Chapter 25: The Finals

James's chest was throbbing, his heart was beating so violently. He had tried to keep it under control somehow, but circumstances were doing everything but helping. First off, today was the day of their match – the match, the one that would decide who would take the Quidditch Cup between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Second, he had planned on waking up at eight on the dot, eating breakfast in the Great Hall before it became overly crowded, and disappearing down to the field in time to be early for the match at eleven. Instead, he had found it extremely difficult to sleep – and likely would have done so even without Cecil Brookstanton's incessant yammering, which only ended when Richard Murphy threatened to stick Cecil's prized Remembrall in a place where it likely would not fit without considerable pain and suffering. When James awoke, it quickly dawned on him that it was closer to nine in the morning than eight in the morning. Thus, James's morning plan, so carefully laid, was rushed and mangled. Instead of eating at a manageable pace, he'd felt the need to wolf down his food with alacrity. He would regret this horribly about thirty minutes later, as he leaned over a toilet in one of the boys' lavatories. Even Murphy, with his slightly offbeat sense of humor, knew better than to laugh at this. James was as anxious and as nervous as he had been the first day he had arrived at Hogwarts.

And the fact that, between the sleepy start and unexpected detour to the restroom, he was very nearly late to the field, was not helping his stress level at all.

He didn't say much as Murphy followed him down toward the pitch. He said even less as Brynne Walter joined the two of them, claiming that she was simply taking a morning walk. He knew she had come to see him off, and really felt awful about literally being too queasy to trust himself to open his mouth to thank her for the gesture.

"So, I did the sums – or… actually, I asked Tellius to do the sums," Brynne said a bit hesitantly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that she was only a few paces behind him, but her voice sounded strangely distant, as if she was trying to talk over a stiff wind or breaking waves. "If you can beat Ravenclaw by a hundred seventy, Gryffindor can win the Cup."

"That's… I don't know," Murphy remarked. James swallowed hard. He felt sick again – and yet he knew he had already purged everything. James supposed what Murphy was trying to say, without saying it, was that he wasn't entirely sure about Gryffindor's chances. "You'll need the best three Chasers you've got. Has my brother decided yet?"

James shrugged his shoulders. Cole Murphy was making a point of holding back the revelation of who was going to fill the Chaser spot that Gaspar Mitchell (who was bound for Wimbourne for training in June) had left vacant. James couldn't imagine why – unless Cole wanted Ravenclaw to be as in the dark about the decision as James and Asher Rodney were themselves.

James focused on his feet. They were walking down a steep slope, and it simply would not do for James to misstep, fall down the hill and end up in the hospital wing just hours before the match was to start. When the hill finally leveled out, James realized that he was panting with the effort of trying to move quickly and keep himself under control at the same time. As he slowed again to a brisk, even clip, he felt a hand on his arm.

"Oi… Brynne…" Murphy spoke. "This is nice of you and all, but you'd probably better make yourself scarce now."

"And why is that, Richard Murphy?" Brynne sounded indignant.

"Because… well…" Murphy was obviously on the verge of saying something unpleasant, and trying to figure out how best to say it. "My brother's… a bit intense as far as Quidditch goes."

Normally, James would have laughed aloud at this gross understatement. However, he found that his voice seemed to have deserted him; thus, he settled for a pronounced sigh.

"And he's going to be really, really… tetchy this morning," Murphy went on. "Heck, the entire team is. Just look at James. And if they recognize you…"

He trailed off. James sincerely but silently wished he hadn't.

"You think they won't trust me because I'm a Slytherin, is that it?" Brynne asked.

"Well… yeah," Murphy said. James had to applaud Murphy for his honesty. That much was certain.

"This again?" Brynne sounded very exasperated. "I thought you and I were past this already."

"We are," Murphy said, looking uncomfortable. "I know you're alright. But the rest of the team…"

"But I'll be rooting for you lot to win, of course!" exclaimed Brynne, now audibly upset.

"They're not going to trust you, Brynne," Murphy replied after a pause. It sounded painful for him. "Quidditch makes people do strange things."

"Strange? More like sad," Brynne replied bitterly.

"I don't like it any more than you do," said Murphy. "But facts are facts. I'm saying this for your own good. I heard Cole just this week saying that he wouldn't put it past Slytherin to send someone to… sabotage Gryffindor somehow, just to hurt their chances of winning. Cole's not all that hostile toward Slytherins, but he doesn't trust them a bit and he wants that Cup. It's his last year. He doesn't get another chance after this."

"You think he'd… try to hex me or something?" Brynne asked.

"I don't know," Murphy groaned. "And I'd rather not have to find out. Not to mention I've got no idea what the rest of them are thinking…"

"What if I don't care?" Brynne said defiantly, which finally made James stop and turn around.

"This isn't the time to try to make a statement!" exclaimed Murphy.

James found his voice in the ensuing silence. "Murph?"

"Yeah, mate?" Murphy replied.

"Did your brother really say he'd hex any Slytherins that got too close?" James asked seriously.

"Well, no… but if one does get too close…" Murphy answered feebly.

James took a deep breath. "He won't do that. He'll be alright with it."

"I'm telling you, he won't," Murphy replied, and he sounded panicked now.

"Then Rodney can play for him," James said.

Murphy's jaw unhinged a bit. "Mate, you don't mean that. You're the better flier—"

"You think I don't know that deep down?" James asked impatiently. He turned around. "Let's go. We're already running behind."

Several more paces down the hill, Murphy finally appeared to lose his patience. "What is it with you?" he exclaimed. "Earlier this year, you hated Slytherins as much as anyone else did, and now you're all up in arms for Brynne's 'House unity' campaign—"

James whirled around and almost screamed at him, but hesitated. He had no right, after all…

"Brynne, tell him what you told me," he said.

Murphy's eyes widened with realization. Murphy was a loyal person… loyal enough that the Sorting Hat had very nearly placed him in Hufflepuff nearly two years ago. He also had a very good memory. James had kept something from Murphy the first time he had asked a question like this; but that was months ago. Brynne was now one of them, and Murphy had to know.

Brynne turned to Murphy. "Gladius Leo killed my parents."

"Oh… that's…" Murphy had found himself in the awkward position of wanting to say something but not being sure exactly what. "Blimey… that's awful… but what's that got to do with…?"

"Brynne's mum was named Hestia Carrow," James explained.

"The Carrows?" Murphy snapped, suddenly glaring at Brynne. "One of them had children? I thought they've been in Azkaban the last twenty years! I've got an uncle that was chained up in a dungeon by those two! He's still got the scars from where—"

"No!" James exclaimed, interrupting him and silencing Murphy's rant. Other than the chirping of a few birds, things went completely silent for several long moments.

"My mum didn't torture anybody," Brynne said, shaking her head. James could hear her struggling against the lump in her throat. "She didn't even hold to the 'purebloods are better' madness most Slytherins were on about back then. I mean, she married a Muggle, after all – probably so she could stop going by the name 'Carrow' as soon as she could…"

"It wouldn't have mattered," said James savagely. "Gladius Leo was going after almost every Slytherin they could get their hands on. Most of the people they killed never cared about being Death Eaters. Gladius Leo just thought the rest of the world was better off without House Slytherin."

Brynne grimaced sadly. It seemed that Brynne had mastered, if nothing else, the art of reliving her tragic background story without breaking down at all. This was true even of the parts that made James's skin crawl – parts that he still didn't share with Murphy because he himself didn't have the heart to talk about them. It was that thing she'd said about being able to hear Hestia Carrow crying as the members of that renegade band of Gryffindor graduates stepped over her husband's cooling corpse… hearing her screams when they raised their wands and performed whatever terrible curse drove her to insanity before ending her life. And there was Brynne, two years old, if that, somewhere in the room, watching…

…All because her mother had worn the green and silver here at Hogwarts.

"Mate, you okay?" Murphy asked. James realized he had been shivering – and yet it was quite warm outside.

"We'd better go," he said quickly.

As they neared the Quidditch pitch, James realized with a pang of relief that nobody's brooms were off the ground yet. He hadn't been nearly as late as he'd thought. However, he had been late enough, as the Gryffindor team members were all standing around near the sideline. As he approached, the anxiety that he knew would hang over the team like a cloud became almost palpable. Greta had bags under her eyes. Maybe she had stayed up extra late reading Cole's diagrams, James thought. Cole himself was pacing back and forth so much that James thought he might wear an obvious run into the pitch if he kept this up until the match started.

He didn't. Cole stopped once he caught sight of James and the others, and made a beeline straight for them.

"You're late," he said. "It's almost ten."

"'Almost' ten?" repeated James. "I'm on time, then."

"You're late," Cole repeated impatiently. "Today, you're late. We need as much time as we can to get ready."

James was almost tempted to say, "I don't see Ravenclaw out here," but bit his tongue.

"At least you had the sense to wear your robes down to the pitch," Cole sighed. "Let's go. We're still waiting on a couple of people to change." He looked over his shoulder. "And this practice is closed. You two need to get lost."

"Oh, well, that's a nice 'good morning' for your brother. Good luck, then… don't break any bones," Murphy said a bit sourly, putting his hands in his pockets and turning away from Cole to walk up the hill. Brynne started to follow him uncertainly, looking at James. She smiled, and suddenly James wished the match were starting right at this moment. He felt like he could score an even dozen goals, dodge any Bludger… maybe even catch the Snitch, to boot. No, he'd better not catch the Snitch… Madam Hooch would call a foul for sure…

"Who was that little girl?" Cole asked, staring at James as they walked back toward the rest of the team. "Don't think I've ever seen her in the common room at all…"

"Well, you wouldn't," James said – delicately, he hoped.

Cole stopped. His eyes turned on James in a searching gaze.

"Meaning…?" uttered Cole.

"She's not from Gryffindor," James said casually.

Cole's smile cracked and contorted for a moment. "No. No, no, no, no, no… of course not, Potter… you're not that thick, are you?"

James mouth set in a very firm line. "Nope – don't think so."

"Merlin's pants, Potter… what madness possessed you to bring a girl from a rival House down to our prep session?" asked Cole. His voice trembled with suppressed anger.

"She's a friend of mine," James answered. Then, feeling the need to repeat himself, he added, "She's a friend of mine. And since when have the Houses been rivals?"

"Since we've got a Quidditch match in a little over an hour for all the bloody marbles," Cole said flatly as if this was an absurdly stupid question to ask. "Don't you have any idea about the risk you're taking, doing something like that? What if we'd been in the air already, or discussing strategy?"

James realized with a jolt what Cole was trying to say. "She wouldn't do something like that. She's supporting Gryffindor."

"Honestly, don't be naïve, Potter," Cole chuckled mirthlessly. "Of course she would say that. Anybody would say that if they thought they could get a peek – then, next thing you know, we're in the air and Higgs and his lot know every move we're going to make…"

"She couldn't get into the Ravenclaw common room if she tried," James retorted wearily. "She's not Ravenclaw."

"What, then?" asked Cole. "If she's not Ravenclaw, what House is she from?"

"Why does it matter?" asked James defiantly.

Cole's jaw unhinged a touch and he tilted his head. "You haven't been taking notice of anything that's been going on the last few weeks, have you?" he asked. "Everybody expects us to lose this match."

"I know that much," said James. "You've only told us about a half dozen times every practice."

Someone – perhaps Freddy Weasley – sniggered behind Cole. The look Cole threw the offender was nothing short of murderous. He turned toward James again.

"But do you know how many people want us to lose this match?" asked Cole. James went silent. "Let's look at the situation here… Ravenclaw's going to support Ravenclaw, obviously… Hufflepuff's going to support Ravenclaw, if for no other reason than Hufflepuff's jealous of us." (And because Hufflepuff's House head is snogging Ravenclaw's House head, James thought darkly) "…And Slytherin? Well, the day a Slytherin supports Gryffindor in any match is the day hell freezes over."

"Hell just got a hell of a lot colder, then," James answered. Cole's eyes widened. "You want your answer? There it is. She's from House Slytherin."

Cole smiled. James backed up a step out of instinct – it looked alarmingly similar to the smile with which Professor Malcolm or Morris Beal often regarded James. "You've gone completely mad, haven't you?"

"No," James uttered defensively. Cole, though, was turning his back to James and striding vaguely toward some of the other team members.

"A Slytherin… thought she had a shifty, untrustworthy look about her," Cole remarked with a scoff, walking with a swagger over toward Gaspar Mitchell, who was standing around in casual clothes as he wasn't allowed on the field with the rest of the team. Mitchell chuckled at Cole's remark and James felt a surge of hatred for the other seventh year. "You didn't let her handle your broomstick, did you? I don't know if it'll be any good afterwards…"

This caused Mitchell to roar with laughter. James, for the life of him, couldn't see what was so funny.

"Nev—… Professor Longbottom thinks we should make friends with Slytherins," James said, wishing he hadn't sounded so small or young. Cole turned around slowly.

"Well, these last twenty years have turned him soft, then," he said with a frost in his voice worthy of C.B. Malcolm. "I haven't forgotten. And my uncle's back hasn't forgotten, either." (Greta Stanford, who had been sitting down, put her hands over her mouth.) "The people that gave him those scars were Slytherins."

"The people that gave him those scars were Death Eaters," James replied, just as coldly. "There's a difference."

Cole's face twisted again as he tried valiantly to manage his anger.

"Cole…" Greta Stanford softly inserted herself into the conversation. "He's got a point…"

"No, he doesn't," Cole said calmly. "And Longbottom doesn't, either. I guess he's forgotten that our house stands for courage. He's gotten… hate to say it… a little bit cowardly."

James had lost his patience. "Yeah, but nowhere near as cowardly as a guy that won't think for himself."

James's hand slipped inside his robes, blood pounding in his ears. Cole looked to mull charging at James for a moment. Let him try, James thought savagely, hating him, he won't get three steps—

Whatever impulse Cole had (if any) to do anything violent was short-lived. Greta had stood and put a hand on his shoulder. To James and Greta's great shock, though, Cole knocked it away. However, it had been enough; Cole, although panting as if winded, seemed to have regained his control. He drew himself up.

"I hope insulting my courage made you feel good about yourself, Potter," he said. Then, without looking at whom he was addressing, he added, "Congratulations, Rodney. You're flying with the first line today. Let's get in the air before we lose any more time."

There was a half-second of silence.

"That's—" Freddy was on his feet, having used a rather earthier substitute for the word 'rubbish'. Cole pulled up short.

"Captain's decision," Cole simply said.

"That's got nothing to do with Quidditch. You just didn't like what he said," retorted Freddy.

"Well, maybe, since you're his family, you should tell him to put a bridle on that mouth of his so he won't say it," Cole said. "Now, let's get the hell in the air!"

He turned his back on James. A fleeting impulse tried to convince James to pull out his wand and nail Cole right between the shoulder blades with the best curse he could think of at the moment. But he didn't jinx people to their back.

Besides, the best spell he could think of for causing pain at the moment only worked on arms – very effectively, James hoped. But, grudgingly, James realized Cole would need those arms if he hoped to save any goals this afternoon.

After not nearly long enough, James looked upon the stands again to find them full of students. Judging by their garb, it was as Cole had said. Gryffindor's backers were in the minority. James squinted hard, trying to find a flash of red and gold among the Slytherin green and silver. He couldn't. Maybe she had gone with Murphy, James thought. He frowned. While there was no rule that commanded as such, Houses usually sat together as much as possible in the stands. He didn't know how the other Gryffindors would react if Brynne showed up in their midst without warning. To make matters worse, he couldn't find Albus or Rose in the crowd, either. To be fair, nearly everyone was dressed in some variant of their Gryffindor brightest. The sight was making James's eyes hurt, so he turned them instead to ground level, where Cole Murphy (You can still jinx him if you're quick, said a nasty little voice in James's head) and Elliott Higgs, the Ravenclaw Captain, shook hands. Higgs had black hair and the stretched, slightly underfed look of a young man that had grown several inches before he could fill out his frame. He wasn't particularly big, but his length would allow him to get a hand to Quaffles that would elude most Keepers.

"Hey." James felt someone lightly slap his shoulder and looked in that direction. Freddy was standing there, glancing at the Captains. "He's wrong on this."

And, as good as it felt to hear it from the same family member who wanted to rip him in half several months ago, it was something James already knew.

Albus

Albus, who had forgotten something and come to the stadium just in time, was surprised to find a seat being saved for him – and even more surprised to find it being saved by Rose, whom Albus had been sure wouldn't emerge from the castle again until the train left to go back to King's Cross.

"I thought you'd be in the library," said Albus happily, sliding into his seat. A caramel hand that could have only belonged to Roxanne Weasley ruffled his hair as he went, and he thought that, at least for that moment, he and an eleven-year-old Harry Potter probably would have looked like identical twins.

"There are usually a bunch of Ravenclaws in there studying, but everybody's here," said Rose. Albus would have expected her to be grumpy. Instead, she shuddered despite it being quite warm outside. "Have you ever been in that library when it's almost empty? It's creepy… and I sat too close to the Restricted Section. I swear I heard voices from behind that curtain…"

She shuddered again. Albus grimaced, making a mental note never to go to the library alone late at night.

"Besides," Rose said with a sort of resignation, "there's too much going on. I suppose even Mum would sit for a Quidditch final if Gryffindor was in it, right?"

Albus didn't answer. He didn't think Rose constantly comparing herself to her mother did her any favors. But he saw little enough of her as it was, and wasn't keen to start a row when she was in such a good mood.

"Where's Sylvia?" she asked, looking around. "I mean… not like I care… but doesn't she normally follow you here?"

Albus frowned. He also didn't like Rose talking about Sylvia like she was some hanger-on that was more nuisance than friend. They had known enough other for the better part of a year now, after all…

"She's over in the booth with Evan Hatcher," said Albus, pointing vaguely toward the tower where the commentator usually sat.

"And some changes here worth mentioning for the Gryffindor team," Hatcher's voice rang resonantly over the stadium as if on cue. "Gaspar Mitchell, as most of you know, was suspended for this match for verbally abusing an official during Gryffindor's defeat of Slytherin several weeks ago. Replacing him at Chaser is third year reserve, Asher Rodney."

"I think most people thought it would be James Potter who got the call, especially after his performance in the matchup against Slytherin…" Albus and Rose both looked at each other, jaws slightly agape. Yes, she sounded somehow older over loudspeaker – perhaps that was an affectation – but the voice unmistakably belonged to Sylvia Thomas. "But it's Rodney instead. We don't see what goes on at practice – perhaps experience won out."

"Maybe so," agreed Hatcher. "Rodney's joined at his position by fifth year Greta Stanford, along with sixth year Demas Oakley…"

"Let's see if Oakley can make it through a match without being injured," commented Sylvia. "It seems to be a problem for him this season."

Albus hadn't noticed that, but now that he thought about it, the reason James had been getting so much playing time as a reserve was mainly because Oakley had suffered some sort of injury in each of the first two matches. Maybe, Albus thought, the Gryffindor Captain was expecting that again, which was why he was keeping James on the bench…

"Right you are, Sylvia," Hatcher said. "At Beater, Freddy Weasley returns to the lineup, joining graduating seventh year Torvald Creese, who has recently signed on to join camp this summer with the Kenmare Kestrels, where yours truly will be interning this summer as well. I imagine we'll see rather a lot of each other. At Keeper, we've got seventh year and Captain, Cole Murphy – bound for Tutshill at term's end – and it's first year Scorpius Malfoy at Seeker."

"Ravenclaw's got a first line that's been together a while. All seven of them were part of the Ravenclaw team last year," Sylvia said. "At Chaser, it's sixth year Dimitri Maxwell, third year Marjery Davies, and the team's leading goal scorer, fourth year Cordelia Byrne. At Beater, it's fifth years Donaghan Craig and Nevan McFadden. The Keeper and Captain is seventh year, Elliott Higgs. Finally, the Ravenclaw Seeker – fourth year Rohan Lynch."

"Ravenclaw's heavy on experience and even heavier on bloodlines. Two of their team members can claim parentage from the 1994 World Champion Ireland Quidditch Team," added Hatcher. "Rohan Lynch, of course, is the son of Aidan Lynch, who has the dubious distinction of being one of the few losing Seekers to play for a winning World Championship team. Of course, that's not a knock on Lynch; many think the man that beat him to the Snitch in that Championship match was one of the best Seekers to step on a pitch. At Chaser, also, there's Cordelia Byrne, who seems to have more than inherited the family talent. Her mother is Patricia Byrne, known to most as Patricia Moran, and was Ireland's leading goal-scorer through the 1994 World Cup, as well as in the Championship game itself."

"Sylvia's so good at this," Rose remarked, sounding almost admiring. "It's almost like she was born for it."

"The fact that Aidan Lynch and Ireland won the World Cup that year without Lynch catching the Snitch brings up something interesting about this match," Sylvia remarked. "Gryffindor needs to win by two hundred points today in order to win the Quidditch Cup."

"A tall order with Ravenclaw's lineup – and yet Gryffindor's a scrappy bunch that's risen to every other challenge so far," Hatcher added. "One final footnote before this match gets started – it'll be the final match presided over by Madam Rolanda Hooch, who has decided to retire as Hogwarts Quidditch Arbiter after fifty-eight years of service. The man that's to replace her next year has some big shoes to fill. I believe you know a bit about him?"

"I do, and I think he'll do a very good job," replied Sylvia, and Albus could hear in her voice that she was beaming.

"So best of luck to Madam Hooch, and best of luck to these two teams," Hatcher said.

The two teams were in formation several feet in the air. Albus glanced at Rose. She was every bit as focused on this game as Albus had ever seen her on an essay or a book.

"C'mon, Freddy, you can do it…" Albus heard Roxanne mutter behind them. Next to her, Tommy, arm around Roxanne's shoulder, was staring intently into the air.

"C'mon, guys, you've got this…"

The noise seemed to die for a moment as Madam Hooch gave an almighty heave. A reddish speck floated into the air, was swallowed by a reddish blur, and the crowd erupted.

"Quaffle's up and we're underway!" Hatcher shouted. "Gryffindor's got it, and it's Stanford! Stanford – neat move there to get away from a Bludger, she passes… intended for Oakley but Ravenclaw's all over him! Here comes Maxwell, toward the boundary! Looks like an arrowhead formation – Davies, Byrne flanking – Beaters to the outside!"

"Blow 'em up!" Albus heard Tommy roar from behind him, sincerely hoping it was a figure of speech. People could be mad about Quidditch, after all…

"Maxwell… takes a Bludger, drops – NO, HE DOESN'T HAVE IT!" Hatcher cried in surprise, timed perfectly with the roar of the crowd. "It's Byrne! Cordelia Byrne now with the Quaffle and Craig right in her pocket, both toward the goal – Craig knocks a Bludger toward Cole Murph—DEFLECTED! Creese knocks the Bludger away and Byrne's shot is saved by the Gryffindor Keeper!"

Albus heard Tommy as part of the hissing drone that rang from the Gryffindor-favoring side of the stands. They all knew now, if they hadn't before, that Cole Murphy had to be spot on at Keeper today. They could not afford to fall behind.

"We've got Demas Oakley with the Quaffle now. It's his fourth year on the Gryffindor team and it shows. He looks free and easy on a broom despite his size. He passes off to Stanford. Stanford to Oakley – Oakley back to Stanford – in the scoring zone! Stanford! Oakley! Stanford! Rodneeeey…"

The Gryffindor section let out a collective groan. Elliott Higgs had saved Rodney's shot easily. Albus frowned. James would have known to be a bit less predictable…

"Ravenclaw now in possession, it's Byrne – she's cut off by Rodney, circles around… BLUDGER! Looks like it was Freddy Weasley that got her and the Gryffindors take it back! That's Asher Rodney with the Quaffle, he's going to try to take it himself. Here comes Gryffindor!"

But Rodney did not get far, from what Albus could tell – he barely eluded a Ravenclaw player flying past him. A moment later, the crowd exploded as Rodney took a Bludger nearly head on – and, to make matters worse, the player that hit the Bludger used himself as a Bludger next, ramming into Rodney full speed and nearly knocking him from his broom.

"And Rodney gets absolutely crushed – that's gotta be Cobbing, and there's the whistle," Hatcher said, his voice suddenly deadly serious. "Craig's the guilty party – not a surprise there. He's been known to lose his cool during matches before. Time's been called – Rodney's being helped to the ground by his teammates. Meanwhile, on the Ravenclaw end, Cordelia Byrne looks like she's feeling the effects of that last Bludger, and that might have been what set Craig off… in any case, Gryffindor's going to get a penalty shot, but they might need another Chaser to take it. With their roster already a man short, they can ill afford an injury like this…"

"C'mon… put James in," Rose muttered.

Albus watched wordlessly, frowning and remembering how Scorpius had told him about Donaghan Craig's infamously quick temper. He supposed Iris was watching, too, somewhere on the other side of the stands. Maybe Victoire was watching as well… was she supporting her House team or her family?

"God, Rodney looks awful," Roxanne remarked.

"That's ridiculous," groaned Tommy. "Craig was trying to kill him – Hooch should have sent him off."

"Is he gonna come back?" asked Roxanne, as the Gryffindors broke their huddle.

"Doesn't look like it right now," Tommy answered, as Asher Rodney became visible in the group headed back toward the Gryffindor bench, joined by – Albus's heart sank – James.

"Why didn't James go in?" Roxanne asked, sounding just as surprised as Albus was. "That's… that's Egan. Does he even play Chaser?"

"No, he's got his bat with him, so he's going in at Beater," said Tommy nervously. "But, wait… that's not right. We can't have three Beaters…"

"It'll be Greta Stanford taking the penalty shot," announced Evan Hatcher a moment later as she and the Ravenclaw Keeper took to the air. "She puts it through, and we've got our first score of the game! That's ten-nil in favor of Gryffindor!"

The teams reassembled their lineups and took to the air again.

"WHAT!?" exclaimed Tommy Jordan, sounding horrified.

Rodney's replacement at Chaser, as it turned out, was Freddy Weasley.

James

"Ravenclaws score! That's fifty-ten in favor of Ravenclaw!" Hatcher's magically magnified voice carried over the Quidditch pitch.

"Hmph." Desmond McLaggen shook his head and spit rather boorishly on the ground. "Hope you're happy, Potter."

"Me?" James, who hadn't said much for the entire match, glared at Desmond. "And this is my fault how, exactly?"

"Obviously," Desmond replied, "you've hacked off Murphy so much he won't even put you in the match. He's using Weasley as Chaser. Weasley. Bricks-for-hands Freddy bloody Weasley."

Almost on cue, a loud groan erupted from the Gryffindor section – Freddy had apparently dropped the Quaffle again.

"And?" asked James, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "We wouldn't even be in this position if Mitchell hadn't gone and got himself suspended… and if you're so good, why doesn't he have you up there playing?"

"Probably doing Egan a solid," Desmond answered, shrugging his shoulders and looking remarkably unconcerned. "Egan's already said he won't come back to the team next year no matter what happens. Probably a good idea. I'll be Beater next year – can already fly circles around him anyways. I'd probably be first line if Weasley was named Freddy… Smith or something or other…"

There were a lot of things James wanted to say to Desmond. He managed to bite almost all of them back. "You realize almost nobody likes you, right, McLaggen?"

"Nobody likes me for [I]being[/I] right," said Desmond, wearing a face so smug it was almost cartoonishly comical. Then, mock-sighing and rolling his eyes, he added, "It's a burden."

"Right," said James, looking away from him. "More like nobody likes you for being a jumped-up little –"

"Shut it!" Asher Rodney interrupted. The expression Desmond gave him in return was priceless. "Really. Shut it. My head's pounding."

And speaking of pounding, Gryffindor was apparently now down seventy after the latest goal scored by Cordelia Byrne. It seemed that while Creese had no problem knocking a Bludger at Byrne, Egan was a bit too scared of what had happened to Rodney to test it. So, in effect, Gryffindor had only one effective Beater and two effective Chasers, which they were quickly finding out doesn't play very well against a skilled team of seven.

"We might as well to the showers now," sighed Rodney, his head in his hands. "Even if Scorpius catches the Snitch right this minute, we've still lost the Cup."

"Hold on…" James muttered semi-hopefully as a cheer rose from the Gryffindor stands. ("Stanford scores! The Gryffindors finally break through and cut the lead to fifty!")

"I changed my mind," Desmond said, standing up from the bench and starting to pace with broom in one hand, bat in the other. "Murphy needs to put me in the match. I'm not scared to crack a Bludger at a girl. Bollocks to being a gentleman – this is the Quidditch finals. I'll knock her off her broom if I have to."

"What, and then get hurt like I did?" Rodney grunted.

"What, does Craig scare you?" asked Desmond scathingly. "Some Gryffindor you are."

"I didn't even do anything," snapped Rodney impatiently. "Freddy was the one that took out Byrne, not me."

Something clicked in James's head. He realized he didn't want to be around them anymore, so he stood and walked a distance away. He found himself wanting this match – either way – to be over as soon as possible.

Not too much longer after inwardly wishing that, he got his wish. The majority of the crowd exploded; Rohan Lynch had caught the Snitch. The game was over.

The season was over.

James went through the motions – lining up with the rest of his teammates to shake hands with the Ravenclaw lineup and congratulating them for a hard-fought match (at least on their end). Scorpius said nothing the entire time. He looked like a zombie. Cole Murphy had the most petulant, contorted look on his face. There was a frightening moment where Desmond and Donaghan Craig met, and Desmond stared Craig down for all he was worth. Craig, for his part, looked completely flummoxed and didn't seem to know what he had done. He was a considerably milder personality off his broom, as it turned out. Greta and Cordelia Byrne exchanged smiles as they shook hands; they, at any rate, seemed to have a healthy respect for one another. James could see Freddy wincing after shaking hands with Nevan McFadden – McFadden wasn't nearly as big as Craig, but he wasn't small, either.

Amidst the celebration of the Ravenclaws (someone or something had magicked blue-and-white confetti to fall to the pitch from thin air), the Gryffindor team trudged back to their own locker room. As James stepped into his shower (they were sectioned off individually, a bit like toilet stalls), he tried to concentrate on getting clean. He felt sweatier and grimier from sitting on the bench than he ever had after a game. Then again, it had been rather warm outside and Quidditch robes – especially those of Gryffindor, with a lot of black and dark crimson – tended to trap heat.

He heard a voice – Freddy's voice – in the shower next to his, muttering. "Worst… effing… year… ever."

There were periodic thumps every few seconds – someone was punching the wall. Another boy – Rodney by the sound of it – was somewhere to James's right, muttering an oath every so often. James imagined the soreness was starting to set in. Someone else a ways to James's left was flat-out sobbing. It was very uncomfortable to listen to in the relative silence, and yet nobody seemed to have the heart (or lack thereof) to tell the person to be quiet.

Not long later, as James magicked himself dry (the charm was Ariditotum and he'd learned it from Freddy, who didn't seem very keen on saying where he himself had learned it), threw on his clothes and exited the shower, he saw Rodney, also clothed, knocking on the door of another one of the showers.

"Chin up, mate," he said. "We'll get 'em next year."

A sob came in reply. "There's not gonna be a next year," the voice said. It was Derrick Egan. "Not for me."

Rodney opened his mouth to say something, stopped halfway and then walked by James without a further word, his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, wincing with every step he took.

Cole Murphy, who had apparenty taken his shower very quickly, slipped back into the shower hall as Rodney departed, and shouted, "Hurry it up! I want to see everyone before we dismiss!"

And he slipped out again, but made it a point to give James a dirty look on the way.

James made sure to be neither the first nor the last to come into the locker room as everyone finished their showers. It was worth a couple of strange looks from Demas Oakley and Freddy not to have Cole glaring at him for twenty minutes. When James could finally put it off no longer, he went into the locker room and found a seat a considerable distance from where Cole was standing – right next to Scorpius Malfoy, who still looked like a zombie.

There was silence for a moment.

"You were [I]almost[/I] a good team," Cole said. "[I]Almost.[/I] But you forgot one thing – one very important thing, and it's the reason we don't have the Cup right now. No one player's bigger than this team. No matter what his name is. Some of you didn't agree with my decision. You didn't play as hard. You're going to have to live with that. I hope you're happy with yourselves."

And James could hold himself in no longer. He started to rise from his bench—

"So I guess Potter was the reason Cordelia Byrne scored six goals on you, right?"

Every one turned – to Scorpius Malfoy. Cole tilted his head for a moment, as if astonished at what he was hearing.

"Cordelia Byrne's a very good Chaser, Malfoy," Cole said.

"Potter's pretty good, too," Scorpius said. "Except it just hurt your ego too much to put him into the game."

"Ego?" chuckled Cole. "Ego. You're talking to me about ego. You want to know the truth, Malfoy? Because no one else on this team has the balls to tell you the truth. …You're not that great a Seeker. Decent, maybe… but more lucky than skilled. You were only the best that tried out this year. You're certainly not good enough to be able to get away with being such a piss-poor teammate."

"Fair enough – maybe I'm not that good yet," Scorpius said. "But I will be. One day I'll be the best this school has ever seen, and you won't be a part of that – I'm glad for it, too… because you're a mediocre Keeper, a poor Captain, and an even worse human being."

There was a sharp intake of breath across the room.

"I will not…" Cole said, walking down the locker room toward James and Scorpius, "be talked down to by a twelve-year-old. I am the captain of this team, and you need to show me some respect."

"First of all, the season's over, so you're not my captain anymore," Scorpius answered. "Second, if you have to demand respect, you probably don't deserve it."

"You know, I shouldn't be surprised," chuckled Cole, "From what I've heard of your father, he was a mouthy little berk, too."

"Cole, stop it," said Greta imploringly.

"You shut up!" Cole barked at her.

"Well done – really," Scorpius said, hand in his pocket. "Do you feel like a man yet?"

Cole palmed Scorpius's face and pushed him away, calling Scorpius a very filthy word that James had actually never heard used before. The whole locker room went into an uproar of outrage. James nearly saw the entire thing happen in slow motion – and good thing, too, because the next thing he noticed was that Scorpius had his hand on his wand, which gave James just enough time to dive out of the way…

James fell into shadow as Cole Murphy went flying over his head. When he stood again, Scorpius's gray eyes were popping out of their sockets… and Cole Murphy was lying several feet away in a heap. Scorpius didn't appear to have moved. He was standing there blankly, his face contorting as he tried to blink back tears. Meanwhile, Cole jumped to his feet, drawing his wand, but instantly doubled over again with a scream. The other Gryffindor team members gave him a wide berth as he crumpled and hit the floor, rolling around in obvious agony, his hands clutching a most personal and sensitive area of his body.

"Hey!" Greta shouted, putting an arm around Scorpius. "Stop it!"

"Geroff!" Scorpius snarled, shaking away from her violently. He picked up his broom and stormed out of the locker room.

A long silence followed. Apparently whatever had been happening to Cole had stopped happening, because he had rolled to his back and pulled his hands away from his trousers.

"…Thanks, Greta," murmured Cole.

But Greta was looking at Cole as if seeing him in an entirely new light. "Don't thank me," she said. "I wasn't doing it for you. I just didn't want to have to report him to Longbottom."

Cole rose to the bench and slumped into it, looking defeated. Meanwhile, the rest of the boys began gathering their things and filing out one by one.

"Oh, you're going to feel sorry for yourself now?" asked Greta scathingly.

"Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a captain," he said, somewhat to himself.

"No," Greta agreed, her voice icy. "I don't think you were."

Cole grimaced. "I'll make it up to you somehow."

"Don't waste your time," Greta answered quickly, as if she had been waiting to say this for a while. "Actually, I'd rather you just didn't talk to me anymore."

And she grabbed her broom and walked out. James, certainly not wanting to be in a room alone with Cole, followed her as quickly as she could. Of course, walking away with Greta was very nearly as awkward.

"It'll be you next year, won't it?" asked James, desperately trying to break the awkward silence.

"Huh?" Greta was looking up into the sun, blinking a lot, and looked rather distracted.

"As Captain," James tried to explain.

"Well… I don't know," said Greta uncertainly, giving James a weak smile. Clearly, she was thankful to him for his attempt to take her mind off what had just happened.

"You'll be the oldest coming back next year," James pointed out.

"Sure, maybe…" Greta answered. "That doesn't guarantee anything, though. Actually, I'm not sure I want to be captain…"

"Really? Why not?" asked James.

"It's a lot of work," Greta said. "And I'm already going to be a N.E.W.T. student and a prefect… makes me exhausted just thinking about it…"

James couldn't find any response to this, and stayed silent. In fact, he stopped, allowing Greta to keep walking away from him. She didn't seem to notice. They were just far enough away where he could see the whole stadium. He took a look at the broom in his hand. With so many practice sessions, so much schoolwork, and a very wet April, he hadn't ridden it just purely for fun since Easter. He swung his leg over it and kicked off from the ground. Even several months later, he was amazed at how the broom seemed to read his mind – almost as if he willed it to go exactly where he wanted, exactly how he wanted.

He paused for a moment, hovering high enough that he could see over the entire stadium. Without much warning at all, his throat started to tighten…

"James? James!"

He looked down at the grassy hill to see two figures waving at him. He wheeled himself around and dove. Landing a bit clumsily (he still wasn't used to how fast his Cleansweep could descend), he touched down right in front of Murphy and Brynne.

"All right, mate?" asked Murphy. James couldn't talk. He simply looked over his shoulder at the pitch. When he looked at the two of them again, Murphy smiled and said, "Well, at least they can't say, 'We lost the Cup because Potter played like a sack of dragon dung.'"

Brynne doubled over with laughter; James couldn't help cracking a smile, either.