If you're reading this, much love.
ENJOI
…
October arrived all too quickly for James. His work on Snape's Multiplication potion ground to a halt due to the dungeons being warded off for some off the wall event that James still could not get to the bottom of. It was starting to irritate him to no end, not just because he was this close to finishing the potion, or because with each passing day the likelihood of James' secret little lab could be discovered by a patrolling prefect or a sniveling Filch, but because he had a sour feeling Snape was on to him. The Potions Master would give him these weird looks and had been showcasing an uncanny knack for always being around that area of the dungeons whenever James tried futilely to gain access.
James had been filling the rest of his time studying, getting ready for Quidditch tryouts at Roger Davies's request, and drawing up plans for an epic prank. Kiara made it a point to avoid the three Ravenclaw brothers, despite their attempts at rekindling the friendship from last year. Hell, the girl avoided everyone. His concern was that her father hurt her over the summer because of last terms events, which after owling his mother about, almost cemented his beliefs about it.
It was on the morning of Friday, October Second when James was seated with his brothers at the breakfast table, thoughtfully munching on a piece of jam covered toast when Snape stalked into the Great Hall. James had a lot on his plate, figuratively speaking. Stressed about getting the next batch of the duplication potion finished, nailing the Quidditch tryout he didn't really want to do, avoiding Lockhart and some sniveling Gryffindor first year that seemed obsessed with following him and Harry around like a lost fanboy, and keeping up with his workload was wearing on him to the point where his appetite had gotten lean. Upon seeing the dread Potions Master, all will to eat left him as the limp haired Professor walked with purpose right up behind the young Ravenclaw and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Placed," is an understatement in normal situations. It was more like he dug his long, pale fingers into the pressure point between James Dean's shoulder and collar bone. But for Snape, that was almost… friendly.
"A word, Potter," Snape demanded.
"That was actually three, Professor," James replied smoothly, his suspicions about Snape's behavior becoming more and more credible by the moment. He had to buy time…
Travis and Brian, along with the other Ravenclaws at the table drew out a hearty "Oooooooh!" of humorous appreciation that Snape immediately quelled with his trademark Killing Look. Fingers digging ever so deeper into his clavicle, Snape hauled James up and shoved him in the direction of the Grand Staircase.
"Ten points from Ravenclaw," he sneered. "Facetious comments may be encouraged in yoursmart-alec house, Mr. Potter, but I will have none of them."
"Yes, Professor," James answered diplomatically, but not obediently.
"That's better," the professor snidely remarked, leading James down into the dungeons.
James kept his mouth shut as they traveled well into the underground portion of the castle. He frantically flayed his mind for ways to prepare for what he thought was going to happen. Snape found him out, he knew it. The scroll, the Multiplication potion, the abandoned lab… James just knew his goose was cooked. Snape was still probably sore about the whole situation, considering it had been a university scholarship he was after, and it was ripped from him because of whispers about dark magic. Maybe he could say that it wasn't him? Plausible deniability, all that jazz? Or maybe, if Snape didn't know about whatJames was doing, just that he was doing something, he could throw the 'Professor, I was just wanting extra practice,' excuse. No, Snape wouldn't care about that either way, in all likelihood… How could he get out of this?!
While his mind raced, James came to the realization that they were heading in the complete opposite direction of where his secret lab was set up. The green and silver banners, marking the heart of Slytherin territory, lined the walls. The thick velvet tapestries kept the chill out from being under the Black Lake, and James could hear, however vaguely, the sound of the swirling tentacles of the Giant Squid. Snape came to an olive colored door with an aged, bas-relief carving of a silvery coiled snake in its center. Muttering some words James could barely understand, the door clicked and the professor swung it open.
Sweeping James inside, Snape flew in after him and slammed the door shut. James found this peculiar because it wasn't out of anger, but small sense of desperation. Snape grew more and more fidgety, and his jerking movements did not seize after he swirled behind his desk and sat down on his bare, oversized office chair.
"Sit," Snape ordered, voice sounding stoic and clear, obviously in an attempt to not show any sign of disconcert. He held a hand up and pointed at the small wooden bench in front of his desk, and James was forcibly thrust onto it.
"Break my tailbone, why doncha…"
"Silence," Snape ordered.
James shut up, as requested. Snape stared at him. It was unnerving. So, he traveled his gaze across Snape's office, instead. The room was cold and gloomy but was surprisingly not dank or musty. What smelled like incense wafted in the air, giving it a heady, smoky smell that kept the damp air from going moldy. Poorly lit, the jars on the shelves lining the Southern wall were cast in half shadow, rendering their contents barely visible. What James could see gave him chills. Along the eastern wall was more shelves, but with books of all types, sizes, and subjects. The western wall had cupboards that were obviously under lock and key. These were Snape's personal potions and ingredients, perhaps?
"Eyes to the front, Potter," Snape ordered, catching his inquisitive glance. He flicked his wand and a thick tapestry covered the cupboards from his sight. "You are probably wondering why I have brought you down here."
"Oh, no, Professor," James replied sarcastically, keeping his hazel eyes locked on the professor's pale, greasy forehead, not daring to look the professor in his own, beady black eyes. "I was wondering when we were going to take this relationship to the next level, but I must say, this is escalating quickly."
"As much as it painsme to say, you are not here because you are in trouble."
James eyes nearly flew out of his skull.
"Shocking revelation for a Potter, I know," Snape sneered. "It has come to my attention that your…" Snape's voice trailed as if he were about to say something he didn't want to. "Mother forgot something here at Hogwarts during her tenure here."
Snape pulled a drawer open and withdrew a small, leather bound book with a small bronze clasp holding it closed. With hands somehow steady again, Snape handed the book over to James softly, and as James took it, the professor's fingers trailed over it, as if he wanted to hold it for as long as he could before it disappeared from his life. James held it up, and in glossy gold writing on the front was written:
This Diary is Property of one Lily Marie Evans, Headgirl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"My mom's old journal?"
"Yes… now leave."
…
As warm and fuzzy as the dungeons were, James skedaddled out of them as fast as he could. He had to get to Transfiguration class next, and Snape didn't give him the courtesy of a tardy excuse. His mother's journal all but forgotten, he rushed up the stairs, prancing, dancing, and sidestepping his way through the hordes of students, accidentally knocking into Ginny Weasley. He barely saw the red rush in her face, much less acknowledged her other than a quick, "Sorry, Gin!"
Free from the masses clogging the Grand Staircase, he all out sprinted to McGonagall's class. Skidding to halt before the front door, he rushed in as quickly as he could. His left foot was just over the threshold as the bell rang, indicating that it was time for class to start. Everyone laughed as he swept over to the last available seat in the room. That seat was right in the back, right next to Kiara Kennedy, which to everyone else was apparently humorous. The poor girl went red in the face in embarrassment from the attention.
"Glad to see you could finally make it, Mr. Potter," McGonagall primly. "Hush hush, all of you! Get out your books and open them to page one hundred-seventy two, please. Now, who can tell me the natural equation of Transfiguration?"
A brunette Slytherin's hand shot up, before James even had a chance to get his book out of his messenger bag.
"Ms. Davis, go ahead."
"Professor," the mousy haired, spectacled girl spoke confidently. "The equation is t equals w times c over v times a equals Z.
McGonagall nodded her head as James finally got his book open. He flipped to the page the Professor said to and almost slapped himself. He… forgot to study the next chapter. McGonagall went on to write the equation on the board.
T=W x C/V x A= Z
"And what do these variables mean, Ms. Davis?" McGonagall inquired, turning to face the class.
"Um," the Slytherin girl mumbled, suddenly losing her confidence. The Slytherins in the class, hoping they would be awarded points due to Davis's studiousness, moaned in dejection.
"No credit for half answers, Ms. Davis… No? Okay then… Potter!" McGonagall turned to James and smiled a Cheshire grin, as if she somehow knew she'd caught him unprepared.
Time, it seemed, stopped. Brian and Travis, seated in the middle, turned and looked his way, expectant and nervous expressions on their face. Malfoy, seated next to Pansy Parkinson, guffawed as she sneered at him. Padma Patil and Michael Corner had their hands up in the air, doing excellent impersonations of Hermione. Tony Goldstein had his pinky up his nose. James could feel his eyes get larger.
"Since you find it excusable to show up for class at the last minute, that must mean you were prepared enough for the lesson… Perhaps you could enlighten me with the other half of Ms. Davis's answer and take her points?"
"Um…" James mumbled himself. He went red in the face as the Slytherins, Draco Malfoy chief among them, snickered. For what seemed like the first time in his life, James choked. Bowing his head, James felt a kick in the shin, and barely heard Kiara whisper "Transformation, bodyweight, viciousness, power, concentration, and unknown variable."
McGonagall shook her head. "Five points to Slytherin," she mumbled as she turned back to the board. "And five from Raven-"
"Ma'am, the variables stand for transformation, bodyweight, viciousness, power, focus and an unknown factor, ma'am."
McGonagall swung around, giving James a pleasantly surprised look. "That is correct, Mr. Potter…"
James sheepishly grinned. McGonagall gave Kiara a suspicious look but didn't say anything to her. "Ten points to Ravenclaw. Sorry, Ms. Davis, but as I said, no credit for half answers."
Kiara gave him another kick in the shin. "That's for not writing me over the summer," she whispered, not even looking in his direction.
…
"Come, come," Professor Sprout called everyone into the greenhouse. "The mandrakes are getting bigger, and they aren't going to re-pot themselves!"
Before he even had a chance to choose his own earmuffs, Sprout thrust a pair of the hideous, fluffy kind pairs in his hands and sent him off to the opposite side of the greenhouse. "You are not sitting with your friends today, Mr. Potter! Not after what you three did last week!"
"But Professor," James whined as he tried to lie his way out. "I didn't know that Shrivelfigs were flammable!"
"I know that's poppycock, Mr. Potter, its common sense, boy! Now go, tut-tut! You can work with Macmillan and Abbott today."
James harrumphed and trudged down to the end of the greenhouse and sat down next to the two Blonde Blunders, Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan. They gave James a friendly look, which he tried to fake back. It was no puzzle that these two, as nice as they were… were also incredible fallible. Ernie had a habit of spreading gossip and hearsay, and Hannah had a habit of falling apart when under pressure. And they were being trusted with the replanting of the one plant on Earth that not only had vocal cords, but deadlyvocal cords.
Lovely.
Travis, being paired with two other Hufflepuffs, gave James an apologetic look. Brian was too busy trying to show Justin Finch-Fletchley how to appropriately put on his herbology equipment to even notice that his other partner, Padma, was struggling to keep her Mandrake in its pot as it tried to crawl its way out of the now too small prison.
James took a deep breath to try to steady himself, but it just shuddered in and whooshed out just as fast as he choked on the smell of dragon dung. He coughed the caustic smell out and shared a laugh with them at his blunder. It got quiet, so James sat there, waiting for them to do something, and they stared back at him.
"So…" James started. "Uh… sup, guys?"
Hannah gave him a small smile, blushed and looked away. Ernie nodded at him with a friendly grin.
"You guys, uh, ready to plant some 'Drakes?"
"You bet," Ernie replied, and whipped into action. "I'll go get the new pots and soil!" He decreed as he tottered off.
Great, James thought. Leave me alone with the girl who can't even manage to look at me… Say something nice!
"So… Hannah… how are you?"
"I'm fine," she quickly and sharply answered, her voice cracking. What the…?
"You, uh, you good at this stuff? Herbology, I mean?"
"Not really, I mean yes! I guess…" Her face got redder and redder the more he talked. Did he have something in his teeth? Was puberty hitting him already and he sprouted a zit?
"Hey mates, I'm back!" Ernie announced, carrying three pots and a bag of soil, his small frame dwarfed by his load. James, wanting to get away from the awkward conversation with Hannah, quickly stood up and relieved Ernie of the pots. "Oh, cheers, mate!"
"No problem," James replied.
"So," Ernie chirped. "You two find any common ground with each other while I was gone?"
"What are you talking about, man?" James asked as Hannah went so red James thought she was going to explode.
Ernie blanched. "Oh, nothing, never mind…" He gave Hannah an apologetic look. She shook her head at him. "Shall we get started?"
"Yeah," James asserted, He grabbed the earmuffs, and shoved the ugly things on. Ernie and Hannah followed suit. They set out their new pots and put copious amounts of soil and fertilizer in them. James helped Hannah pack in her soil, to which she blushed again. Just when James was about to ask what her deal was, Ernie yanked his Mandrake out.
And by yank, he ripped the foul, shriek-mouthed creature out of its pot with such force that he fell backwards, back into James… elbowing him right in the ear. James's fuzzy muff slipped, ever so slightly off his head.
By God, the shrill.
James convulsed at the sound as it terrorized his eardrums. His vision whited out and he vaguely felt someone with cold, soft hands clamp the muffs back on his ears. He screamed, maybe, he couldn't tell, as all he could hear was a loud, high pitched ringing. He tumbled over something, or someone, and was lowered to the ground. His vision was returning to semi-normal, but it was like looking down a white rimmed tunnel. He could see that Hannah was above his face, her eyes brimming with tears as she cradled his head in her lap.
Professor Sprout shoved her to the side, and James could see her talking to him, but her words where indecipherable. He shook his head violently as something stung at his eyes and something warm began spilling out of his ears, but Hannah clamped her hands on either side of his face, holding the muffs and his head in place. He was hauled to his feet as Hannah and Sprout gripped his shoulders, at Sprouts urging. They walked him out of the green house and towards the castle.
He turned to Hannah. "Hospital wing?" he asked. She nodded and mouthed a yes, tears still streaming down her face. "Wonderful," he replied sarcastically. "I'm clinically deaf!"
The path to Madame Pomfrey was unhindered for the most part, as most everyone was in class. With nothing else to do, James filled his time by complaining about the disorientation and how his ear felt wet. Hannah wiped his ear with her sleeve and held it up to him; it was scarlet.
"Wonderful," he said in what he thought was a quiet voice, but Ernie cringed. Either James came off as way too cruel and facetious, or he was talking really loud. "I'm clinically deaf and bleeding!"
Then, to make things worse, the last person James wanted to see walked out of a class room, probably to see what was going on. It was Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Not him!" James cried.
Lockhart asked Ernie what was going on, James assumed. Ernie recounted the story valiantly, if his body language was to be believed, telling Lockhart that he needed to get him to the Hospital wing, James hoped. Lockhart, seeing a chance be a hero, smiled and merrily sprang upright in a heroic fashion. James cried. The Professor raised his wand, took aim at James as Ernie and Hannah stepped away, and as James fell to the floor without their support, he could have sworn he read Lockhart's lips say, "Hearingium returnum!"
And that's when his head exploded.
…
When James awoke, he was in the hospital wing, in a bed, with bandages wrapped around his jaw, across one eye, and the crown of his head. His temples throbbed and pulsed painfully. His eyesight was now slightly janky, and he still couldn't hear anything other than that constant ringing. He tried to sit up in bed, and immediately regretted doing so, as a sharp, stabbing curve of pain arced up his neck and through and out of his eyeballs.
He tried to move his jaw to vocalize his suffering, but the wrappings around his jaw were woven so tight that he couldn't even talk. Dejected, he flopped his arms on the bed, and experimentally turned his head to see if anyone was around.
Spotting the nurse, he grunted in an attempt to notify her he was awake. She didn't hear him, so he had to wave to get Pomfrey's attention. Once he had made her aware, she brought him a glass of water, a stack of paper and a quill, and a tray with a potion philter on it. She wrote down that she wanted him to drink water first. She held his lips back and slowly poured the water into his mouth, letting it get in around his teeth. Then she wrote that the potion was next, and that like all medical potions, was going to be harsh, but he had to swallow it. Bracing himself, she slowly but steadily poured the acidic, bitter potion through his teeth. She assured him that the potion, though slow, would heal his blown eardrums and fix any neural damage done by the Mandrake screams.
Neural damage? He asked. That's comforting…
She left him the quill and paper after writing down that he should rest and not try to get up, and that his parents had been notified. She went back to her duties as he lay there, trying not to get restless. Bored, and with nothing else to do to bide time and muse about missing Quidditch tryouts, he tried to fall asleep, but it alluded him. He ran numbers through his head, counted upwards to seven hundred in increments of seven, and back down again, and even pushed it to fourteen hundred, but he still wouldn't pass out. After what felt like hours, he was about to hail Pomfrey for a sleeping draught when his mother and Uncle Sirius entered the wing.
Rolling up to him in her wheelchair, his mother gave him the my-poor-baby look and said something. He assumed she asked either what happened or if he was okay. Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper, he wrote, "Can't hear you, apparently Mandrake scream exposure can cause ear and brain damage."
Lily's eyes bulged. She wrote down, "Are you going to be okay?!"
James replied, "Madame Pomfrey gave me something... now my mouth tastes like purple."
Lily read that and Sirius laughed. Grabbing the paper, he wrote, "Sounds like you're gonna be perfectly fine."
…
By next Monday, James Dean Potter was free of the Hospital Wing and was now longer bleeding from the eyes, ears, or nose. There was still a small but distinct ringing in his ears that threw his equilibrium off a bit and he found his sense of balance to be a bit wonky, but with Gred and Forge jokingly hauling him to classes, he managed to avoid walking into walls, doors, or Seventh Year Slytherin girl's chests.
"Oof!" James and the older girl both whooshed as they collided, James having to throw his hands out to the girl to steady himself.
"Sorry about that, ever since the mandrake mishap, my balance has been all screwy-"
"That's not all that's screwy, Pothead!" the girl thundered, grabbing his hands, which, he then noticed, were steadying him up against...
"I'm... I am so, so sorry," James breathed, face turning red. "That was- I mean- they're, y'know, they're nice, but I didn't mean to-"
"Happy little accidents, Runty," she hissed as she shoved him away, her own face turning red. He swore he could see a small smile, but with his vision being so topsy turny, he wasn't sure what he was really seeing.
After seeing that little episode, James found himself being ferried between classes by the Weasley twins, who despite their teasing and singing Peeves-ish sing songs about handsy James, he was grateful for. James literally walked into the doorway of the dorms that morning, so being carried by the shoulders really helped keep him on the straight and narrow.
Literally.
Luckily(or unluckily, considering he wasn't really looking forward to it) for him, Roger Davies had given him a pardon from the tryouts by delaying them until James was medically cleared to attend them. Apparently, Davies was dead set on him and Travis being on the team for some reason, and James had neither the heart nor the opportunity to tell Davies no. As soon as the tryouts happened, however, he fully understood why Roger wanted them on the team.
The next week went by slowly and without incident, until the next Friday. It was slightly chilly, with a westerly breeze gently swaying the turning leaves that were bathing the Hogwarts grounds in a sea of golds, reds, oranges, and pinks. The sun was just above the treeline of the Black Forest, illuminating the cold atmosphere with the halo of autumn.
James and Travis clutched their brooms in one hand as they walked with the rest of the tryouts onto the pitch. It was a massive stadium, James already knew, but his gut twisted as he walked onto the immaculate grass field. It seemed bigger down here, a titanic bowl with wooden bleachers and watching towers encircling it, and the thought of the hundreds of students and staff of the school, occupying those seats watching him fly made his stomach churn.
"Alright, alright," Roger Davies called, his immaculate, dark brown hair swaying in the breeze as he waved them all to him. The insanely attractive captain was wearing a Ravenclaw themed windbreaker and jeans with a set of goggles perched on his high, aristocratic forehead. "Gather round, we gotta lot of work to do and not a lotta daylight to work with."
A bunch of girls, all dressed still in their uniforms and robes, giggled as they ogled the Captain, who stoically took the attention in stride. James and Travis rolled their eyes and looked away, finding Brian, Harry, and Hermione up in the bleachers, waving them. They both waved back, Travis happily, James half-heartedly.
"I want the lot of you to hop on your brooms and fly me a lap around the pitch, just to start. Everybody mount your brooms, and when I blow the whistle, I want you all to take off. Ready? Yes, even you, Inglebee!"
Some of the older tryouts, who James had recognized as the team's players from last year, rolled their eyes in disgust but mounted their brooms, while half of Davies's fangirls were too busy laughing and making eyes to even accomplish the task at hand.. James scowled as he mounted his broom. If being a player meant having that kind of attention thrown at him, James was sure he'd want to be on the team even less.
"C'mon, pal, let's blow this thing outta the water," Travis encouraged him, big grin lighting his face as he punched James on the shoulder.
"Er- yeah, let's... do that," James nodded, looking queasy. Travis was about to respond, the wind taken from his sails a little bit, when Davies walked up to him.
"Alright, Potter?" he asked stoically.
"Yup," James nodded quickly, back stiffening from the attention they were now getting, as all the other tryouts were staring.
"Look," Roger muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know you don't like the attention but believe me this; I know you're going to love Quidditch."
"Why do you say that?" James scoffed, crossing his arms. "I have been playing it with my brothers and dad for a while now, what makes you think actually being on a team is going to make me love it all a sudden?"
"Because you're an adrenaline junkie," Roger whispered, leaning forward and leaning on James's shoulder, flashing a knowing smile. "That muggle skateboard you're always on, the way you jumped into danger against Quirrell last year, the late-night prank trips you think I don't notice you go on... you live for the natural high you get from pushing the envelope. You haven't really played Quidditch until you've played for keeps, Potter. Believe me, you're going to be in love after you play your first match."
James blinked, and looked at Roger in a new light, before nodding slowly. "I guess we'll have to see."
Roger grinned, backed up, and held his arm up, fingers counting down from three, two, one... and he blew the whistle. James and Travis rocketed off the ground, along with about a quarter of the assembled tryouts. The other three fourths all either fell over themselves, dropped from the sky as they failed to control their brooms, or were too busy staring at Roger to accomplish even getting off the ground.
The players from last year did perfectly fine, while James, Travis, and an Asian girl James recognized from last year who taught him the Heart Warming Charm all kept pace with them as they all finished their qualifying lap around the pitch. As they all descended, Roger was already herding the failures off the pitch with an authoritative voice. Roger grinned as his teammates and the three younger tryouts landed, shaking his head as the failures either grumpily marched off the field or took to the stands to watch the rest of the tryouts.
"... Go on, get out of here," Roger commanded, waving his arms in a wide shooing motion. "Don't you all have homework to do or something? Right, well, is this everyone, then? Excellent. We're going to break off into the positions we all want to tryout for, starting with Seeker. Who are my Seekers?"
The Asian girl and an older Ravenclaw, who James thought might have been a fourth of fifth year, raised their hands. Roger grinned and waved them forward. "Excellent, glad you decided to try out, Westrup!" He shook hands with the boy, then looked to the girl. "And what's your name?"
"Cho," she responded quietly in a cute Scottish accent, nervously gripping her broom and leaning on it. "Ch-Cho Chang."
"Glad to have you," Roger nodded with a grin. "We'll keep this one simple. We'll just release this Snitch and have you both compete to snatch it. Keep in mind that I'm not just looking for you catch it to get the spot, I wanna see how you strategize to get it. Everybody else, break off into groups while we watch. I want Chasers to stick with me, Beaters over there, and Keepers over there."
James and Travis joined two other guys in line behind Roger, both older. The first was a fifth year named Jeremy Stratton, who was tall, built like a brickhouse, and had his thick blonde hair cut into severe, military style fade. The other, a shorter but equally stout Fourth Year named Randolph Burrow who sported a sloppy mop of brown hair, looked at the two Second Years with a scowl before promptly ignoring them. James shrugged and Travis laughed.
"Guess they think we're chumps, eh?" he whispered into James's ear.
James's stomach had settled, and the dismissive looks the older two had given them turned it into iron. "We'll show them how chumpish we really are," James murmured, eyes narrowing.
Roger released the Snitch and blew his whistle. Cho and Ryan Westrup took to the skies in a flash of speed, both beelining for the fast-disappearing golden ball. James ignored the quiet conversation the older two were having, as well as the ignorant looks they were shooting him and Travis as they watched Cho and Ryan fly. Ryan was now taking a direct approach for the ball, bound and determined to use his late model Comet 260-c's raw speed to chase it down. Cho, on the other hand, had trailed her older Cleansweep 6 off, her eyes never leaving the little ball. James was wondering what on earth she must have been thinking, but then it clicked, as he began to notice it, too.
She was picking up on its patterns. It was zig-zagging in a noticeable, almost simple pattern. Left-right-left-right-left-up-reverse-reverse back-down-up, and repeat. He grinned and nudged Travis with an elbow, who grinned back, clearly noticing it, too. Rogers turned to them, and seeing their faces, grinned.
"Older Snitch," he explained. "No longer fit for use in competition as the magic enchantments' wearing off. Becomes a lot more predictable in its flight patterns. See how she is watching it? That's the kind of Seeker I'm looking for. Westrup is smart, but slow on the take. He may be more physically apt for the role, but a smaller, more agile Seeker with a brain beats out the bruiser any day on the pitch."
"Sounds like you've made your pick," James observed.
"Yeah," Roger nodded, looking slightly disappointed. "I had high hopes for Ryan this year, but this upstart just... she really knows what she's doing."
It didn't take long for Cho to take off again, back in active pursuit of the Snitch. She didn't go straight for it like the fast-approaching Westrup, however, but ascended and veered into a curved ninety degree turn, practically letting the Snitch fly into her outstretched hand. A few cheers flew up from the observers in the stands, while a few others cursed. More than few galleons swapped hands as those in attendance lost their bets.
"Excellent work, both of you," Roger praised as the two landed. Westrup had a disappointed look on his face while Cho, now invigorated by her success, was all smiles as she landed. "Look at the notice board come Monday morning, you both gave me a lot to think about!"
They both nodded, but the general understanding was everybody knew who won the spot. They took their rest on the grass as Roger now looked to the rest of the groups. Only one other student was trying out against the Beaters from last year. Jason Samuels, a dark skinned, fresh faced fifth year stood next to his partner Duncan Inglebee, a pale and square faced sixth, both stoic, while a nervous looking third year girl, who looked fit to burst into tears looked to Roger, who nodded at his two teammates before looking at the girl in concern, turned his gaze to the Keepers. A short and lean sixth year with a cocked jaw and a noticeable set of missing front teeth James knew to be named Grant Page stood with his arms crossed around his Comet broom. Behind him stood two younger guys, one of which James knew to be a first year, fidgeted nervously.
"Alright, real cute," Roger muttered, waving at the first year. "But seriously, get outta here, kid. You're no Harry Potter."
"But-"
"Out," Roger pointed firmly towards the exit to the pitch. Crying, the boy complied. "And leave that stolen Flying Star where you found it!"
As the kid ran from the pitch wailing, Roger turned finally back to his Chasers, who all looked back him expectantly. He took them in, and nodded, pursing his lips in thought. "We'll do it like this. We are short one Beater and One Chaser from having two full on teams, so, we can't have a full-on gameplay completion. So, instead, we'll run two on twos for chasers, which will let us test out the Keepers while we're at it. Then, we'll give the Beaters the Coordinated Hell Test."
"Coordinated Hell Test?" the sheepish looking girl asked, hands wrapping around her bat nervously.
The two older boys chuckled and gave her a sideways look, but no explanation. She gulped and turned white as a sheet, her grip on her Beater bat turning white-knuckled.
"Well, let's get started," Roger said, pointing to Grant and the first of his two competitors. "Each of you take positions at the goals. Potter, you and Barker will be up against Jeremy and Rudy."
The two older boys, both Chasers from last year, chuckled and gave each other knowing looks. James narrowed his eyes and, staring the taller, older boys down, held his fist up to Travis, who mirrored his intense look and fist bumped him back. Never taking his eyes off the competition, James swung his foot over the broom and kicked off, Travis on his heels as both flew off for the starting spot on the pitch. Gone was James's trepidation and desire to not play Quidditch, and in its stead was a burning desire to beat these punks who thought he didn't stand a chance.
Travis must have been thinking the same thing, because his own faced was marred with a look of sheer determination. There was no trace of jitters or nervousness on either of their faces, just sheer, cold hard focus. They took their posts in the center of the pitch, as Roger held the Quaffle and waited for both sides to ready up.
"Right," Roger spoke up as he looked them over. "Potter, you're Team A, and will be aiming to score in the East Goals, guarded by Trimly. Jason, You're Team B and are aiming for the West Goals guarded by Grant. Best to Ten scores wins, but again, winning doesn't mean you get on the team, I want to see strategy, flying skill, and teamwork more than a straight up win. Keep it clean, keep it tight, and show me what you got, yeah?"
Silence greeted Roger as James stared down his opponent in the square off. Jeremy sneered back, eyes glistening with intent at his stoic opponent. Just before Roger tossed the Quaffle and blew his whistle, James gave the older player a wink, and when the whistle blew, Jeremy bolted upright for the tossed ball. He was immediately thrown off his game when James did the opposite, dropping down and running perpendicular to his own flight. Travis, already picking up on James's strategy, bolted up, gaining altitude while angling toward their own goalpost.
"What the hell?" Jeremy roared as he barreled at the Team A posts. Grant, Team A's Keeper, looked confused as James and Travis flew past him, but kept his eye on the incoming Stratton, who was now coming full speed at him. In a split second, he feinted right, throwing the Quaffle but putting a curve to it so it veered left. Page had shifted to the ball, however, and was waiting patiently for it. He never got to catch it, however, as James and Travis, both having flown past at each other's level, then split altitude again. James came barreling down over the top of the goal posts and intercepted it before it ever crossed the goal keeper's box lines. With the ball now in his hands and taking the older player by surprise, he scissored his way between the two hapless boys.
Travis went long, running close to the grass at full speed towards the opposite goal, James up high but on his heels distance wise despite his broom not being as speedy as Travis's Nimbus. James Dean then slowed, letting Travis get a lead. This gave Trimly, the Team B Keeper, the impression he was going to pass, and he fell for the feint hook line and sinker. Breaking the golden rule of Keeping, he watched Travis, not the Quaffle, and James feinted a pass that he then turned into a long shot on goal, putting everything he had into sniping the Quaffle through the right post from just past the mid field line. Realizing too late that he'd been had, Trimly saw the shot too late, and wasn't able to swerve to catch it in time. The ball flew through the hoop, and James cut his charge and, using his Cleansweep's excellent turning radius, bolted back for his goal post.
"The hell are you doing, Rookie?" Burrow roared as Trimly retrieved the Quaffle. He sheepishly shrugged and lofted the quaffle to Stratton, who sneered at him.
"Get it together, Rook," he gruffed, and took off in Page's direction yet again. He saw nothing but James's tail twigs, however, as James, using their interaction to get some air without them noticing, dropped down on top of him, reaching for the Quaffle. He managed to evade the dive and impact, sending James into a dive bomb towards the earth, but James's stunt cost him needed stability, and he instinctively passed the ball towards Rudolph.
The ball never made it. Travis, using the fact that he was so low in altitude to his advantage, saw the pass coming and peeled up, intercepting the Quaffle midway between the two teammates. Jeremy screamed, but it was too late, and the rush once again turned towards Trimly's goal. Travis ducked beneath an arm swing from Burrow, who's broom had an amazing acceleration and kicked his leg off the older player's mount, getting some much needed distance. James swung down, having been following, and Travis passed the ball to him with a simple hand off. Travis then slung himself up, as James leveled off, and made it past the mid field mark with little issue, James bore down on Trimly, who learned his lesson and was watching the ball with laser focus. James reared up to make the shot, but at the last second, let go of the ball.
Travis, now in a dive, grabbed the barely free ball and swung it into the center goal as Trimly had been shifting right to block what he thought was going to be James's throw. He threw his hands up in frustration, even as his older teammates came to chew him out.
"You aren't going to be on any team playing like that, Rook!" Burrow screamed.
"Maybe I would if you two weren't playing like complete gits!" Trimly defended. "You're being out flown by a couple kids, one of whom is flying an antique!"
"Just shut up, do your job, and toss us the Quaffle, you wanker," Jeremy seethed, shoving the Keeper towards the goals, almost shoving the younger boy off his broom. James and Travis had, at that point, made it back to their own goal, getting an appreciative nod from Grant,
"You two thure fly pretty good," he commented with an obvious lisp that probably was a side effect of all his missing teeth. "If thothe two flew like that latht year, 'Claw might've gone undeafeated."
Sparing their Keeper grins, they nodded, and took defensive positions. James went high and behind the goal, careful not to tread over the keeper's marked out space, while Travis again went low and in front. Having had time to collect themselves this time, Stratton and Burrow now flying at them with a semblance of cohesion, passing the Quaffle to themselves in an elaborate, spiraling scheme like the one James and Travis had flown earlier to keep Grant guessing. Grant, who had been playing Keeper for a couple years at this point, however, saw through the tactic and kept his eye on the Quaffle, not them, and grinned as James and Travis, not knowing they were being baited, flew in to intercept them. As soon as James was out of position, Burrow bolted left with the Quaffle, drawing James out, while Jeremy went right. Rudolph then waited for the perfect moment, and goaded James into reaching out too far and slugged the Quaffle to Jeremy, who twirled the Quaffle in his hands and slung a spinning shot at the goals from point blank range.
Keen eyed and knowing the move, Grant kept his broom centered on the middle goal and reached a long, muscular arm out, catching the ball single highhandedly. Still reeling from overextending himself, James was then ripped from his broom by an upset Burrow. Barely hanging on, James managed to loop an ankle around the footrest of his broom. Fighting the instinct to flail, he instead let the momentum carry him forward and used it to loop him around the broom, where he managed to get his hands around the shaft just enough to save himself. Still reeling, he still managed to take off, as Grant passed the Quaffle to Travis again.
Travis, who had written James off as being any immediate help, now beelined for the opposite side of the pitch, his Nimbus picking up more speed that what the older players were prepared for. James recognized this and to keep up, surged his broom forward, holding on for dear life as his feet flapped behind him. Getting said feet under him, he managed to get a solid, workable stance on his broom and flew up above the slowing down Travis's level, who was now zig zagging between the faster, older players who were harassing him like gnats on a cow.
"Toss 'er!" James screamed, slowing his velocity and holding his arms out.
Travis didn't look, just flung the ball up just in time to be clothes-lined by Burrow. James, having to correct his course and speed, barely managed to catch it, having to lean too far out to get it. He ended up starting to tip, and to secure himself to the broom, he grabbed the shaft of the broom with his free hand and used what little upper body strength he had to help secure him to the broom while he rode it skateboard style. Leveling off, James stood upright on the broom and knelt down to lower his center of gravity. Angling his broom in a downward angle, he continued to bear down on the goal. With a bolt of stupid bravery, he leapt from the broom, high up above the goals and swung the ball under his leg and into his other hand, slinging it towards the open middle goal.
The ball sailed through the hoop, and before James impacted with the cold hard ground, he was swooped up by Roger. At this point, Jeremy and Burrow were on the ground, dressing down their Keeper viciously.
"What the actual hell, Rook?" Jeremy thundered, shoving the kid to the ground.
"Hey!" he shot back, already rising to his feet with balled fists.
"You're screwing our chances, here, Rookie!" Rudolph agreed, using the heel of his boot to force Trimly back into the dirt.
"That's enough!" Roger commanded, landing and putting James on his feet. "This tryout is over. The two of you, get off my pitch! I've never seen two players outside of Slytherin act so disgusting!"
"You saw it, Rog!" Jeremy defended, pointing a cussing finger at Trimly. "He was failing to defend against the simplest shots!"
"He failed because the two of you were out flown by two younger, less experienced players! Even when you did work together, your defense was abysmal! You ripped a helpless opponent of his broom and clothes-lined an another at full speed, which was clear penalty, and then you physically attacked your own teammate! And blaming your Keeper?! I said I was looking for teamwork! I told you to keep it clean! I said I was looking for great flying!"
The two older players looked at Roger in shock as he tore them to pieces, saying nothing as Roger glared at them. "Get. Off. My. PITCH!"