'Forward, to victory!'

The Gryffindor common room erupted into a riot of noise as James and Fred appeared at the head of the stairs, brooms slung over their shoulders. Cheers and whoops and whistles loud enough to hurt their ears cascaded over them as they marched down to the sea of noise. Hands grabbed them, lifting them aloft. They rode across the room on the waves of an all-black ocean, while beneath them the chant of 'Hogwarts! Hogwarts!' threatened to rattle the windows clean out of their panes.

The boys locked eyes. Equal grins were splitting their faces, both lapping up the excitement and electric atmosphere. Sparks and pops from stray spells, and even a rogue Weasley's firework, zipped around their heads, adding another layer to the chaos. James had to duck a dangling chandelier or risk decapitation.

They were set down – safely – in front of the portrait hole. A sudden hush fell over the crowd at the familiar creaking hinges signalling an unannounced intruder to their midst.

'What's the meaning of all of this racket?' came Professor Longbottom's voice.

James and Fred spun to face him, but before they could even fumble for an explanation, the professor's eyes lit up as he realised what was afoot. He grabbed both boys by the wrist, lifting their arms high in the air, as if they had already been crowned champions. The room exploded in its loudest cheer yet.

'Give 'em hell, boys,' the professor said with a wink.

They marched out the portrait hole on the crest of a wave of noise, Professor Longbottom now directing the Gryffindors in a horrible, but raucous rendition of the school song that they could still hear from three floors below.

'Blimey,' Fred finally said, once their breathing had returned to normal. 'I'm ready to Bludge some Blues, alright.'

'Aye,' James agreed. 'Reckon I could score a goal or seven right now.'

'Reckon you're going to need to. What is it, a seventy point lead before Odette can catch the Snitch?'

'That's it.'

'A Chaser's dream scenario. It'd be about the only time you lot are useful, wouldn't it?'

'Oi!' James gave Fred a friendly shove.

'James Potter.'

'Oh, bugger.' Wait, had he said that aloud?

'I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall,' Fred was quick to interject. He turned and dashed back in the direction they'd just come. Away from the figure who stood waiting for him.

'Er, hi Rain. I've been meaning to see you. But I'm sort of… in the middle of something here.'

He waved his broom under her nose for emphasis.

'I'll take but a moment of your time, James Potter.'

He made the mistake of looking into her sea-green eyes. A sudden bout of vertigo sent him staggering. As she reached out a hand to take his own, he wasn't certain that the uncomfortable pins and needles that her touch engendered was a better result than falling on his backside would have been.

She led him a short way up the unlit corridor which she had been waiting in. Not a soul inhabited it. The entirety of the student body was flowing from their common rooms to the Quidditch pitch today, to witness the final match, where everything was at stake.

'We did it James,' she whispered frantically. She bundled him up against the wall in a shadowy corner. She stuck her face into his own. Her eyes were burning with a fervent light so strong they seemed to glow. She still held his hand, jammed up between them; all that separated them. A point of solidarity in his swimming vision. He was struggling to focus.

'We did,' James replied, a little woozy. 'And all the world knows it.'

'But they know not that it was us!' she practically shook him with excitement. 'We are close now, one step closer-'

'To Alder, right,' James agreed, slowly regaining his scattered wits.

'To drawing him out,' Rain said, at the same time that James said: 'To helping him cure the Infected.'

'Right… so how do we get it to him?'

'I have left word with appropriate people. If he needs to get a message to me, he will. Else he may risk appearing within the castle itself.'

'Even with all of the Steelhearts?'

'He's bested them once, remember. He and this mysterious… companion are a fearsome duo. We'll just have to make sure we're ready.'

'… to give them the Sap.'

'Yes. Right. May I see it, James Potter? I trust you are keeping it safe.'

'Aye.' He looked down pointedly at the infinitesimal space between them.

'Oh, of course.' She leapt back to give him room.

'You might want to, er, turn around for this bit,' James said, a little awkwardly.

Rain's cheeks instantly flushed with colour, and her eyes bulged. 'Just where are you hiding it James Potter?'

He didn't miss the panicked look she flicked towards his nether regions.

'What? No! It's under my shirt. I've a harness so I don't drop it during the match.'

The relief was palpable, as she obeyed, and James unfastened the precious cargo. He handed it to her with care, despite the Unbreakable Charms that Pot-Head had assured him would keep it safe.

'Beautiful,' she breathed softly.

James peered at the clear, gloopy substance swirling lazily within the vial. He wasn't sure they were quite looking at the same thing.

She stared at it for a long time. Seconds became minutes. James shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Groomed a stray twig on his broom, and polished away an imaginary scuff mark. Rain's attention was still rapt on the nondescript little vial.

'Erm, I should probably get going,' James told the top of her head. He held out his hand pointedly.

'Right. Yes.' She handed it back, a little reluctantly. James stuffed it in a pocket; he'd deal with re-strapping the harness in the change rooms. He was officially late. Odette would murder him. Ava's patient disappointment might be even worse.

They made their way back to the main thoroughfare together. A steady stream of students were still making their way downwards. A knot of Gryffindors gave a cheer as James emerged, side-by-side with Rain.

'Onya Potter!' one cried.

'Good way to let off some steam!' shouted another.

James was mortified. He made to head off, but Rain grabbed his hand, spinning him around and surprising him by wrapping him up in a hug. 'Good luck!' she whispered in his ear.

Before he could respond, she'd disappeared off into the crowd. The cheering had redoubled, and someone was trying to start up another round of the school song.

'Having fun, are we?'

'Oh, bloody hell.'

'What was that?' Odette Mansfield stood over him, hands on hips and looking entirely like she had half a mind to toss him out the nearest window.

'Nothing,' he muttered.

'Thought so.' She grabbed him by the shoulder in a vice-like grip and pushed him down the stairs ahead of her.

James carried on in awkward, sulky silence for a while. Odette was never more than a half-step behind him, sighing and tsk-ing irritably at regular intervals.

'Feeling relieved, are we?' she shot.

'I- what? No, we were just talking!'

'And what exactly did you have to tell her in a shady corridor out of sight, huh?'

'We just-'

'Don't lie to me, Potter. I wrote that playbook.'

Their conversation was cut short as they arrived in the Entrance Hall. A great mass of students were milling about, apparently stuck trying to get out the door. Odette mumbled something darkly. 'Bloody searches,' she said.

'What?' James' scanning for Fred was cut abruptly short. His eyes snapped back to Odette.

'They're searching every single person at the door. As if one of us is going to have stolen their stupid plant.'

'Sap,' James corrected her. But it was distractedly. He felt as if he were going to vomit.

'Whatever. Whoever stole it isn't going to be stupid enough to carry it around with them.'

'Right…' James agreed. The line was moving slowly. Perhaps there was time… he felt a little shaky on his feet all of a sudden.

'Did she suck the backbone out of you, too, Potter? Stand up. C'mon the players get priority.'

Before he could even summon a coherent thought, she'd grabbed him by the hand and pulled him off to the side, where Professor Ellfrick was searching the players. Cold sweat started beading all over James' body. He'd never quite seen eye to eye with Ellfrick after the exploding chicken incident in first year.

'I- I forgot my glove, he stammered. I need to go back and get it. Can't play without it.'

He took a single step backwards, though Odette refused to release him.

'James!' came a familiar cry. Fred had appeared through the milling horde, waving something brown and leathery above him that slapped James like a well-aimed Stunner. 'Mate, you'd left this on your bed. I ran back and got it while you and Rain…'

'Ahem.'

'Oh, hi Odette.'

Fred stuffed the glove into James' stomach and darted through the checkpoint. He snapped at Professor Ellfrick for disturbing a few twigs on his perfectly-groomed broomstick, and just like that he was out on the other side. Free.

James dared not fish about in his pocket. He dared not try anything that would bring scrutiny. Maybe she'd overlook it. He kicked himself for not re-applying the harness with Rain. Odette shoved him forwards. Professor Ellfrick's eyes narrowed as she saw him. She knew! His mind was conjuring an array of scenarios. He could run for it – but for how long. Could he secretly Confund the professor? Could he Vanish the vial from his own pocket?

A million scenarios in which he broke free were flicking through his mind, each more unrealistic than the next, and then all of a sudden Ellfrick was on him. Running her wand over his person, fidgeting and scuffing and roughing up his broom. She turned his coat inside out, fished around in folds of his playing jersey. Last of all, she went to pat the pocket. The pocket. James could feel the sweat slicking his palms.

'Wait, I-'

He felt her hand brush against his leg. Without a hint of glass vial in between. It wasn't there. The Sap was gone.

'You what, Potter?' Ellfrick drawled, raising an eyebrow.

'Er, nothing.'

A very long and very tense moment passed between them, before a tiff jerk of her neck indicated he was free to go. James took a few stilted steps down towards the courtyard, relief washing over him in waves.

'Alright mate? You look a bit peaky,' Fred offered.

'Just nerves,' he mumbled, as Odette joined them once more. 'Just a few nerves.'

As they headed down towards the pitch together, James stuffed a hand into his pocket as nonchalantly as he could. The vial hadn't reappeared. Which meant it wasn't Charmed to avoid detection. It was simply gone.

All of a sudden, Rain's out of character final hug made so much sense. She'd seen exactly where he stashed it. She'd gotten it out of the secure harness he'd been wearing. He turned to look back up at the castle with a scowl on his face. She was up there with the vial, doing Merlin-only-knows what, and he was stuck, left out and upset, feeling very much like there was a great big part of this that she wasn't telling him.

It took absolutely all of Ava's bright, enthusiastic peppiness to snap James out of his newly acquired funk in the changing rooms. But as soon as he stepped out onto the pitch, and heard thousands of voices cheering for him, roaring louder as his name was called.

As he kicked off from the pitch, his new Nimbus Model One broomstick leaping into the air with glee, the wind rushing past him flensed away his worries, as the joy and ecstasy of flight overruled all.

They faced off mid-air against the Beauxbatons contingent. The Blues scowled across at them. Loyal and Ava shook hands.

'This will be all over quickly,' he leered.

'Oh, you'd know all about that,' shouted Odette from above.

Declan Hawksby, the flying instructor and referee had his hands full just restraining the students as they nearly descended into an all-out brawl before the whistle was even blown.

The moment the Quaffle was tossed into the air, though, pettiness was put aside, and aggression was channelled into the game. James dashed in on his broom, easily the quickest on the pitch. He got his fingers to the Quaffle first, and tossed a no-look pass behind him, to a spot where he knew Lynch would be waiting.

He heard Lynch's affirmative yell – indicating he'd caught the pass – and continued up the pitch without looking back, surging ahead of the scrambling Blues defence. Lynch appeared on his right, Ava on his left. The Chaser assigned to defend James was struggling to keep up with his lightning broom, and so when Lynch floated a pass into the centre of the pitch, James had only the Keeper to beat as he rose up and slapped the Quaffle clean through the left-hand hoop.

The crowd – overwhelmingly clad in black – roared. Above the din, James could just make out the commentary, coming from the Gryffindor stand.

'POTTER SCORES! HOGWARTS TAKES THE LEAD. TAKE THAT YOU SNAIL-SUCKING-'

Ava shot him a huge double thumbs-up. He and Lynch shared a stoic nod of approval. And Hogwarts moved into the lead, ten points to nil.

And they'd need to hang on to it. Seventy points ahead before Odette could even look at the Snitch. They had to score quickly and often. And hope the Snitch stayed away. If it did show… then it was down to Fred and Jen Redfern to make sure that Loyal Clavet couldn't get his greasy paws on it.

From the restart, Beauxbatons pushed hard up the centre of the Pitch, grouping in an aggressive Eagle's Talon arrangement. Their Beaters circled menacingly, raining Bludgers down on any attempts James, Ava or Preston made to intercept them. James reached out to intercept a pass, and received a Bludger to the back of his arm for his efforts. Pain lanced up his arm, the protection his Glove afforded the only thing between him and a broken arm. It had been a desperate move, but such was their situation. He couldn't afford to leave anything on the pitch when they walked away today.

And thus he saw his opening, when looking at the situation like only a desperate madman would. He signalled Ava to press in from the left. She shot him a quizzical look – that was a pointless move – but acquiesced nonetheless. James dove down from on high. Above the line of sight of the Blues, but completely open to any and all Bludgers that they might want to send his way. He felt the wind from one tug at his hair, centimetres away from a sticky end to his match. When a second black blur leapt into his periphery, he braced for a painful impact. He was too committed to the dive.

Whump!

The sound of bat to ball echoed throughout the gasping stadium.

'I got you!' James heard Fred call as he whipped past, the air drawing tears forth from his eyes, blurring his vision.

As Ava made her doomed lunge at the player on the Blues' left flank, James watched as he made the predicted pass to the centre of the formation, protecting their possession. It was a soft pass – a safe throw, as they were about to be face-to-face with the Keeper, James and Lynch completely out of sight.

Or so they thought.

In a streak of black and gold, James intersected the Quaffle mid-pass, as he rocketed past in his death-dive. He tugged hard on the handle of his broom as the grass rushed up towards him. He could feel the broom groaning in protest beneath him. But this was no ordinary broom. And just as he asked more of it than any sane man might think possible, so too did it respond in a manner equally as insane, pulling up within an inch of the turf, in a rendition of the Wronskei Feint that would have left Harry Potter himself breathless.

The roar of the crowd wrestle with the rushing wind as James eyed up the Blues' Keeper. A textbook Norwegian No-look shot sent him the wrong way, and Hogwarts were up two goals. James punched the air with glee.

'POTTER IS FLYING LIKE A MAN POSSESSED! No, wait- not literally, Professor. CAN ANY OF YOU TOAD-LICKERS STOP HIM? OW-'

The Blues came out angry. They tore up the pitch in possession of the Quaffle. Ava tried an interception, and got a stiff shoulder from her opposite for her trouble. A spout of blood painted the air, and she dipped away, clutching her face. A Bludger from Fred forced a wobbly pass, and Preston was able to pressure the Chaser on his wing. James saw the cheap shot elbow into Lynch's ribs, but evidently Hawksby did not, as no foul was blown, and James was left defending three-on-one.

He eyed the Blue bearing down upon him with an evil grin. He was mad, James could tell. He was also much bigger than James. Speedy broom be damned, if James didn't move, he was going to get flattened. Which was just what the Blue wanted.

But so did James. At the last second, James flung all his weight into a shoulder charge into the Blue's throwing arm, where he'd been protecting the Quaffle. Unsuspecting of such a reckless move, his opponent was caught offguard. James had less than half a second to be impressed by himself before he was steamrolled by the burly Chaser, knocked clean from his seat. The world spun, and only primal instinct kept one hand wrapped around his broom, saving him from a gruesome fall.

The crowd gasped. James could taste steely blood filling his mouth. He spat a dirty red streamer down below, and made his wobbly way back onto his broom. The blood-streaked grin he flashed his opponent was worth it, as Lynch had regained possession from James' interception and was in the process of scoring a third, unanswered goal for Hogwarts.

'POTTER MUST BE SEEING STARS AFTER THAT DIRTY SHOT, BUT HIS HEROICS HAVE GIVEN HOGWARTS AN EVEN BIGGER LEAD! TAKE THAT YOU-'

The broadcast was cut off abruptly.

'James, are you alright?' Ava rushed to his side, concern writ across her face, even through her own nasty split lip.

'Talk about putting your body on the line,' Fred said in awe, arriving to the group.

'Big lad, that one,' James agreed. Most of his word had stopped spinning. One side of his face was numb and his jaw hurt to smile, but he gave what he hoped was an encouraging grin. 'Chasers dream, mate. About time I made myself useful, right?'

'That's the spirit. I'll get him one back for you,' Fred grinned wickedly, twirling his Beaters' bat in one hand.

Beauxbatons managed to peg one goal back after that, and the teams scored back and forth for a painful, nervous period. Hogwarts seemed unable to get beyond a forty point lead. Not nearly enough.

The drawback to James' superstar start to the game, was that Beauxbatons decided that he was the one they'd target with as many dirty, underhanded tricks as they could come up with. He copped elbows and knees. He was shoved, kicked, hammered with Bludgers so much that Fred had to spend half the game just trailing James. A move that almost cost them the match, when he was out of position as the Snitch appeared. Odette took a Bludger to her broom, which spun out of control, and Loyal barely missed the Snitch by a matter of inches as it dove beneath the stands, much to the joy of the crowd, who were now entirely up on their feet to watch the game.

'IT'S REAL TRENCH WARFARE OUT THERE, FOLKS,' the commentator cried, as James wrested possession of a Beauxbatons Chaser. She hissed and spat, and raked her vicious nails up the length of his forearm for his efforts, but he managed to slip past the Keeper and slot another goal for Hogwarts. A goal that put them fifty points ahead. Almost an hour into the game and they had finally managed to break the forty-point barrier.

The crowd knew it. They were stamping and yelling and whooping so loud James had to shout to be heard by his teammates. They reverted to flashing hand signals at one another, a coded form of communication they'd been practicing throughout the season, so as not to be overheard.

James was a mess of cuts and bruises. His breathing was becoming laboured, and his attention spans were shorter. He fastened his glove. A deep cut ran up the length of it. It had been a gift from his friends in his first year. The gash was riven through right where Holly had signed her name.

The Blues spread out on attack, covering the full breadth of the field. They threw strong, nimble passes between one another. Ava's fingertips barely missed what would have been a stunning interception. Lynch pulled in to cover the centre field while James had to push out to Ava's now unguarded wing, while she scrambled back into position.

His opponent had the Quaffle. It was the same burly bloke from earlier. By the cruel grin twisting his face, he was out for revenge, and this time he wouldn't be caught unawares. He stayed wide, skirting in between the stands, using them to dodge Fred's Bludger, until the last minute when he cut in sharply, showing a turn of speed James hadn't been prepared for. James was caught between the Blue and the goal hoop. He was closing in from a tight angle, looking to push past James and poke a shot in around the corner.

James stumped up in defense once again. He held his ground, this time spreading his arms wide, as if he were the Keeper, trying to block the shot. He felt the collision jar every bone in his body. He flailed and scrambled. He felt firm leather on his fingertips. He wound a hand around the Blue's throwing arm to try foul his shot. The force of their collision shoved James backward into the goal hoops, and the whiplash shook him free. He was winded, coughing and struggling to breathe. The crowd's groans told him, before he even saw the Quaffle, that the shot had gone through.

Hawksby blew his whistle – twice. Wait a minute, that was for-

'Foul!' he cried. A hush fell over the crowd. 'Haversacking, against Beauxbatons. Goal nullified. Penalty shot to Hogwarts.'

James had done just enough so that the Blue Chaser couldn't get the shot off before his own arm went through the hoop. The crowd somehow found another notch.

'IS THERE NOTHING THIS MAN CAN'T DO? SOMEBODY FIND US A DARK LORD, BECAUSE POTTER'S UNSTOPPABLE!'

The swarm of Blues descending on Hawksby and arguing against the decision gave James the few moments he needed to regather his wits. At least two of his teeth were loose. His neck now hurt to turn to the left, and his little finger wouldn't properly wrap around his broomstick.

A hush descended on the crowd in anticipation as he flew up to take the penalty shot. A shot that would put them sixty points ahead. Only one goal away from the buffer they needed. He hoped to Godric Gryffindor himself that Ava's maths had been right on that.

The Keeper waved his arms wildly to distract James. He shouted and jeered and threw abuse every which way. He made so much noise it was hard to concentrate. But the vicious backspin James put on his shot that caused the Quaffle to dip below his blue-clad arms shut him up for good. For the first time in the match, it wasn't just blood that James could taste, it was victory.

And it was almost taken away mere seconds after, as the Blues slipped through their defences to earn a shot on goal. Mercifully, the shot sailed high, clanging off the top of the centre goal hoop and dropping harmlessly to the earth. Ava dived after it as James revelled in the beautiful sound of clanging iron that gifted them another chance.

A sound that was rapidly drowned out by a panicked yell, and then another. A noise that was swelled to overwhelm the entire stadium. The Snitch had been seen, and Gryffindor were still one goal down. Odette had a lead on Loyal, but it was evaporating fast. Her Siberian Arrow had taken a nasty knock, and was clearly struggling to keep pace. Ava tossed James a desperate pass that was almost intercepted.

'Go!' she cried. James had the fastest broom, it would be on him to score before Loyal got the Snitch. Not even all of Odette brilliance could make up for her failing broomstick.

He shot up the pitch, flat against his broom, Quaffle under one arm. Beside him, Jen shot a Bludger to Fred – a pass move they'd learned from the Durmstrang team. The crowd gasped as Loyal somehow managed to flow around what should have been a perfect hit. The Seekers changed track, bringing Odette into his periphery, streaking in the same direction as he.

He couldn't help but glance across. Loyal was at her tail now. Barely over a metre back. James still had half of the pitch to cover. He ducked under a wild Bludger, and then swerved around the bat that followed – also sent in his direction in desperation. He shrugged off the Beauxbatons Chaser who'd left the nasty scratch on his arm. The stiff-arm he gave her to the face was most satisfying.

It was only Burly left to beat. And then the Keeper. But James was confident he could do that. He'd out-paced his support, so whatever he did, he'd have to do it alone – and fast. Beneath him, Loyal was drawing level with Odette's hips. James could see the determination on her face, but the screeching sound her broom was making was a death-knell if ever he'd heard one.

Burly appeared before James, side-by-side with his Keeper. The pair hovered menacingly before the goal hoops. James hunkered down, made sure to make eye contact with Burly, and flashed him a grin. He'd been running over James all game, it was about time to repay the favour.

At least, that's exactly what James wanted him to think. He watched the subtle shift in weight as Burly and the Keeper braced for the inevitable impact. The stupid smiles on their faces as they thought they had him, and right when James' broomstick was almost tip-to-tip with theirs, he disappeared from their view.

He'd executed a sloth-grip-roll, timed to perfection. His broom carried him onwards, centimetres beneath their booted feet. But the move wasn't meant to be held – it was purely evasive, to avoid a Bludger – James had a half second to line up a shot, knowing full well that it would send him tumbling from his broom, the moment he let go. He reared up – or down, rather – already feeling gravity's ever-reliable embrace. He put everything he had into the shot, from ten feet below the goal hoops, upside down, flying at a speed he'd barely imagined on his old Comet.

The Quaffle came out of his hand cleanly, but he hadn't the time to follow it as panic took over, his legs slipped from his broomstick and he hurtled toward the sandpit at the base of the hoops.

He didn't so much recall the impact itself, as much as the pain that followed. The punching of air from his lungs, leaving him desperate and gasping. The ringing in his ears, the sand in his eyes, nose, and mouth. The way the blue of the sky seemed to waver and flicker, high above. Tiny golden sparks flitted through his vision at will.

A figure, standing over him. Black robes… Hogwarts, Quidditch! She offered one hand to help James to his feet. In her other, beating its feeble wings, was the Golden Snitch.

James coughed, once. Sound was returning. An overwhelming tide of noise. But somehow, this close, he could hear every breath that Odette took. Hers was the voice he needed to her. 'You did it?' he asked.

'No.' she said. His heart stilled. 'We did it.'

And then, as if it were a move they'd been planning for weeks, she kissed him. Full on the mouth. Long, and firm, and filled with the fiery heat and passion of victory from the mountain they'd just climbed, the battle they had just won. And for James, in that moment, there was nothing beyond the kiss.

They came apart only when the rest of their team joined them. The crowd was going berserk. The poor commentator was beside himself. First dozens, then hundreds of students rushed the field, all dressed in black. A midnight sea, draining from the stands down onto the pitch. They lifted the team high, singing and chanting. James and Odette were soon separated, but as her hand left his, and their last bit of contact was broken, he managed to hear her shout.

'Tell that to the little ginger bint!'