Chapter 14

James

"So you wear really tight and really tiny Speedo's, then?"

It was clear that Benjamin Flint, Appleby Arrows' soon-to-be-married star Chaser, had little to no clue as to what the Muggle and very leggy brunette could have possibly meant by that. So he did what he had been instructed to do by his fellow teammates, who had abducted him from his flat a couple of hours and several drinks ago. Say yes to everything tonight.

"Afffffirmative", he slurred.

"Very tight and very tiny", James nodded in agreement, while slinging his arm around Leggy's blonde friend, who was incidentally wearing a top with a neckline that plunged and plunged and plunged.

"Oh my god, I love water polo! You're like, my favourite team!" this girl squealed.

The fact that she hadn't noticed that not one of the dozen or so lads, who were in fact all Quidditch players posing as Muggle athletes in a posh Soho club, knew anything at all about water polo, told James otherwise.

Water polo. He snorted just thinking about the Muggle sport. Then his jaw tightened. Water polo. Water. Rose's blood colouring the Black Lake darker than ever before. His brother's body a motionless heap on the wooden jetty. The wild look in Parkinson's mad eyes.

"Round of Jägerbombs," he called out to the bartender, trying to shrug off the images.

A little over three months had passed since The Incident, and life had seemingly gone on. Rose was attending classes, Albus was back to his usual 'I'm more than just Dad's son'-antics, albeit slightly more restlessly than before, and James himself had started his last year at Hogwarts, although he hadn't spent much time at the school this first semester.

Unlike Albus, but much like Lily, James was a firm believer in playing the cards he'd been dealt in life to the fullest. The aces that were the Potter name and Weasley Quidditch talent had led James to many extraordinary things in his 17-year-old-existence, but most notably to eager Quidditch scouts and private try-out sessions. Over the summer, this had resulted in an offer from no less than three premier league teams, of which the Arrows' was by far the most lucrative. Hence, James had spent his time divided between attending only the bare minimum of NEWT classes, and practicing alongside his favourite Quidditch team of all time. Practice sessions which, incidentally, also included stag parties on regular Tuesday nights.

"And make Benny's here a double!" he yelled over the throbbing bass, tossing some Muggle notes on the counter.

Life was looking nothing but up for James Potter. Yet some nights he woke up covered in sweat, unable to move as if Petrified, the ghastly images of last June flashing before him.

James threw his head back to down his shot, then took the one from a protesting Leggy to empty it as well. The heat of the alcohol still burning in his throat, he clapped Benjamin on the back, then made for the crowd, wanting to feel the thumb thumb thumb of the bass in his bones, not see the flash flash flash of wretched memories.

The club not only looked like a jungle, with tangled vines dangling from the ceiling and the staff dressed as if on safari, it also felt like one. There were Isaac Locke and Scotty Harris, the team's two Beaters living up to their names, as the former was beating the latter on his chest with his fist for no apparent reason. The reserve Keeper, Jerome Ferry, was a bit further down the floor, arms up and eyes closed, moving along with the music smoother than an enchanted snake ever could. Other bodies, too, were moving together as if commanded by the drum-like beats, as the Tiki masks on the walls looked on with dooming eyes.

James moved with and between them for a bit, then drifted off from the main room to a smaller, adjacent cove-like space. Aquariums with exotic fish lined these walls, as the room was decked out like a smaller, but not necessarily less impressive, version of the lost city of Atlantis. The atmosphere was more relaxed here, the beats muffled as if truly underwater. Huge bubbles gently floated a little above the smaller crowd's heads, their colours changing from light blue to aqua maroon, to shimmering indigo and back again. James took in the room uneasily, again reminded of The Incident.

"Potter!" a voice hauled him out of his alcohol and atmosphere induced reverie.

James turned lazily, expecting to see one of his teammates. Instead, a dark-skinned girl looked him in the eye, a smirk plastered on her lips. She looked like she was a staff-member, with her white hair, her revealing light blue and shimmering gold outfit.

"Out in London on a school night," she shook her head playfully, pretend disapprovingly.

Yet there was something oddly familiar about her. Was it the way she had said his name? The somewhat mocking look on her dark face? Then it dawned on him.

"So this is where you run off to when you disappear off the Map, Winters" James said.

"The Map?" the one and only Alexa Winters immediately picked up.

James cursed his loose and quite drunk tongue internally.

"The grid, the grounds, …" he shrugged, trying to cover up his mistake, "Rose has been wondering where you disappear off to for years. Wouldn't have guessed it was something as un-exotic as a Muggle club, to be honest."

"Sorry to disappoint," she told him coolly, sarcastically, her violet eyes narrowing.

He shrugged, grinned, non-verbally telling her he couldn't care less.

"Let's just get some drinks, Winters. Do what I came here to do. Get piss drunk."

At this, she shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I'll do you one better, Potter," she said, then raised her left arm towards the bubbly ceiling.

The many golden bracelets around her forearm clattered against each other as she did so, moving just enough to reveal she had her wand somehow tied between the pieces of jewellery and her arm. James hardly believed Winters could exercise enough control over her wand like this, with so little grip and contact. But for Alexa, it apparently made do. An overly theatrical swing of her hand in the air and a non-verbal spell later, two of the giant bubbles that had been floating close to the dark ceiling lazily descended, to stop and float right above the duo's heads, which were rather close to each other, courtesy of the ever-moving and pushing crowd. Winters turned hers, chin up to the bubble closest to her, and then breathed in through her mouth deeply, as if taking a huge drag from a cig. Utterly fascinated, James watched as the bubble completely disappeared between her neon blue lips.

For several seconds, Winters merely stood there, her eyes closed. Then, an enormous smile appeared on her face. She opened her eyes, which looked a little brighter, a little more violet than before, then looked James straight into his. She raised a hand to his cheek, dragged her thumb against his jawline.

"Live a little," she whispered in his ear, her breath raising goose bumps on James's skin.

Then, noticing James's hesitation and distrust towards the bubble, she stepped away and added: "or not..."

Dropping her hand, she cocked her head and pierced his brown eyes with her turbulent purples, one last time. She turned on her heel and walked away from him, as the crowd seemed to part spontaneously and create a pathway solely for her.

James blinked, but she was gone already, swallowed up by the throng of people who had closed their secret passageway again. The second bubble, however, remained floating lazily just above his head, still shimmering and alternating between blue, aqua maroon, indigo.

"Fuck it," he said, his words drowning in the murmur and mixture of voices and beats.

Mimicking Winters, he turned his head upwards and inhaled. Resisting the urge to cough, he remained motionless, eyes closed for just an instant, waiting. Then he felt the narcotic bubble hit, hazy euphoria overtaking his mind with full force.

When he opened his eyes, everything moved in glorious slow motion. Vision blurred, the many colourful fish seemed to have left the confinement of their aquariums, and were now seemingly swimming between and through the bubbles, whose edges shone gold. Instead of unsettling like before, James found it absolutely enthralling. If he thought he had felt the music pump through his veins earlier, it had been nothing compared to this. It was part of him now, just like the room, the crowd, the …

His diluted eyes landed on Winters again. She had made her way down the room and was now seated on nothing short of a golden throne, which was sitting on a little platform above the crowd. She smiled at him, almost cat-like, as it reminded him of a certain Cheshire feline in one of the Muggle children's stories his aunt used to read to him. James knew precisely what that smile meant.

"This night, this world even. It belongs to us, and we belong to them."