (although James suspected he would have been more ecstatic if a Gryffindor had made such a shot.)

This was part of Desmond's game plan. Use James quick and early, taking them by surprise. They would get frustrated, and start beating themselves. It had worked, too. The girl Chaser had punched her broom and then came up gripping her knuckles in pain. The Keeper had hung his head and cursed. The captain looked ready to have his jaw surgically put back on, it had dropped so far.

The game had started up again, however, and there was no time for lingering. James had shot by Grant and the two high-fived, but that was the extent of any celebration.

Ravenclaw had shot off from there. James had scored again twice before Roger shocked them all with an acrobatic spin and a throw that sent the quaffle through the hoops. Within an hour, the score was a hundred to ten, and the Hufflepuffs starting getting desperate. James had baited the Beater into fouling him a whole five times, which led to five penalty shots. Desmond, taking the penalty shots for the team, made all but one of them.

Then the unthinkable happened. Desmond got hit in the face by a bludger and was sent flying. He hit the grass and didn't get up while his broom careened off the side of the pitch and tumbled to the ground halfway down the field. The burly Beater leaned off his broom and looked down at Desmond's body and grinned his gap-toothed smile. James and Roger shot a glance to each other and James shrugged. Roger took the penalty shot, but they were screwed. Roger called a timeout. Hooch acknowledged it and paused the game.

"Dude, Desmond!" James urged when he landed next to him. "Wake up, bro!"

"He's out," Duncan grunted. "Jase, help me get him off the field."

The two Beaters carried Desmond off the field and the game went back underway without him.

"It's up to us," Roger stated to James, trying to sound strong. "We can still win this, with or without Dez."

It wasn't the case. Within the next half hour the Hufflepuffs outscored Ravenclaw two to one, and were well within being able to claim the lead for the first time. And then Roger, as acting Captain, called another time out. The score was one-hundred thirty to seventy.

"Mates, I think we got a little problem…"

"You think?"

"Look, there's no sign of the Snitch, and they're killing us. Now's not the time to get sarcastic. We need to…"

"Go West Coast?"

"What? We can't take a vacation now!" Jason screamed. "We're playing a game!"

"No, I… ugh. How about we start playing a little more loosely?"

"Loosely?"

"Yeah. Cut the formations. Just get open and score."

"That's stupid,"Duncan scoffed.

"You're off your rocker!" Atris cried.

"Off the rocker enough that it may just work… let's do it."

"I agree."

"Me too."

"Let's do this."

"If Desmond saw this he'd be killing us…"

"Hey, we're just getting back to our fundamentals."

"Right…"

"What on Earth are they doing?"

"No idea."

"They look kinda like a swarm of bees having a mutual aneurysm."

"Ha ha, look at Potter!"

"Is he riding his broom like a skateboard?"

"What's a skateboard?"

"Oh, never mind."

"Hey, Atris is going after the Snitch?"

"You're posing that as a question?"

"Who's Atris?"

"An original character?"

"What?"

"Uh… I mean… Hey, you guys wanna head back to the commons and grab a couple shots of Ogden's? Me mum and dad smuggled me some."

"Yeah!"

"Blimey, mate, I was wondering when you'd ask! Quidditch is so boring!"

Angelina Johnson watched as the three Sixth Year Gryffindors in front of her all tore out of their seats and all but ran back to the Tower. She turned to Katie Bell and whispered indignantly, "Men."

It turned out that going off in random directions and just getting open worked. Roger began scoring like mad, always getting open to catch James' passes. Jason and Duncan were living up to their titles, Beating the Hufflepuff Chasers with not-so-reckless abandon, while even taking a few shots at Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker.

With Roger orchestrating a wild and loose offense that scored by virtue of random flying alone, Atris had been high above the pitch, her cold, ice-blue eyes keenly watching for a sliver of streaking gold. Cedric Diggory, being a first time player had followed a new player mentality of following the wily veteran; it annoyed her as much as Cho Chang did.

She circled above the dogfight below her with a little speed, trying to break off the emotions she was feeling; frustration had no place on the pitch. Quidditch was a game where cooler minds prevailed, regardless of what Marcus Flint had to say about it.

She was just about to try to fool around with Diggory, make him lose her in the melee below when she saw a flicker of gold shoot past Potter's face; he had thrown his head back just in time to not get slammed in the face by the streaking ball.

Naturally, Atris ignored her teammate's surprise and dove, Cedric hot on her trail.

James saw Atris make her dive, and nodded at Roger. Roger looked at the scoreboard, which read in bright clarity:

Ravenclaw: 210

Hufflepuff: 80

Ravenclaw was twenty points from tying the game, if Diggory caught the Snitch. Roger gave James a look that screamed, "Atris is not going to catch it." The two got into something akin to a formation, Duncan and Jason lining up above and below of them. Roger waved them off to attack Diggory, and pointed James to one of the Hufflepuff Chasers who had the quaffle.

"Shoot like crazy!"

And shoot they did. James intercepted the girl's pass and had flown loop-de-loops around the Beaters and faked shooting the goal before passing off to Roger, who tucked the ball into the right hoop.

James and Roger then flew off and just as quickly got the ball back, and again, scored. The Hufflepuffs were tired and downtrodden by the fact that they outnumbered the Ravenclaws and were still getting their brooms handed to them, while the Ravenclaws were wired from the fact that the endgame was at hand.

James knew that the end was near, and that scoring one more goal would give them the game, even if Diggory caught the Snitch. So when Roger stripped the Hufflepuff Captain of the quaffle and threw it to James, he caught the ball with soft hands and flew off towards the goal posts.

However, the brutish Beater who reminded James of the old Hulk, Lou Ferigno, was once again in his way. The clubbed madman had a look of fury on his face, and was ready to bury James into the pitch grass, quaffle and all. The hulk swatted a Bludger at James and grinned when he connected with the heavy ball. James had a choice; get hit by the bludger and pray he even survived the hit, or pull off of his trajectory, plausibly costing Ravenclaw the win. James chose neither.

He leaped from his broom, high over the path of the hurtling boulder of a ball. The Bludger seemed to have a life of its own, however, and had followed him. Just as he was about to get hit, a fast-flying form clad in blue and bronze robes shot down in front of James from above and had taken the hit for him. Surprised, James didn't throw the quaffle. He jumped off of the falling boy's back again, and was propelled over the bulky Beater. So surprised was the Keeper that he failed to block this one last shot; it went in decisively.

Just as it did, however, Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the pitch. "He caught it! Diggory caught the Snitch!"

James didn't care; he was fifty feet above the green grass of the pitch and falling, falling…

"Gotcha!" Duncan hollered, as he and Jason each grabbed James by an arm and flew him down to the ground.

"You did it, mate! You won the game!" Jason roared, hugging James so tight he feared his ribs would crack.

"But the Hufflepuff Seeker, he caught the-"

"You scored before he caught it! Look!"

"James looked up at the scoreboard.

Ravenclaw: 240

Hufflepuff: 230

"You did it, mate! You won us the game!"

"Must everything be a joke with you, Potter?"

"Life is a joke and the world is center stage. Some jokes make you smile, some make you cry, but you can bet I'll crack every single one of them."

-James Dean Potter to a Gryffindor girl, September of 1993

1. James Dean Potter

-Alias: James Potter, Jr., James Potter II, Jimmy Dean(to most), Jammie (Lily Evans-Potter), Mouse(Draco Malfoy/Slytherins), Boston(Ravenclaw Quidditch team, based off of his love for the baseball team, the Boston Red Sox), Little Red(Bill Weasley)

Real world influences - James Dean, Shimon Moore, Chris Pine(Captain Kirk)

Theme Song- Troublemaker, Weezer- The Red Album

Favorite Sports Teams: New York Jets(NFL), Boston Red Sox(MLB), London Irish(Rugby-yeah, he likes to watch Rugby...), Appleby Arrows(Quidditch), Sweetwater All-Stars(Quidditch, USA)

Physical- Mousy, Red haired, Green eyes, about 4"9', 90 lbs. as a First Year

Wand- 11 inches, Yew wood carved with Celtic "Tree of Life" designs, braided sphinx mane core

Patronus: Red-tailed hawk

Born- St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, 31 July, 1980, London, England

Bio- James was born into a time of great despair. The Wizarding War was raging not as a typical war would, but as a fast-moving, silently killing plague. Voldemort had tried three times to kill his and his twin brother, Harry's parents and three times he had failed. However, on the night of Halloween a year after both were born, the Dark Lord had finally gotten wind of their hiding place. Without any knowledge of an ancestral Potter's old magic, Voldemort tried and failed to kill the Potter's, resulting in his historic disappearance.

This victory did not come without price. Unconscious and presumed dead, James Dean's parents could do nothing as an American nun carried their child away under the assumption that they were deceased.

Thus, James was raised as an orphan at a Catholic priory in New York, a church called St. Bernadette's. Here, he made quick and lasting friends in Travis Barker and Brian Gates, two other "freaks" in the orphanage. James made a name for himself to the sisters and the priesthood as a troublemaker and prankster, but also as an extremely intelligent and knowledge hungry boy. He had often come to the church library and learned how to read at an early age. His thirst for knowledge did not, unfortunately, outweigh his desire for a fun time.

He and his best friends, whom he had come to know as brothers, would often sneak out of the orphanage and run out into the streets of New York City. They had quickly gotten smart for the street and befriended many street riffraff like gangsters and hookers, cops and even a local pizza maker, who often gave them free food. They had a big network of people they could rely on.

On Travis' eighth birthday, James' mother and father had finally, after years of searching, found him and came to reclaim him. That same day, a group of Death Eaters also tried to kidnap him, which resulted in a skirmish that all but leveled the orphanage. Impressed by James and his two friends, James Sr. and Lily decided to adopt all three of them.

"'Destined for greatness,' Albus?" McGonagall scoffed. "The boy's only ambition is to become the greatest genius-level repeat offender in Hogwarts history!"

"I think you greatly underscore the amount of intelligent troublemakers of our school, Minerva," Albus replied back, eyes twinkling."Need you be reminded of the Weasley twins? Or the Marauders?"

"He does have a very compassionate heart, Professor McGonagall," Flitwick reprimanded.

-Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Filius Flitwick on James Dean Potter

What Makes James Tick- James is a clever and observant boy. He is quick-tongued and intelligent enough to use a level of maturity unparalleled to others his age. This maturity and his ability to use logic and a keen common sense stems from his life in New York, where one had to be a fast thinker, have a faster mouth, and be the fastest runner. He is very kind and compassionate to the weak, and can be very harsh to those who suppress them. He likes to pull pranks, not for the reaction people make, but because he knows how to get away with them, and enjoys doing so. However, he never plans a prank on someone who he knows would be angered or offended by it, nor does he pull one on those he feels doesn't deserve it. He is a born optimist and can crack a joke about almost anything, although he usually knows when to keep his mouth shut. James has an odd sense of humor and can make light out of everything.

James mirrors his father, but unlike James Sr., who was popular and arrogant, James is often very quiet in his confidence. He cracks chauvinistic jokes every once in a while, but never lets on that it may be a little more serious. He doesn't bully fellow students, but he does push around bullies themselves, such as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. In fact, they are often the target of his many pranks. James is akin to making chaos, and is the only student other than the Weasley twins who has an allegiance with Peeves, albeit a flimsy one at best.

"You don't want to change the world, Riddle. You just want to leave it colder. And for that, I will never forgive you… nor pity your choice. Only cowards fear death, and cowards never die on their own terms!"

"Madame Pomfrey gave me something... now my mouth tastes like purple."

"Is it just me, or do these 'Death Eaters' sound like a bunch of friggin' Nazis?"

"I don't care what anyone has to say to the contrary- Snape may be a dreadful, evil, plot-happy puppy, but he. Is. Badass."