(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
(Note about Remus: Yes, I understand that the take on Remus is unorthodox. Trust me. I am aware of his character, and there is a reason for his "pity" factor. It will all come into play in the end, but please realize that I am not just trying to get a sympathetic look on him, but more of an ignorant one. If that makes any sense whatsoever. In conclusion, there is a reason for Remus acting like he is, and please trust that it will all come into play by conclusion time.)
The stands of the playing field were completely full. The entire world was rustling with whoops and hollers. For the first time in a while, James felt himself smile.
He was home.
"GO CANONS!" a voice called from the side.
"BATTY FOR BUTTERBEER! GET YOUR BUTTERBEER! BUTTERBEER!"
"I LOVE YOU, GREASINGS!"
"Come on," Sirius said as he and Peter led the way up the stands and to their seats. James smiled, and followed them, skipping past a butterbeer vendor. The vendor nodded a head to Peter, and Peter nodded back.
"You know him?" James asked, looking back at the burly man screaming for sales. Peter shrugged, and continued following Sirius up the stands to the seats that were supposedly theirs.
James had never been in the stands of a real Quidditch game before. Lily and him had gone on many dates to the different matches that he wasn't playing in during school, and his father had held him on his lap during the all-girls championship that Wendy had played in when he was young. But this was different. It was a true match.
And he was a spectator.
The entire area smelled of butterbeer and an assortment of sweat radiating from the hot July afternoon. Large men sat in the seats they passed, wearing colorful robes and holding signs in hands that read "GO BATS!" or "GOD BLESS CHUDLEY!" It was an array of all sorts of people and sights and smells . . . James had found his Heaven on Earth.
His smile broadened, and he stepped in front of Peter, to fall in line with Sirius. Remus dragged behind the three of them, and Peter, seeing this, slowed his step to stand next to him.
"Have a nice chat with Prongs, hey?" Peter asked as they climbed up another block of steps.
"His name is James," Remus said, "It has been for a while."
Peter furrowed his brow, and looked to James, "Uh, all right then. And so . . . what does that make you?"
"Peter, please," Remus said, "Just . . . stop."
"Went that well, hey?" Peter mumbled, and waved sheepishly to another man that he passed, "Well, I warned you. You both are stubborn and . . ."
"Let's forget about it," he said, walking faster. Peter huffed, and panted as he tried to catch up with his friend, "I'm here, aren't I? We paid for the tickets. Now let's enjoy this game."
"All right," Peter said eagerly between breaths, and then the four continued up the steps.
Sirius and James were laughing and talking excitedly about scores of the last Canons game as they scooted into an aisle high in the air. It must have cost them a load of Galleons to get seats this far up, James thought to himself as Sirius pointed to the four spaces open for them.
"Happy birthday, Potter," Sirius said, letting James scoot ahead of him, and take a seat in the stands next to an old wizard with a patch reading "BALLYCASTLE" sewn onto his robes.
Sirius plopped into the seat next to his friend, and then Peter and Remus made their way to sit next to them. The music had begun to play loudly from all sides of the pitch, and James checked his watch.
"What time does it start?" he asked, and Sirius shrugged.
"Depends," Sirius said, "Ballycastle and Canons don't really get along that well, you know that."
"James Potter!"
James jumped at his name, and his gaze flew in the direction of a short balding man seated in front of him. He was donned in the Canons merchandise.
"Er . . . hello," James said, "Do I . . ."
"It's Potter himself!" the man said, turning completely around in his seat, "Look, Carl, it's James Potter!"
Another fatter man followed his friend's example and turned to gawk at James. The two of them smiled eagerly and extended their hand.
"Rupert Brudgins, sir!" the first one said, "I work for the Daily Prophet, and my my, have we been having a hard time getting a hold of you and your lot."
"I'm sorry," James said, "I don't really understand . . ."
"Of course you must have heard of us," Brudgins said, pointing from himself to his friend, and back to himself, "Brudgins and Bakers. The best war journalists in all of England herself. Trying to get in touch with you, but that Crouch won't let us touch you with a ten-foot-pole. Not to mention Dumbledore . . ."
"Yeah, I've heard of you," Sirius said, leaning forward. The two journalists backed away at the sight of his dark face. Brudgins smiled innocently and gave out a "oh" through his teeth, "You're always poking around our crime scenes, aren't you? You're the man at the old manor that night. And at the street corner. And . . ."
"Ah, and you must be the infamous Sirius Black," Bakers said, taking out a quill from his pocket, "Yes, yes . . . the Order keeps you two quite busy now, don't they?"
Sirius and James looked at each other, and then glared back at the two men.
"There is no such thing as the Order," Remus cut in, seeing the all- too familiar look on Sirius's face, "We are Ministry Aurors, and we work under Bartemus Crouch. If you would like to schedule an interview, then you must go through him."
"We've heard that story countless times, sir," Bakers said, adjusting his glasses, "You cannot expect us to believe it."
"The entire countryside is in flames," Brudgins added, "And there's not a damn thing the Ministry can do."
"And out of nowhere, out of the night," Bakers continued, "Twenty or so Aurors show up out of the fields. An hour later, they're gone."
"Without a word."
"Soon, there is a prophecy given (James tensed, and gripped the sides of his seat). And the prophecy includes a mother and father that have defied You-Know-Who three times each."
"Now what sort of regular folk go out looking for that sort of company on a regular basis?" Brudgins said, "Your cover is slowly diminishing, boys."
"We just have a few quick questions to ask of the boy," Bakers said, somewhat content with himself. James glared, "And that's all we want, really."
"Yes," Brudgins coughed, "Now, when exactly is your child due?"
"And is it truly a boy?"
"Do you believe that he really may be the one?"
"Will you go into hiding if he is?"
"Does You-Know-Who know of your wife's pregnancy?"
"Is she truly Muggle born?"
"Shut it, the lot of you!" Sirius said, standing and dragging James up with him, "He won't be answering any questions today! And if you keep pestering him, you'll be seeing a side of the Ministry that you won't like."
"Which side of the Ministry would that be?" Bakers asked.
"Piss off," Sirius barked as he pushed James off in a different direction, and Peter and Remus hurried to follow them.
"We're asking for different seats," Sirius growled, his eyes darkened, "This is insane. Can't even go out for a game without being bombarded by crazies."
"I-I'll go try to get a ticket change," Peter said, collecting the four tickets, "Be back in a jiff."
He disappeared into the crowd, and the music blared in all of their ears.
"Ladies and gentleman," the announcer's voice sounded over the pitch, "Welcome to the third game of the season between the Ballycastle Bats, and the Chudley Canons. I'm Humphrey Harolds, the voice of the Canons . . ."
"And I'm Davey Gudgeon, the voice of the Bats," a very familiar voice echoed into their heads, "Inviting you to enjoy your days here in lovely Hogsmeade. Remember, the voices of the pitch are sponsered by Madame Florine's Sweet Tooth Candy Shop, located between the owlery and Zonko's on Main Street. Come to Florine's for a fun-filled adventure of cavities, gum disease, and the occasional root canal . . ."
"Excuse my partner, ladies and gentleman," Harolds said, "Madame Florine's Sweet Tooth Candy shop is all sugar free . . ."
"Moving on," Davey's voice continued.
Sirius laughed, and patted James on the back. They were closer to the front now, and they could see the shadows of the Quidditch players in their pens, waiting to swarm into the sky.
"That's Davey for you," Sirius chortled, "Thank him for the discount on our way out, why don't you. He's the reason why we're here in the first place."
"He wishes you a happy twentieth," Peter added, and James laughed.
"This is great," he said, smiling broadly, "Couldn't ask for more. Thank you," he said, quietly gazing over Peter's shoulder to the quiet werewolf sitting in the next vacant seat, "All of you."
Remus looked over, taken by surprise, and studied him. James gave a weak smile, and Remus blinked.
He returned the grin silently.
"AND HERE COME THE CANONS!" Harolds shouted over the boisterous rants of Davey, "COMING ONTO THE FIELD! CHASERS BARLEY, RALLLINGS, AND WILLIAMS!"
"Who are the three worst ogres in the league since the invention of a Bludger," Davey yawned.
"FOLLOWED BY BEATERS FIELDS, DARDINGS, AND TORRANCE."
"Vastly overrated."
"FOLLOWED BY KEEPER CARSONS!"
"Who, I swear, was born with his head up his you-know-where . . ."
"AND FINALLY SEEKER BILL CLOPPINS!"
"Who is seeking an early retirement."
James laughed at the poor excuses for jokes, and watched as the team whirled onto the field. Cloppins, in true life, the real Cloppins! And Carsons! And Dardings! All of them were there in the same pitch as he was! It was amazing!
They had been his heroes growing up, and now he watched them from only a few meters away. He felt as if he were on Mount Olympus with the gods themselves.
"And now for the real team," Davey said, clearing his throat, "THE BALLYCASTLE BATS! BROUGHT TO YOU BY BUTTERBEER. REMEMBER, BATTY THE BAT IS BATTY FOR BUTTERBEER!"
"I would like to disclose that the Canons does not take pride in money earned by endorsements one jingle short of a joke," Harolds spat.
"That's 'cause no one would want your team to endorse them, Humphrey boy," Davey said, "But we'll just cross our fingers, and hope for the best, shall we? Ain't that the Canon thing to do? Now, as I was saying . . . CHASERS STEVES, LALEYS, AND O'FLANNAGAN! FOLLOWED BY BEATERS OLAF AND GREASINGS ."
The crowd cheered as Orlick Greasings flew out behind his four teammates. He smiled, and waved happily to the wave of faces as he looped around the field.
James remembered him now. He hadn't changed since graduation, except for the bald head that Orlick now sported. He truly did look like Snorks.
He wondered how it felt to be on a broomstick. When was the last time he had flown? Not since the wedding, and definitely not since the initiation into the Order. He could remember the wood underneath his fingers, the slivers toying at his callouses and threatening to poke his blisters open. Even through the gloves, they skillfully made their way through the weaved material to spike his fingers. The wind was in his hair, and the complete feeling of freedom swarmed through his body. The entire world was open to him on his broom, and he saw the landscape from far away.
The cheering crowd, shouting his name loudly through the stands. Merchandise with his name plastered to it. Figurines that mussed their hair and smiled at little girls from their shelves at the souvenir box. All of it was his. All of it was him.
James Potter, greatest Seeker that any of them had ever seen! They were cheering for him! Chanting his name!
Sirius and Peter and Remus smiled down from their seats in the stands, just like they did in younger days. He saluted them, and then flew higher and higher into the sky. The voice of Davey Gudgeon echoed in his ears, shouting his name loudly over the voice of Harolds.
And then, right when the game began, he saw the Snitch flying down to the earth. And he gripped his slivered broomstick, and he pointed the nose to the ground. Falling falling falling . . .
Closer to the ground! The green flying to hit him in the face, but he wouldn't let it . . . he wouldn't go that far down.
Faster than anything he had ever felt. His stomach flew to his feet, and his eyes grew red as it caught the wind behind his glasses. His hair flew behind him, and he outstretched his hand. He was in control of the broom, he was . . .
"AND SCORE FOR THE CANONS!"
James blinked. He was back in the bleachers. He was a spectator.
The broom was gone. The figurines had never existed.
"It's a bloody miracle," Davey said, "First score for the season, actually."
James saw Greasings fly around the field, his club in hand. The girls in the stands swooned as he flew past them, winking flirtingly. James rolled his eyes. Oh, sure, Orlick. Now you're outgoing.
He could remember when Greasings was scared to even ask Olga Klambink to the Graduation Dance. Olga had been the most gorrilla-like girl in their graduating class, and guys were scared to come within a given distance of her in fear of her asking them to Hogsmeade. Now he was flashing his winning smile to all of the fans, and acting like a complete idiot.
Acting a lot like you used to do, huh, James? He thought to himself.
He smiled to himself, and shrugged, "Well, who would have thought."
"Thought what?" Sirius asked, half listening.
"Nothing," James said, shaking his head, and then looking back to the game.
Greasings was parading around the field now, watching for Bludgers. Whenever he hit one, his girl fans would swoon and scream.
James's smile diminished, and he let his eyes leave the game to check for the butterbeer vendor.
His body was seated in the stands. But his spirit was flying with the best of them.
Birds weren't made to sit, he thought to himself as he tried to ignore Greasing's good hit.
The locker rooms were quiet as James entered. It was completely empty. He was by himself now, without Sirius or the others. He had left them at the entrance. Davey had let him in as a present to go see an old friend. Sirius was trying to avoid Dung, in case Dung had realized that he owed him a good lot of money.
The old wooden room stood in front of him as he made his way from the entrance. The smell of sweat and wood and straw and dirt flew through the air and into his nose. It smelled just like it did at Hogwarts. Except then it had only been a tent, and there had not been this sweet feeling of victory and fame that mingled with the old smells. Everything was just like he had dreamed it to be.
The lockers of the Bats were shut and closed, and all of the men had left for their winning celebration. All of the men except for one. A lone and large figure could be seen through the steam, sitting on a bench between two of the lockers. He was dressed in his regular clothes once again, and James had to smile.
"Orlick Greasings," he said, half laughing, "All grown up."
Greasings turned around, and his face lit up, "James! Good to see you made it!" he stood and walked to his old friend. They shook hands, and Greasings laughed, "Heard you may be coming. Heard it from Davey, you know."
"Great job today," James said, "Really showed the Canons."
Orlick smiled, and nodded, "Yeah, well, not my best game. Sort of embarrassed you saw this one."
"Better than anyone else on the field, mate," James said, sitting down on the nearest bench.
"You would have been better," Greasings said, taking his towel from his shoulder and wiping his face off. He looked so young. How could these two be of the same age? This man seemed like a child compared to James's worried and worn face.
There was a silence that filled the room after his last comment. James shrugged, and smiled sadly, "Yeah, well, people change. And fate deals you a card, and you've got to take it, I guess."
"Guess so," Greasings said, reaching for a locker, "But fate always dealt you the best of cards. Everyone thought so."
"How did it feel?" James cut in, not wanting to talk about his dealings. Greasings's expression went from elated to confused, and he opened his locker door.
"How did what feel?"
"Everything," James said, looking to him, and yet looking through him, "The crowds. The broom. The flying. How did it feel?"
Greasings smile returned, larger than before, "Well, you know that better than anyone else does, I think, Potter," he ducked into his locker, and said, "It felt like Heaven."
James's lip curled, and he nodded, "Yeah, I know."
"So how's Lily?" he asked, returning to sight with a flask of water and another towel, "Heard you had a baby on the way. Sorry I couldn't be at the wedding. I think it was the same day as my sister's wedding. And you know how sisters can be."
James chuckled to himself, and saw Wendy's face, "Yeah, I do."
"So how goes it?" Greasings asked, "Now that you're a married man and all."
"Scary, but great," James said, "Wouldn't want to be with anyone else."
Greasings nodded, "How does it feel?"
James looked at him, and Greasings smiled a wise smile. James's dark wrinkle lines softened, and he smiled again. He sighed, and mussed his hair.
"Like Heaven."
(Note about Remus: Yes, I understand that the take on Remus is unorthodox. Trust me. I am aware of his character, and there is a reason for his "pity" factor. It will all come into play in the end, but please realize that I am not just trying to get a sympathetic look on him, but more of an ignorant one. If that makes any sense whatsoever. In conclusion, there is a reason for Remus acting like he is, and please trust that it will all come into play by conclusion time.)
The stands of the playing field were completely full. The entire world was rustling with whoops and hollers. For the first time in a while, James felt himself smile.
He was home.
"GO CANONS!" a voice called from the side.
"BATTY FOR BUTTERBEER! GET YOUR BUTTERBEER! BUTTERBEER!"
"I LOVE YOU, GREASINGS!"
"Come on," Sirius said as he and Peter led the way up the stands and to their seats. James smiled, and followed them, skipping past a butterbeer vendor. The vendor nodded a head to Peter, and Peter nodded back.
"You know him?" James asked, looking back at the burly man screaming for sales. Peter shrugged, and continued following Sirius up the stands to the seats that were supposedly theirs.
James had never been in the stands of a real Quidditch game before. Lily and him had gone on many dates to the different matches that he wasn't playing in during school, and his father had held him on his lap during the all-girls championship that Wendy had played in when he was young. But this was different. It was a true match.
And he was a spectator.
The entire area smelled of butterbeer and an assortment of sweat radiating from the hot July afternoon. Large men sat in the seats they passed, wearing colorful robes and holding signs in hands that read "GO BATS!" or "GOD BLESS CHUDLEY!" It was an array of all sorts of people and sights and smells . . . James had found his Heaven on Earth.
His smile broadened, and he stepped in front of Peter, to fall in line with Sirius. Remus dragged behind the three of them, and Peter, seeing this, slowed his step to stand next to him.
"Have a nice chat with Prongs, hey?" Peter asked as they climbed up another block of steps.
"His name is James," Remus said, "It has been for a while."
Peter furrowed his brow, and looked to James, "Uh, all right then. And so . . . what does that make you?"
"Peter, please," Remus said, "Just . . . stop."
"Went that well, hey?" Peter mumbled, and waved sheepishly to another man that he passed, "Well, I warned you. You both are stubborn and . . ."
"Let's forget about it," he said, walking faster. Peter huffed, and panted as he tried to catch up with his friend, "I'm here, aren't I? We paid for the tickets. Now let's enjoy this game."
"All right," Peter said eagerly between breaths, and then the four continued up the steps.
Sirius and James were laughing and talking excitedly about scores of the last Canons game as they scooted into an aisle high in the air. It must have cost them a load of Galleons to get seats this far up, James thought to himself as Sirius pointed to the four spaces open for them.
"Happy birthday, Potter," Sirius said, letting James scoot ahead of him, and take a seat in the stands next to an old wizard with a patch reading "BALLYCASTLE" sewn onto his robes.
Sirius plopped into the seat next to his friend, and then Peter and Remus made their way to sit next to them. The music had begun to play loudly from all sides of the pitch, and James checked his watch.
"What time does it start?" he asked, and Sirius shrugged.
"Depends," Sirius said, "Ballycastle and Canons don't really get along that well, you know that."
"James Potter!"
James jumped at his name, and his gaze flew in the direction of a short balding man seated in front of him. He was donned in the Canons merchandise.
"Er . . . hello," James said, "Do I . . ."
"It's Potter himself!" the man said, turning completely around in his seat, "Look, Carl, it's James Potter!"
Another fatter man followed his friend's example and turned to gawk at James. The two of them smiled eagerly and extended their hand.
"Rupert Brudgins, sir!" the first one said, "I work for the Daily Prophet, and my my, have we been having a hard time getting a hold of you and your lot."
"I'm sorry," James said, "I don't really understand . . ."
"Of course you must have heard of us," Brudgins said, pointing from himself to his friend, and back to himself, "Brudgins and Bakers. The best war journalists in all of England herself. Trying to get in touch with you, but that Crouch won't let us touch you with a ten-foot-pole. Not to mention Dumbledore . . ."
"Yeah, I've heard of you," Sirius said, leaning forward. The two journalists backed away at the sight of his dark face. Brudgins smiled innocently and gave out a "oh" through his teeth, "You're always poking around our crime scenes, aren't you? You're the man at the old manor that night. And at the street corner. And . . ."
"Ah, and you must be the infamous Sirius Black," Bakers said, taking out a quill from his pocket, "Yes, yes . . . the Order keeps you two quite busy now, don't they?"
Sirius and James looked at each other, and then glared back at the two men.
"There is no such thing as the Order," Remus cut in, seeing the all- too familiar look on Sirius's face, "We are Ministry Aurors, and we work under Bartemus Crouch. If you would like to schedule an interview, then you must go through him."
"We've heard that story countless times, sir," Bakers said, adjusting his glasses, "You cannot expect us to believe it."
"The entire countryside is in flames," Brudgins added, "And there's not a damn thing the Ministry can do."
"And out of nowhere, out of the night," Bakers continued, "Twenty or so Aurors show up out of the fields. An hour later, they're gone."
"Without a word."
"Soon, there is a prophecy given (James tensed, and gripped the sides of his seat). And the prophecy includes a mother and father that have defied You-Know-Who three times each."
"Now what sort of regular folk go out looking for that sort of company on a regular basis?" Brudgins said, "Your cover is slowly diminishing, boys."
"We just have a few quick questions to ask of the boy," Bakers said, somewhat content with himself. James glared, "And that's all we want, really."
"Yes," Brudgins coughed, "Now, when exactly is your child due?"
"And is it truly a boy?"
"Do you believe that he really may be the one?"
"Will you go into hiding if he is?"
"Does You-Know-Who know of your wife's pregnancy?"
"Is she truly Muggle born?"
"Shut it, the lot of you!" Sirius said, standing and dragging James up with him, "He won't be answering any questions today! And if you keep pestering him, you'll be seeing a side of the Ministry that you won't like."
"Which side of the Ministry would that be?" Bakers asked.
"Piss off," Sirius barked as he pushed James off in a different direction, and Peter and Remus hurried to follow them.
"We're asking for different seats," Sirius growled, his eyes darkened, "This is insane. Can't even go out for a game without being bombarded by crazies."
"I-I'll go try to get a ticket change," Peter said, collecting the four tickets, "Be back in a jiff."
He disappeared into the crowd, and the music blared in all of their ears.
"Ladies and gentleman," the announcer's voice sounded over the pitch, "Welcome to the third game of the season between the Ballycastle Bats, and the Chudley Canons. I'm Humphrey Harolds, the voice of the Canons . . ."
"And I'm Davey Gudgeon, the voice of the Bats," a very familiar voice echoed into their heads, "Inviting you to enjoy your days here in lovely Hogsmeade. Remember, the voices of the pitch are sponsered by Madame Florine's Sweet Tooth Candy Shop, located between the owlery and Zonko's on Main Street. Come to Florine's for a fun-filled adventure of cavities, gum disease, and the occasional root canal . . ."
"Excuse my partner, ladies and gentleman," Harolds said, "Madame Florine's Sweet Tooth Candy shop is all sugar free . . ."
"Moving on," Davey's voice continued.
Sirius laughed, and patted James on the back. They were closer to the front now, and they could see the shadows of the Quidditch players in their pens, waiting to swarm into the sky.
"That's Davey for you," Sirius chortled, "Thank him for the discount on our way out, why don't you. He's the reason why we're here in the first place."
"He wishes you a happy twentieth," Peter added, and James laughed.
"This is great," he said, smiling broadly, "Couldn't ask for more. Thank you," he said, quietly gazing over Peter's shoulder to the quiet werewolf sitting in the next vacant seat, "All of you."
Remus looked over, taken by surprise, and studied him. James gave a weak smile, and Remus blinked.
He returned the grin silently.
"AND HERE COME THE CANONS!" Harolds shouted over the boisterous rants of Davey, "COMING ONTO THE FIELD! CHASERS BARLEY, RALLLINGS, AND WILLIAMS!"
"Who are the three worst ogres in the league since the invention of a Bludger," Davey yawned.
"FOLLOWED BY BEATERS FIELDS, DARDINGS, AND TORRANCE."
"Vastly overrated."
"FOLLOWED BY KEEPER CARSONS!"
"Who, I swear, was born with his head up his you-know-where . . ."
"AND FINALLY SEEKER BILL CLOPPINS!"
"Who is seeking an early retirement."
James laughed at the poor excuses for jokes, and watched as the team whirled onto the field. Cloppins, in true life, the real Cloppins! And Carsons! And Dardings! All of them were there in the same pitch as he was! It was amazing!
They had been his heroes growing up, and now he watched them from only a few meters away. He felt as if he were on Mount Olympus with the gods themselves.
"And now for the real team," Davey said, clearing his throat, "THE BALLYCASTLE BATS! BROUGHT TO YOU BY BUTTERBEER. REMEMBER, BATTY THE BAT IS BATTY FOR BUTTERBEER!"
"I would like to disclose that the Canons does not take pride in money earned by endorsements one jingle short of a joke," Harolds spat.
"That's 'cause no one would want your team to endorse them, Humphrey boy," Davey said, "But we'll just cross our fingers, and hope for the best, shall we? Ain't that the Canon thing to do? Now, as I was saying . . . CHASERS STEVES, LALEYS, AND O'FLANNAGAN! FOLLOWED BY BEATERS OLAF AND GREASINGS ."
The crowd cheered as Orlick Greasings flew out behind his four teammates. He smiled, and waved happily to the wave of faces as he looped around the field.
James remembered him now. He hadn't changed since graduation, except for the bald head that Orlick now sported. He truly did look like Snorks.
He wondered how it felt to be on a broomstick. When was the last time he had flown? Not since the wedding, and definitely not since the initiation into the Order. He could remember the wood underneath his fingers, the slivers toying at his callouses and threatening to poke his blisters open. Even through the gloves, they skillfully made their way through the weaved material to spike his fingers. The wind was in his hair, and the complete feeling of freedom swarmed through his body. The entire world was open to him on his broom, and he saw the landscape from far away.
The cheering crowd, shouting his name loudly through the stands. Merchandise with his name plastered to it. Figurines that mussed their hair and smiled at little girls from their shelves at the souvenir box. All of it was his. All of it was him.
James Potter, greatest Seeker that any of them had ever seen! They were cheering for him! Chanting his name!
Sirius and Peter and Remus smiled down from their seats in the stands, just like they did in younger days. He saluted them, and then flew higher and higher into the sky. The voice of Davey Gudgeon echoed in his ears, shouting his name loudly over the voice of Harolds.
And then, right when the game began, he saw the Snitch flying down to the earth. And he gripped his slivered broomstick, and he pointed the nose to the ground. Falling falling falling . . .
Closer to the ground! The green flying to hit him in the face, but he wouldn't let it . . . he wouldn't go that far down.
Faster than anything he had ever felt. His stomach flew to his feet, and his eyes grew red as it caught the wind behind his glasses. His hair flew behind him, and he outstretched his hand. He was in control of the broom, he was . . .
"AND SCORE FOR THE CANONS!"
James blinked. He was back in the bleachers. He was a spectator.
The broom was gone. The figurines had never existed.
"It's a bloody miracle," Davey said, "First score for the season, actually."
James saw Greasings fly around the field, his club in hand. The girls in the stands swooned as he flew past them, winking flirtingly. James rolled his eyes. Oh, sure, Orlick. Now you're outgoing.
He could remember when Greasings was scared to even ask Olga Klambink to the Graduation Dance. Olga had been the most gorrilla-like girl in their graduating class, and guys were scared to come within a given distance of her in fear of her asking them to Hogsmeade. Now he was flashing his winning smile to all of the fans, and acting like a complete idiot.
Acting a lot like you used to do, huh, James? He thought to himself.
He smiled to himself, and shrugged, "Well, who would have thought."
"Thought what?" Sirius asked, half listening.
"Nothing," James said, shaking his head, and then looking back to the game.
Greasings was parading around the field now, watching for Bludgers. Whenever he hit one, his girl fans would swoon and scream.
James's smile diminished, and he let his eyes leave the game to check for the butterbeer vendor.
His body was seated in the stands. But his spirit was flying with the best of them.
Birds weren't made to sit, he thought to himself as he tried to ignore Greasing's good hit.
The locker rooms were quiet as James entered. It was completely empty. He was by himself now, without Sirius or the others. He had left them at the entrance. Davey had let him in as a present to go see an old friend. Sirius was trying to avoid Dung, in case Dung had realized that he owed him a good lot of money.
The old wooden room stood in front of him as he made his way from the entrance. The smell of sweat and wood and straw and dirt flew through the air and into his nose. It smelled just like it did at Hogwarts. Except then it had only been a tent, and there had not been this sweet feeling of victory and fame that mingled with the old smells. Everything was just like he had dreamed it to be.
The lockers of the Bats were shut and closed, and all of the men had left for their winning celebration. All of the men except for one. A lone and large figure could be seen through the steam, sitting on a bench between two of the lockers. He was dressed in his regular clothes once again, and James had to smile.
"Orlick Greasings," he said, half laughing, "All grown up."
Greasings turned around, and his face lit up, "James! Good to see you made it!" he stood and walked to his old friend. They shook hands, and Greasings laughed, "Heard you may be coming. Heard it from Davey, you know."
"Great job today," James said, "Really showed the Canons."
Orlick smiled, and nodded, "Yeah, well, not my best game. Sort of embarrassed you saw this one."
"Better than anyone else on the field, mate," James said, sitting down on the nearest bench.
"You would have been better," Greasings said, taking his towel from his shoulder and wiping his face off. He looked so young. How could these two be of the same age? This man seemed like a child compared to James's worried and worn face.
There was a silence that filled the room after his last comment. James shrugged, and smiled sadly, "Yeah, well, people change. And fate deals you a card, and you've got to take it, I guess."
"Guess so," Greasings said, reaching for a locker, "But fate always dealt you the best of cards. Everyone thought so."
"How did it feel?" James cut in, not wanting to talk about his dealings. Greasings's expression went from elated to confused, and he opened his locker door.
"How did what feel?"
"Everything," James said, looking to him, and yet looking through him, "The crowds. The broom. The flying. How did it feel?"
Greasings smile returned, larger than before, "Well, you know that better than anyone else does, I think, Potter," he ducked into his locker, and said, "It felt like Heaven."
James's lip curled, and he nodded, "Yeah, I know."
"So how's Lily?" he asked, returning to sight with a flask of water and another towel, "Heard you had a baby on the way. Sorry I couldn't be at the wedding. I think it was the same day as my sister's wedding. And you know how sisters can be."
James chuckled to himself, and saw Wendy's face, "Yeah, I do."
"So how goes it?" Greasings asked, "Now that you're a married man and all."
"Scary, but great," James said, "Wouldn't want to be with anyone else."
Greasings nodded, "How does it feel?"
James looked at him, and Greasings smiled a wise smile. James's dark wrinkle lines softened, and he smiled again. He sighed, and mussed his hair.
"Like Heaven."