"Nice weather for mid-October, right?" Freddy Weasley queried from the opposite end of a small box.
"Bit windy, but it could be worse—" James answered, from his end of the same box, watching his steps carefully as he and his cousin trudged down the steep hill that led to the practice pitch. Almost on cue, a mid-autumn breeze came along and blew some hair into his eyes. He stubbed his toe against something on the ground and stumbled awfully, eliciting a yell from the other side of the box.
"Watch it!" Freddy implored in a bit of a panic.
"Sorry," sighed James. "Did we have to pull out the live Bludgers? These things are bloody heavy for as small as they are…"
"Beaters haven't gotten any live practice hitting Bludgers in a while," Freddy pointed out. "And the rest of you lot haven't had much live practice dodging them. The match is coming up soon, and Ravenclaw's got the biggest Beaters in the school, remember?"
"You might've reminded us," James answered. "About twenty times now, mind. No offense, but… how are you and McLaggen supposed to imitate Donaghan Craig and that other bloke – what was his name? Sounds like McLaggen, but it's not…"
"Nevan McFadden," Freddy reminded him.
"McFadden – that's it. Although he's not nearly as big as Craig is," James argued.
"Big enough to crack your skull if you're not paying attention," Freddy said soberly. "Better aim than Craig, too."
"I'm guessing Rodney's a no-go?" James asked after a bit more silent walking. Freddy frowned.
"I know how he feels, but…" he trailed off. Asher Rodney, who hadn't taken up a bat in a game since he'd joined the team two years ago, had asked to play Beater for the next match against Ravenclaw – a bit unsubtle, James thought. He also knew that Rodney didn't care. Up until this year, he'd simply disliked the Ravenclaw Beater, who had fouled him and knocked him out of the finals match against Ravenclaw two years ago. Last year, though, Donaghan Craig had aimed a Bludger illegally at Gemma Bridge in a bout of frustration. He hit his mark, broke her wrist, and effectively ended her Quidditch career not a year after it had started. It was at that point that Rodney's dislike for Craig had escalated into outright hatred. "I'd have to put Mac on the bench. He doesn't deserve that. He's been flying well."
James agreed.
"Thanks for volunteering for this, by the way," Freddy added.
"No problem," James answered. Sure, carrying the box of Quidditch balls on a Friday afternoon right after classes let out wasn't James's idea of a good time… but he would have been lying if he'd said he felt comfortable with Freddy going anywhere by himself this close to the match.
The last couple of weeks had been tense at Hogwarts, to say the least. The Disciplinary Panel hearing for which Professor Wenster had made such a show had taken place a few days after the attack on Armon Addison. The good news was that, after the initial eye problem went away, Addison seemed no worse for wear. In fact, much to his chagrin, Madam Pomfrey (in typical Madam Pomfrey fashion) kept him in the hospital wing a day or two longer than necessary. The bad news – and the news that had Gryffindor Tower up in arms – was that the Slytherin Prefects apparently had little to no information on what had happened. Slytherin was the most obvious suspect, but no one could prove that it was a Slytherin who had done it, let alone which Slytherin had done it. Far from being vindicated, though, Slytherin House was apoplectic that they had been so readily suspected. After a week of Gryffindor House refusing to eat in the Great Hall out of protest, they slowly trickled back only for Slytherin to take its leave after what they thought was unfair treatment by the Headmaster. Ambrose, who still ate in the Hall, didn't appear to have backed the Slytherins' protest, but seemed to understand that the situation was so delicate that perhaps it was for the best, for the time being.
"Bloody mess," Freddy muttered, apparently ruminating over recent events as well. "Gonna be hard enough to focus on a match without all this other rubbish happening…"
Godric's Guard had offered to escort Freddy and other Quidditch team members to the pitch on practice afternoons. Freddy had turned them down flat each time. Not only did he want nothing to do with the group, but it had taken a fairly lengthy discussion to restrain him from kicking Scorpius Malfoy off the team for having joined. James had somewhat reluctantly taken Scorpius's side in that particular debate – mainly because he wanted no part of being forced to play Seeker with Scorpius gone. Also, Scorpius was a complicated bloke. James somehow got the feeling that he hadn't simply joined for the chance to crack Slytherin heads.
Maybe he was just trying to show his loyalty to the House, James thought. Being so loyal to a House was completely mad, in James's opinion. Still, if people wanted to show pride in where the Sorting Hat had placed them, he couldn't say that was wrong… so long as they didn't use it as an excuse to hurt anyone.
Freddy was very clear with Scorpius; if he heard so much as a whisper of his being involved with anything awful happening to a Slytherin student, then Scorpius was off the team immediately. James decided for now not to point out that, if Freddy made that decision, Professor Wenster could (and probably would) overrule him as Acting Head of House. Other than picking their Captains, Heads of Houses rarely involved themselves with the Quidditch roster. They did have the authority, though, should they choose to use it.
"What's today's date again?" asked James.
"Honestly, how do you get through classes like that?" Freddy mocked him good-naturedly. "Today's the 18th."
James's stomach lurched.
Something must have shown on his face because Freddy, after a couple of moments, asked, "You alright?"
"I'm fine," James lied, not even able to hide a bit of sadness in his voice. Freddy gave James a sideways glance of obvious doubt, but didn't press the issue.
They finally arrived at the pitch. As practice didn't actually start for another fifteen minutes, they were the first ones there. They set their brooms and the box of Quidditch balls down, and Freddy stepped away to roll his shoulders and stretch, while James watched for a long moment.
Oddly, the happenings of that evening had not often been the subject of his nightmares. Most would have considered that a mercy, but the fact was that the images seemed to be burned to the inside of his eyelids during waking hours. His mind would wander and arrive regularly in the same places.
Indeed, not much had changed since the summer.
"James," Freddy's voice came from much closer than James was expecting. He looked up into the face of his older cousin, who was now right in front of him and wearing an expression of concern. "You sure you're alright?"
James gave a wordless sigh in response. Freddy took the hint and went to walk away again.
"Today's her birthday."
It slipped out. Freddy stopped where he was and turned around. James felt awful; they were supposed to be getting ready for the big match, Freddy's first match as the official Captain…
"You must really miss her, don't you?" he asked seriously.
James didn't speak. It felt like an invisible hand was choking him.
Freddy let out a sigh through his nose. "You know… I had a crush on Laurel Cross for most all of our third year and the next summer before I could pluck up the courage to ask her out."
James looked up. Freddy hadn't said much of anything about Laurel in almost twoyears.
"I finally did," Freddy recalled, "the day we went back to Hogwarts. When it ended… well, you remember. I was pretty cut up for a while. But, you know… I got over it."
James frowned and averted his eyes. This was even less helpful than he'd anticipated.
"So that's what I should do?" he asked. "Just take some more time and hope to get over it?"
Freddy sighed heavily. "…No."
There was a pause.
"You're a hell of a Chaser, James," Freddy said, his voice now leaden and almost reluctant. "And as your Captain, I'd be lying if I said this team's better off without you. But you're also family… and I'm thinking you might be better off without the team right now."
James went dumb for a moment, stunned.
"You're kicking me off?" he finally asked, barely able to pronounce the words with how dry his mouth had gone.
"No. God, no," Freddy said. "I'm just saying, you could walk away – today, even – and I wouldn't think any less of you."
James shook his head.
"Honestly, Freddy, it's not that big a deal—"
"You're lying," Freddy interrupted bluntly. "I know why Uncle Harry sent you to London. You haven't been flying quite right all year, either. I'm not thick, James – especially when you almost killed me once for being stupid enough to bring her name up."
James swallowed hard and looked down. He and Freddy remembered that incident a bit differently. Freddy had mentioned that Albus would get hurt if he stayed on his current path, and James had lost it. But he had mentioned her, too – and now James wasn't sure which straw had been the last one after all…
But then Freddy said, "You're not right, James. You're obviously–"
"Yeah – I know." he finally lost his patience. "What the hell am I supposed to do about it?"
The fact was, James had always regarded Quidditch as a fun hobby. That wasn't to say he didn't take it seriously, but he, unlike Scorpius and unlike others on his own team (young Athena Wood, for example), never had any illusions of carrying Quidditch past Hogwarts. He was fair at it, and he enjoyed it. He didn't exactly forget what was happening down on the Hogwarts grounds when he was up in the air, but it all became… smaller. It was a place where he knew, for the most part, what to do. Chasing a red ball through the sky was far easier than contemplating dark plots and school politics. Life was simpler up there.
Quidditch kept him sane in some ways. That was why he couldn't let it go just yet. He knew the place he might go to now, if he put it behind him, and it wasn't a place he could live without losing bits of himself. He needed to be whole.
"Go do what you've got to do," Freddy suggested. "Our second match isn't until February and we've got enough reserves—"
But James shook his head. "I'm not going to do that to you. Or to me. Honestly, I'm happier here than I am anywhere else… for what that's worth."
Freddy seemed to be satisfied by his answer.
"Eyes on the prize, then," he implored him. "We've got a title to defend."
Things picked up for him in practice after that conversation; it was as if all the things that had been distractions now caused him to redouble his focus. The timing could not have been better, either, with the first match of the year quickly approaching. The situation with Scorpius Malfoy remained a bit tense, with him talking to few people during practice. Then again, that was sort of normal, so everyone had just learned to live with it. As it turned out, the concept of Quidditch being an escape held true for nearly everyone on the team.
The week leading up to the match, however, they found out some troubling news through the Daily Prophet.
Hannah Longbottom, the landlady at the Leaky Cauldron, had taken very ill. While she was expected, eventually, to make a full recovery, her husband didn't feel comfortable leaving her by herself in her current state – let alone with their infant daughter.
The upshot of this was that Professor Neville Longbottom was not coming back to Hogwarts – at least not very soon. By the look of things, the school – more specifically, Gryffindor House – would have to survive without him until after the Christmas holidays. Few Gryffindors were happy about this except perhaps for Professor Wenster, who remained aloof as per usual, standing sentinel over the Great Hall while the Hogwarts students ate their meals. It was thoroughly unnecessary except to look intimidating, James thought. Of course there hadn't been a fight in the Great Hall. Even the extremists on either side wouldn't be daft enough to try anything in full view of the whole student body. Besides, the few Slytherins that began trickling back into the Great Hall for meals after their initial protest, didn't want any trouble. Most of them, anyway.
Once or twice, James caught sight of Brynne in the Great Hall, in head-down, whispering huddles with a couple of other Slytherins he only vaguely recognized. Lily was conspicuous by her absence during these particular meetings. James did see her, too, from time to time – usually with the Slytherin girls from her own year.
At least she isn't alone, James reasoned, watching her eating with two other girls on the last Friday night before the match. He wondered, though, where she would go to see the match. Her group of friends seemed alright, but none of them seemed like the type that would like Quidditch…
The day of the match arrived almost without fanfare. James almost had to remind himself of the state of things. When he did, though, it created a leaden sensation in the pit of his stomach that he now had to try to contemplate away. Today was really going to be the first day since the Welcoming Feast where the majority of the school was assembled in the same spot. The standing room wall, where most students watched the match, had been sectioned off by House, with Slytherin and Gryffindor naturally as far away as they could be placed. James didn't know how well this would work, though. It was the weekend, and while some students would show their pride by wearing their school robes or at least dressing in House colors during Quidditch matches, not everybody did.
There were already rumors in Gryffindor Tower that students from Slytherin (who seemed to have organized themselves into a faction eerily similar to Godric's Guard) were going to infiltrate the Gryffindor sections and cause trouble. James didn't want to buy it, especially since the salesman was none other than Eamonn Temple. As a Gryffindor himself, though, he couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable in secluded areas of the castle, wondering if a Slytherin that didn't know him well (or perhaps one that did, like Phillip Bletchley) would pop out from behind a door or one of the suits of armor and try to hex him in the lead-up to the match.
He hardly went anywhere alone, of course. Murphy was with him almost everywhere except Quidditch practices and the lavatory (because, loyal to each other as they were, they had to draw the line somewhere). Murphy didn't join him for breakfast the morning of the match, though. He was going to hang back and make sure Albus and Rose got to the match alright.
James tried not to feel guilty – after all, Murphy had volunteered without James even asking – but he didn't deserve a friend like Murphy and he knew it.
"Oi, James…" Freddy leaned to his ear from his left. The team, who had trickled into the Great Hall for breakfast in twos and threes (James had been stuck with Brookstanton, who wasn't the best company) decided to eat together. "Did I tell you Dad's coming?"
"Really? Uncle George?" James responded. "Well, if he usually watches one shop and Uncle Ron does the other…"
"Uncle Ron gave Dad Hogsmeade this weekend – probably knew he'd want to come watch," Freddy mentioned. Then, with a frown, he added, "Hogsmeade's been slow… you know, now that the students aren't going out there anymore during term. The shop can survive without him for a few hours."
"Right," James uttered a bit sadly.
James probably wouldn't be able to see Uncle George, he thought. That was unfortunate. He wanted to hear about whether Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes had any interesting new stock. Uncle George was very fair; he paid anyone who worked at his shop. That included his own children. That also included James, who earned a few Galleons in his time at the shop in the summer. James didn't need much of anything, and he hadn't been able to go to Hogsmeade to spend the money. He thought he'd get his family nicer gifts this year. Murphy, too. Especially Murphy.
The table was unusually quiet. Sylvia Thomas and Scorpius Malfoy were sitting across from each other but not speaking. Every few seconds, Sylvia would lift her head to say something, but would change her mind. Scorpius simply stared at his cooling plate of uneaten food, strangely looking like he would rather be somewhere else than here at the moment.
It was that face, the one that he'd seen on Scorpius during breakfast, that gave James the sense of foreboding that stuck with him all the way to the pitch.
The day was raw by early November standards, the sky an unfriendly monochrome sheet that indicated that, while rain was not here yet, it might visit a bit later. The occasional gusts would have been tolerable but for the lack of sun; on an overcast day like today, there was just enough chill in the air for the wind to lance through layers of cloth when it moved. James had played in worse, but it was a bit uncomfortable.
Less comfortable still was the overall atmosphere. It was much too quiet for a Quidditch match. The crowd of students that had turned out (lower, James thought, than normal – or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him) seemed subdued and even furtive. It was almost as if no one was sure if they were allowed to truly enjoy themselves. It was almost as if they expected Headmaster Flitwick's small but magically amplified voice to ring through the stadium, saying that something had gone horribly wrong and that this match was going to be cancelled.
James tried to put these thoughts and more from his mind as he approached the center of the pitch with his ten teammates. After all, he was here, and this match was happening, so he might as well win it. As the blue-robed Ravenclaws came into view, however, he caught sight of something – or, rather, someone – he hadn't been expecting to see.
The four teams representing their Houses never handed each other their updated rosters when tryouts happened, but with about a month or so between the initial tryouts and the first match, word of mouth usually ensured that most people had an idea of who had made the cut. As for Ravenclaw, they were an experienced team last year with only one seventh year on their first line. So unless someone quit or became one of the head students, the Gryffindor team had come into this match expecting their roster to be largely the same.
Indeed, it appeared, if James remembered most of their faces correctly, six of the starting players from last year (their captain, Maxwell, had graduated) had returned for Ravenclaw. The brunette Chaser, Cordelia Byrne; next to her, her boyfriend and Hogwarts' most intimidating Beater, Donaghan Craig, looking vast as ever; the other Beater, McFadden. Then there was Davies, another girl; Rohan Lynch, the Seeker...
But it was down toward the end of the line that James's eyes focused – on a boy, considerably smaller than the others, with strawberry blond hair that might as well have been on fire, as much as it stood out against the blue of his robes.
"Louis is playing for them now?" James muttered to Freddy. "You didn't tell me that."
"I didn't know for sure," Freddy answered.
Indeed, news about Quidditch rosters didn't travel nearly as far these days. James had only seen his younger cousin, Louis Weasley, in passing a few times in the last several week. He certainly didn't know Louis had tried out for and made the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and even now he had no idea what position he played.
With a family as big as his was, there were always some cousins that nobody kept track of much. He'd never been as close to Uncle Bill's or Uncle Percy's children. Uncle Bill lived on the coast and James only saw him once, maybe twice a year. Uncle Percy's children were both girls, and much younger. Not to mention that James's mother took issue with Aunt Audrey and how she chose to raise the girls, which was another story entirely…
"Captains, to the center." With all the chaos around the school, it was a small, strange relief for James to see that Arbiter Dean Thomas hadn't changed much. Still dark, still tall, still with a warm bearing and a sharp eye. Try as he might to play the part of the impartial official, he couldn't help giving the shortest glance and smile to his daughter, who was standing a few spots away from James in the Gryffindor lineup.
James felt the slight chill that came with extra space as Freddy vacated the spot directly to his left. From the Ravenclaw lineup emerged Cordelia Byrne, who had been named Captain over the two seventh year Beaters in a move that surprised absolutely nobody.
Both captains turned in slips of parchment to Arbiter Thomas, who looked them over. The two shook hands. There was an exchange of words that James couldn't hear from here before the two parted ways. When they did, though, Freddy was wearing a smirk on his face.
"What was that about?" McLaggen dared to ask as Freddy returned to the Gryffindor line.
"Apparently, Craig's promised not to break any bones on our Chasers," Freddy replied.
"What?!" Asher Rodney snapped suddenly, attempting to break from the line and turn back toward where the Ravenclaws were walking away. James cringed. Freddy should have known, he thought, that this particular choice of words wouldn't go over well.
"Calm down," Freddy advised Rodney, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him firmly back into line. "She can go on not taking us seriously if she likes. It'll make it better when we beat them. Again."
This was enough to convince Rodney not to do anything daft – barely. He was visibly muttering something to himself when the Gryffindors took to the air. In the silence before the action started, James felt a breeze and shivered; now that they were off the ground, he was noticing just how chilly it was. Rodney, as the middle Chaser, was going to be the one to go for the initial tip. Opposite him was Cordelia Byrne. Freddy and James had disagreed over that matchup (privately, of course); Rodney was a fair flyer and the best at defense, but his broom wasn't as good as Cordelia's – nor James's, for that matter. James wasn't about to press the issue in front of teammates, though; he didn't want to make his cousin look like a fool.
That meant taking care of his own end against his opposite number – a boy, wearing the number eight, a shade older than he, strapping, with a downturned nose upon which sat a pair of shaded goggles. Apparently, Lennox was his surname, and James and he shared a given name – although the Ravenclaw Chaser went by Jimmy. He'd been a reserve last year, and with three good Chasers in front of him, hadn't played much.
Speaking of reserves, it appeared James wouldn't be seeing Louis until later, if at all. He couldn't say he was shocked; most of Ravenclaw's team was fifth year or older.
Lennox glanced at Cordelia, prompting James to look in that direction as well. The Quaffle had been tossed. Both Rodney and Cordelia went for it. Neither could secure it, but someone had gotten a hand on it and tipped it in James's direction. He reached…
His world lurched and spun on its ear as he felt a sting about the temple region while a clump of his hair was stretched to its limit and nearly yanked out of his scalp. As he righted himself, he looked around and threw up his hands. "FOUL!" No dice.
"Damn –" James wheeled around to give chase to Lennox, who already had the Quaffle in hand. Thankfully, his being a bit lighter than Lennox made him a bit faster in the tailwind. Using Lennox's draft to get around him, he raised his arms in defense right as Lennox reared back, intending to pass the ball. Lennox saw him at the last moment, swore floridly, and tucked the Quaffle under his arm pit. James punched at it with his left hand, but missed as Lennox drifted away…
A groan filled the stadium, but even that could not fully muffle the nasty thud James heard. Lennox had swerved right into the path of a Bludger, which had caught him flush. He wheezed and lost his grip on the Quaffle. James was on the spot quickly, underneath Lennox to take possession for his team.
Quaffle safely under his arm, James took a brief moment to scan the pitch. Sylvia Thomas was closest to him, but Marjery Davies was harassing her and she couldn't get free.
"Potter!" The voice came from behind James. Sensing someone closing in on him from the other side, he pushed the Quaffle out to his right, where it was caught by Rodney.
"Lennox! Switch!" Someone called. Immediately, Lennox sped by James to chase after Rodney, who had a two-second headstart. James looked over his shoulder and saw Cordelia Byrne closing on him.
"Alright, have it your way," James muttered, urging his Cleansweep to full speed. From a distance, he could see Rodney, who had to duck to avoid a Bludger. Feeling the thrilling lurch in his gut that came with diving, James angled his broom downward.
Rodney saw James, made to throw, but hesitated. James soon figured out why; a blur sped past him, nearly knocking him off his broom. Once that had gone by, James slowed down a bit, and Rodney passed the Quaffle. Something appeared to have perturbed him, though, because he let off a swear while the ball was still in midair.
James reached out somewhat gingerly, and it turned out to be a good thing. Rodney's hesitation had given Cordelia Byrne time to catch up. She interposed herself between the two boys to intercept the pass…
WHAM!
James felt his entire world quake. The hit had come not from Cordelia, but on his other shoulder. Somebody had rammed into him hard in his blind spot.
He tried to focus his eyes, already feeling his neck tightening…
Albus
"…Uh-oh."
Albus turned to his right immediately, feeling his heart start to thud against his ribs in panic. 'Uh-oh' was never good in any circumstance.
"What's going on?" he asked Rowan Lester, who was standing next to him and currently removing his eyes from a pair of old Omnioculars. Rose hadn't shown up, and the pair they usually shared during the matches were hers.
But never mind all that for now. Albus wanted to know why Rowan seemed so concerned.
"I think James is hurt," Rowan commented, and he really did look worried. Rowan volunteered his Omnioculars so Albus could see for himself.
"Hurt?" Albus heard a voice near him repeat as he scanned the pitch for his brother's jersey number thirteen. "What happened?"
It was a girl's voice.
A very, very familiar girl's voice.
Albus yanked his face out of the Omnioculars and turned to his left.
Indeed, there was a girl standing there. Her hair was a shiny black bob cut that perhaps would have looked more in place on a woman thrice her age.
It was good enough to fool other people, maybe, but not him. He knew every detail of her face.
Albus was dumbstruck and froze for a moment, even as a pained unison groan erupted around him, indicating (Albus assumed) that Ravenclaw had scored the first goal and taken an early lead.
"Oi," Rowan asked. "Who's that?"
Albus hesitated for a moment. Strictly speaking, this wasn't allowed.
"Rowan?" she angled her head around Albus for a moment, her hand flat atop her 'hair'. An expression of confusion flashed across Rowan's face. "You're Rowan Lester, right? Brynne told me to find you if I…"
"Excuse me!" Before Albus could ask one of several questions he now had, another voice joined the conversation. This one, too, was familiar, but Albus, as he turned to look, was hoping to Merlin that it wasn't who it sounded like.
No such luck.
Descending the stairs a bit awkwardly was the intimidating, perpetually grumpy Gryffindor Prefect and (worse) founder of Godric's Guard, Eamonn Temple.
"Down in front!" Temple went on like no one had heard him, even though all three students he was shouting at were watching him descend the stairs toward them. He arrived at their row and loomed over Albus and the girl. "I don't recognize your face. Who are you? And be careful how you answer. I'm a Prefect. Lying to me would be a very, very bad idea."
A primal instinct that Albus hadn't felt in a very long time caused his entire body to tauten, but he kept it suppressed. Barely. "Can't you back up a step and give us some room?" he asked.
"Quiet, Potter, I wasn't speaking to you," Temple said immediately. "As I was saying, young miss, it might be a good idea for you to go back to whoever sent you. You start any trouble over here, and detention will be the least of your worries."
"I don't want any trouble. Promise," the girl replied – but she did not seem the least bit cowed.
"She's here with me," Albus spoke up suddenly. "Is that good enough for you?"
"No," Temple replied, as Albus almost expected. "It isn't. You don't have the authority to decide who gets to be where. I'm Prefect, so I do."
The girl muttered under her breath, "Must be fun for you."
Temple smiled. Albus was immediately on guard; the smile reminded him of the ones Professor Malcolm gave – smiles that typically meant nothing good.
"Alright," he said, "Like I said, I'm a Prefect, which means I'm responsible for the safety of Gryffindor House."
Albus saw Temple's hand slide toward his robes.
It was only after Albus had yanked the girl behind him by her robes (she gave a squeal and staggered, and Albus did not look to see whether she had kept her feet) and thrown himself in front of her that it occurred to him that he had left his own wand back in the dormitories.
This appeared to be fine for a moment. Either Temple was frozen by shock or he was unwilling to treat a known Gryffindor in the same way that he would have treated a stranger. If Albus didn't know better, though, he would have said that the twitch behind Temple's furrowed brow was him trying to manage his temper – and barely succeeding. Temple opened his mouth but then bit his lip, probably to keep from saying something quite nasty. When he did speak, though, there was a quaver in his voice. "What… do you think you're doing, Potter?"
"You want her," Albus said, a bit more bravely than he felt in the face of the Prefect, who was considerably larger than he, "you have to go through me."
"Do you not see this badge?" Temple asked, pulling a pinch of his robes outward as if his Prefect insignia wasn't gleaming very obviously right in Albus's face.
"Gallopin' gorgons! What's all the noise?" a gruff but friendly-sounding voice joined the conversation. Temple fell into shadow and his mouth opened slightly. He and Albus both looked up. A wild-haired mountain of a man had appeared, seeming to eclipse the very sun with his sheer mass. Temple was no small lad – still, he looked like little more than an insect next to this newcomer. "Temple, is it? Yeh've saved my seat, right? Luc-er… Professor Wenster let yeh know?"
Temple looked a bit stuck for a second. Either Professor Wenster had not let him know, or he had simply forgotten. He looked around for a moment –
"You two!" he shouted, making Gilbert Reed and another first year boy whose name Albus didn't remember, jump. "You're in Professor Hagrid's spot. Budge up a bit."
Reed and the other young boy caught sight of Hagrid. Both of their jaws dropped and they did as told.
"While you're here," Temple mentioned as Hagrid sat down (Albus heard the entire bench creak awfully), "we've got a bit of an issue."
"What's the problem?" Hagrid asked.
"Well…" Temple rounded on Albus and the others. "This girl here behind Potter… I don't recognize her and I don't think she belongs in this section. The rule is that students from different Houses can not interact unless in class or with a Professor present and supervising them…"
"Well, I'm present now," Hagrid said. "I'm supervisin'. So rules say it's not a problem, right?"
Temple's lips pursed and moved all over the place.
"Move along, then," Hagrid suggested. "Or, better yet, sit down and enjoy the match. Yeh look all wound up and tense."
Temple opted for the latter, and started back up the stairs, muttering something about Wenster having a soft spot.
" 'Lo, Albus. Who's yer—" Hagrid started warmly. Albus felt a weight on his neck as someone put their chin there. Hagrid smiled. "Oh. Alrigh', that makes a lot more sense. Thought yeh looked familiar…"
Albus finally turned to look his sister in the eye. Almost immediately, she leaned into his side and closed her arms around him with almost rib-splitting force.
"Have you been alright?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she answered – but it was clear by her refusal to pull her ear out of his chest that she had missed him quite a bit. Another groan erupted from the Gryffindor section – Ravenclaw had scored again.
"Oh, great," Albus heard someone comment. "Our new Keeper's rubbish."
"Lily," Rowan uttered – rather hesitantly, as if he knew he was interrupting something. Lily finally detached himself from Albus and turned toward him. "You said Brynne told you to come look for me?"
"Well," Lily answered. "Not exactly. She just said that you'd be the one to talk to if I ever wanted to get a message to Al. You two know each other?"
"N-not like that," Rowan immediately stammered, a bit too defensively. Lily, however, didn't appear to be thrown off at all. "We're—we're friends. Just friends. Well, not 'just' friends, but that's a whole other… not that way, though."
Rowan didn't meet eyes with either of the Potters through any of this uncharacteristic rambling.
"Did something happen?" Lily asked curiously.
"Never you mind that," answered Rowan, suddenly terse. But then, a glaze of realization washed over his eyes for a second. "What did she tell you about me?"
"That you lived with her family for a while last summer," Lily replied, obviously curious as to why Rowan was acting so oddly.
Rowan conceded with a nod and, for some reason, appeared relieved. "That's the long and short of it." Still, it looked like there was something on his mind. Lily seemed to be trying to extract that something with her eyes. Rowan wouldn't look directly at her, though. Finally, either to change the subject or because he realized he'd been meaning to do so all along, he stood and, shifting his way past Albus and Lily, arrived at the stairs. "Professor Hagrid?"
"Ah, you're, erm…" Hagrid seemed to recognize him. "Dominic, righ'?"
"Rowan… sir," Rowan answered with badly disguised annoyance. Apparently, that happened quite a bit. "My dad was named Dominic."
"Righ', righ'…" Hagrid muttered abashedly. "Sorry abou' that… I taught 'im, y'know, while he was here. One o' the best students I ever had. Yeh look just like 'im. So, what d'yeh need? Is the work I gave you lot on bowtruckles givin' yeh trouble?"
"No, sir, I've finished it already, actually," Rowan admitted.
Hagrid chuckled. "Is that so? I'll be lookin' forward to it on Monday. So, what is it?"
"You know Professor Wenster well, right?" asked Rowan.
"Known 'im since we were boys," Hagrid answered. " 'Course, I knew 'im as Lucan back then, mind. We came inter Hogwarts together. One o' the few friends I had from back in those days."
"Together?" Rowan uttered, astonished.
"Sure did," Hagrid answered. "We were both Sorted into Gryffindor. When… when the incident happened third year…"
"You mean, when Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, opened the Chamber of Secrets and framed you for the resulting attacks," Rowan corrected him rather bluntly.
From here, Albus could barely perceive Hagrid's mouth, behind a cascade of greying brown beard, set into a firm line for a moment. "Yeh've read up, I see. Well, when all that… when all that happened, he was the only one that took up fer me, other 'n Dumbledore. Me getting expelled never sat right with Lucan, an' he was suspicious of Riddle an' his friends from then on. He could never pin anything on 'em, though – not with as careful as Riddle was, and not with as much as Dippett had taken a shine to 'im…"
A breeze blew. Or maybe that was just Hagrid sighing very heavily.
"I've tried m'best ter put it all behind me," he said soberly. "But I guess, fer some people… no one believin' yeh gets hard ter take after a while… makes yeh angry an' bitter."
A roar erupted from around Albus. Gryffindor had scored at last; but Albus couldn't bring himself to celebrate.
"Hey, Albus," Lily tried to get his attention. "Al-buuuuuuus… Sylvia just scored, you know."
"Oh, was it?" Albus queried. "Honestly, I wasn't watching…"
Lily frowned. "Did you have a row with her?"
"Not her, no…" replied Albus. Then, he raised his hand and mussed his sister's hair. Normally, she whined and said she hated it through the smile on her face, but today, she didn't duck away or even try to resist. "Don't worry about it."
"Where's Rose?" Lily probed. Albus was almost surprised it had taken Lily so long to notice their cousin's absence.
He grimaced. "It's a long story…"
Lily let off a dramatic sigh and hunched her shoulders. "I was hoping to see her."
She folded her arms.
"These rules are bollocks."
Albus put an arm around her shoulder.
"Sure are."
Brynne
"Well… he looks alright…" Kadric Howell remarked, peering up through his Omnioculars. A second later, a mix of sounds rang out around them, punctuated by taunting barks of laughter and someone even shouting, 'Sod off, Potter!' Kadric, at the same time, winced. "Well, up until that happened. Don't you want to look?"
"I'm fine," answered Brynne, a bit impatiently. Kadric Howell tilted his head in an expression… of disbelief. (The fact that Kadric actually had expressions to begin with, was something Brynne was just recently getting used to.)
"Take a look. Honestly, I don't mind," he said, removing his eyes from the Omnioculars, an annoying dash of 'you-know-you-want-to' awareness in his tone of voice. After a pause in which Brynne said nothing, Kadric queried. "So, why did you bother coming all the way out here if you weren't going to watch Potter play?"
"I thought that would've been obvious," remarked the girl on Brynne's right. With a twitch of her head, Lena Urquhart tried to shake a few rogue coils of black hair out of her eyes. When they wouldn't go, she reached up and moved them with her hand. "It's better to talk than the castle."
"How do you figure that? Everyone's out here," Kadric countered. "Well… mostly everyone."
"Except for Professor Wenster. He stayed back with Malcolm," Brynne pointed out. "So…"
She glanced at Kadric. He shook his head solemnly.
"Nothing?" Brynne questioned, grimacing.
"Well…" Kadric paused. "I got close enough. She's taken to following Malcolm around when he's not teaching classes, which is… well, bad."
"You think so?" asked Brynne. Kadric's response was the confused face of one dealing with a person who was failing to acknowledge the obvious. "Malcolm's a lot of things, but he's not thick. If she's spying on him, he knows. But what can he do to her that doesn't make him look like he has something to hide?"
"It's not worth the trouble," contended Kadric. "He'll be extra careful covering his tracks if he knows he's being watched. That's why we haven't bothered with him, right?"
"I don't understand something," Lena interjected. "If…"
She trailed off, almost as if afraid to speak – unusual, given her tendency for bluntness. "Go on," Brynne encouraged her. It bothered her a bit that Lena and Kadric were still uncomfortable speaking their minds around her. She didn't deserve, warrant, or even want that sort of reverence, honestly. She wanted friends, not followers – more like it was before….
"I know what you've said about Malcolm," Lena replied cautiously. "And it's not that I don't believe you. But if he really wants to put an end to the problem, why not join up with him to get things done?"
"Lena, we've been over this already," Kadric replied for Brynne, which also annoyed her. She didn't like doing all the talking, but she didn't like being spoken for, either. Neither of those really happened when you were dealing with equals. Now, growing annoyed with herself for having allowed herself to become annoyed in the first place, Brynne's already somber mood was turning sour indeed. Nevertheless, she let Kadric keep speaking. That was what equals did, after all. And she was the one that always said he didn't speak his mind enough. "Malcolm coming out of this looking like a hero is the worst thing that could possibly happen. His plan is to grab power over the school and he's playing every angle he can."
"But why?" asked Lena. "For all we know, he could have things in mind for the school that aren't so bad – things that Flitwick won't do because he's too set in his ways."
"I seriously doubt that," Kadric disagreed.
"Why? Because Brynne said so?" Lena challenged.
"Are you saying she's lying?" Kadric answered, and for the first time, Brynne could hear a bit of aggression in his voice. "Everything else she's said has happened almost exactly—"
"I'm not saying anyone's lying," Lena interrupted. "Just that… she could be mistaken. And it could be costing us time."
She glanced at Brynne after saying this, almost as if ashamed.
"You said it yourself, right?" Lena asked her, now not sounding as confident. "It's all a theory."
Brynne took a moment to gather her thoughts – or at least a few of them – into a group of words that would make something resembling sense to a mind other than hers. "I don't have enough proof to be a hundred percent sure," she admitted. "But I'm sure enough that I'd rather not take the risk. If Malcolm's the type of man I believe he is, he'll step in and do something about this only when he has the most to gain. He wasn't preaching about cooperation and togetherness until people started getting hurt."
"Not Malcolm, then…" Lena conceded. "What about Professor Ambrose?"
"Not happening," Kadric replied a bit cynically. "Wenster's forced his hand. He can't afford to look weak now."
Kadric was right, Brynne thought sadly. Professor Ambrose was a good man, but perhaps not a leader best suited for conflict. His desire to do right seemed to battle constantly with the wish to remain as inoffensive as possible. Perhaps it was the old Slytherin reputation for conniving ambition that he wanted so desperately to avoid; perhaps it was because he had never been a popular choice for Head of Slytherin House and was fully aware of that fact. And perhaps (he had been one of her favorites, so she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt) he thought he could be more effective over the long term if he made few waves and didn't get himself sacked. Whatever it was, he would not be able to offer much help beyond making sure not to make things worse.
At last, Brynne opened her mouth to comment. But her first few words could not possibly carry over the obviously partisan Slytherin crowd voicing their disapproval that Gryffindor had scored another goal. She waited for them to quiet down, which took a moment. Then, when she was sure Kadric and Lena could hear her, she spoke:
"If you're waiting for a savior, you're in the wrong place," she said. "No one is coming. No one believes it needs to be done enough. Maybe some of them believe it can't be done. We're dealing with a problem from years – really, centuries ago… that never got properly solved. It was just swept under the rug and dressed up to look pretty. You can dress up a corpse as pretty as you like, lay it in a coffin with flowers… in the end, it's still a corpse. It's going to keep decaying and, unless you bury it, it's going to smell. And our corpse has been rotting for a thousand years. I mean to bury it. If that's too much for either of you…"
"No," Lena blurted out, almost desperately. "No. I…" She paused for a moment. "I can't now. I'm too far in."
She seemed only to realize it in the moment – and, honestly, it appeared painful. She bit her lip hard, the one of her eyes Brynne could see wetly reflecting her sights as she stared out at the pitch, or perhaps across it (where the Gryffindor section had just gone into an uproar)
Brynne saw Lena's jaw set.
"He's got it," Lena said, lowering her voice. "I was able to slip it to him after Defence yesterday."
Brynne, not having expected this so soon, had to attempt to keep a straight face. Almost involuntarily, though, she felt her eyes widen. "What did he say?" she asked, trying to ignore the sudden, strange flutter in her belly.
"He said he'd try," Lena replied, a conspicuously fragile glimmer of hope in her tearful eyes as hers and Brynne's finally met.
"Well… that's a damn sight better than a 'no,'" reasoned Kadric.
Lena nodded much more vigorously than normal, trying not to succumb to tears. Brynne saw Lena's hand and took it.
"Look at me," Brynne implored. Lena did. "We're close. We're close to getting them back."
"I'm scared," answered Lena shakily. "What if he doesn't come back? What if he really hates me now?"
"Which one?" Brynne queried.
"Either of them."
"I don't think that'll happen… but even if it did, it's better to know than wonder," Brynne answered. "You'd get through it somehow. I believe in you. Alright?"
It was such a dumb thing, Brynne thought… as if her belief for anybody counted for much of anything. But just in case… just in case it did, Brynne had to make sure Lena heard it. Suddenly looking much younger than her years, Lena nodded.
"Alright."
Just then a roar erupted throughout the stadium. A shrill whistle split the air about the same time a great, shapeless lump began its descent toward the ground. The referee followed on his broom, continuing with his whistle blasts, but whoever or whatever was spiraling downward was not heeding him at all.
"On second thought, Kadric, can I see those?" Brynne asked a bit nervously. Kadric silently proffered the Omnioculars and Brynne peered through them, hoping that the person on the other end wasn't whom she feared it was….