The Name of the Game

by PenguinBuddy

Between exhausting Quidditch training sessions, fanatical members of the press, and dating James Potter, Eva Wood has her hands full. But when you play Quidditch, that's just the name of the game. Sequel to Game On.

9. The First Match

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the amazingly talented J.K Rowling. I'm only borrowing the characters and world that she has so brilliantly created.

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Chapter Nine: The First Match

Author's Note: Whichever reader asked for a pair of lucky socks will be pleased.

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Dear Eva,

Jessica Walters is the new Seeker and Gareth is the new Chaser.

We know you're dying to know what happened at tryouts, so we thought we'd lead with that. And yes, you read that correctly. Gareth is your replacement as Chaser. -R

I've been thinking about trying out for Quidditch for a while now. I still want to be a trainer, but I reckon it would be good to be able to show the people potentially hiring me that I have actually played the sport. (Besides, I can't be the only Wood who didn't play Quidditch, can I?) Can't hurt my job chances to have played. Dad and Richard have been helping me practice all summer when you weren't around. You had enough to worry about with your own tryouts that we didn't want you to worry about mine. I'm feeling chuffed, although I know I'll never be half the Chaser you are. -G

You might remember that Jessica Walters tried out for Chaser last year. She tried out for Seeker this year, and I think that position suits her better. I mean, she's no James (who is?) but I think she'll do all right. -R

Gareth, the new Chaser?!I nearly fell off my chair reading the letter from my brothers. I snatched up Zara's waiting letter and very nearly tore the envelope open in my haste to read what she had written.

Dear Eva,

You're probably heard from your brothers by now and know that Gareth is the new Chaser. I didn't even know he played! Have you and Richard been holding out on me? He was brilliant. I mean, not as brilliant as you, but he was good. Have you been helping him train? Why didn't you say anything? I'm so relieved that we found a decent – more than decent – replacement for you.

Jessica Walters is the new Seeker. She was good when she tried out last year for Chaser, but Seeker suits her better. I'm glad she gave it another go. The others who tried out for Seeker weren't nearly as good. It was always going to be hard to replace someone with James's talent, but I think Jessica is a good choice.

Tonight, I think I'll finally sleep well for the first time in weeks.

Bree and Nico still aren't talking much but that's to be expected, I suppose. Things are going well with Verity. She's very excited that I know someone who plays for the Harpies.

Love from,

Zara

"You look as though someone just hit you with stupefy," Christine observed me over her mug of tea.

"I feel like I have," I replied dumbly. "Gareth tried out for the Gryffindor team. He's the new Chaser."

Christine set down her mug in surprise. "I didn't think he played."

"He doesn't. Well..." I reconsidered, since sthat wasn't strictly true. "He plays in family matches, I suppose. And he's good. But I had no idea he wanted to play for the House team."

"It's good news, though?"

"Absolutely. It's brilliant."

Gareth, the new Chaser! I hadn't seen that coming at all. I racked my brain, trying to think of any clues I might have missed. (I wouldn't put it past me to have missed some blatant hints.)

He always played during family matches, and he almost always played Chaser…

I supposed that Gareth had played quite well during the family match when James, Lily, and Elena joined us. I'd been so peeved at Elena and her inability to pass the Quaffle that I hadn't been paying much attention to Gareth. I felt a twinge of guilt at that. Gareth was my brother, I should have noticed.

I couldn't help but smile, all the same. Now the entire Wood family had been part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

That evening after practice I wrote Gareth and Richard a letter.

Dear brothers who apparently don't tell me anything,

GARETH IS THE NEW CHASER?! That's beyond brilliant, but how could you two not say anything to me?

I appreciate that you were trying not to add to my levels of stress over the summer, but next time something like this is happening, tell me. It would have been a nice distraction from my own tryouts. I could have helped prepare you - although I suppose having Dad train you was probably more effective.

Still, I'm so pleased for you, Gareth! I'll have to check my schedule to see if I can make it to a match to watch you both play.

Love and hugs,

Eva

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

"Well, this is nice," Ellie commented, looking around the scrubbed wooden table with a smile. "I'm so glad we could make this work."

Despite her words, her smile seemed a wee bit strained. Ellie had been persistent about a double date and had suggested that we all meet for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron after practice some evening. So here we were on a double date.

Except that her boyfriend, Éamon, was ten minutes late.

"It's nice to finally meet you," James told her, giving her one of his winning grins. "I've heard a lot about everyone at the Harpies, but you're the first I've met."

Ellie's face lit up. "Well, then I'm honored." She shot me a conspiratorial wink. "What does Eva say about the Harpies?"

"Nothing about practice," James quickly assured her. "She would never. Eva's very protective of team secrets. "

Ellie merely laughed. "Of course, she wouldn't. Eva's principled like that. I was actually wondering what she says about the team members. You know, does she think Sibohan is grumpy or that Teagan should clean out her locker more often? Am I her favorite or is it Isobel because she thinks Isobel can tell her secrets about the next book in the Infiltrator series?"

"I'm sitting right here," I all but spluttered. If she wanted to know what I thought, she could bloody well ask.

"But I want James's opinion about your opinion," Ellie explained, as if James could be honest with me sitting right next to him. Not that I'd said anything particularly telling about anyone, although Siobhan did have her moments of grumpiness.

James thought for a moment, the shrugged.. "I dunno... Eva thinks you're all brilliant. She hasn't complained about anyone, if that's you want to know."

"Oh good," Ellie smiled widely. "We all think she's brilliant, too. Spanking good Chaser and rather funny, even if she doesn't always intend to be."

I was about to ask what in the world she meant by that statement (the part about being unintentionally funny, not the spanking good Chaser part) when a familiar voice rang out, interrupting the conversation.

"James and Eva Louise! Fancy seeing you here."

I glanced over to see Fred striding towards our table, his usual grin firmly in place.

James raised a questioning eyebrow. "I told you I was coming here after practice. Twice."

"You did not," Fred huffed.

"You just weren't listening," James argued right back.

"Huh. Must have been testing the new earplugs for the shop," Fred shrugged, apparently unconcerned that he was apparently missing entire conversations with his flatmate. "They change to match the color of your skin so they're invisible."

James all but threw up his hands in frustration. "Now you tell me! I suppose you didn't hear me ask you to stop at the shop, either? We're out of eggs."

"My middle name is Louise, too," Ellie told me while James and Fred continued to bicker over Fred's earplug use. "Eva Louise...I think it suits you."

I very nearly let my head drop onto the table in despair.. "My middle name is actually Rebecca." I jerked my head in Fred's general direction, "Fred just calls me that because he thinks Eva Louise sounds wonky and he likes to take the mickey."

"I maintain that your name should be Eva Louise," Fred cut in to our conversation. "Your parents named you wrong."

"And who are you?" Ellie asked Fred, her expression unreadable. After enough time spent in Fred's presence, I had come to learn that that particular facial expression usually meant people were annoyed with him.

"Sorry!" I cried, just now realizing that Fred and Ellie didn't know one another and we'd been jabbering on rather thoughtlessly. "I should have introduced you. Ellie, this is Fred Weasley. He's James's cousin and flatmate."

"You forgot best mate," Fred added with his usual mischievous grin.

"Partner in crime, more like," I responded. "Fred, this is Ellie Cooper. She's also a member of the Harpies reserve team."

"Nice to meet you Ellie Louise. I hope you keep our Eva Louise in line," Fred teased. "She's nothing but trouble."

I practically snorted. "If that's not the pot calling the cauldron black."

Fred just grinned. "When have I ever caused trouble? I'll have you know that it's James who's the real troublemaker around here."

"Fred works at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," I explained to Ellie. "If you needed proof of his mischievous ways aside from his blatant lie just now."

Although James had certainly done his fair share of troublemaking, usual in tandem with Fred.

"There's a proud tradition of troublemaking in the Weasley family," James put in. "My mum's a Weasley, so I can say that."

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?" Ellie looked impressed. "I haven't been there for ages but I remember it had loads of clever stuff."

Excitement instantly flared in Fred's brown eyes. "You should come by sometime - we've just put out some new products. The earplugs are still in testing," he explained, causing James to snort in annoyance, "but we just released two new patented daydream charms."

Ellie smiled and was about to respond when a tall, loose-limbed bloke with light brown hair came up behind her and laid a large hand on her shoulder. He was wearing immaculate grey robes with a faint pinstripe.

"Sorry, love. Got busy with some paperwork and lost track of time."

"Éamon, you made it!" Ellie turned in her seat and beamed up at him.

Ah, so this was the boyfriend. I snuck a surreptitious glance at the clock on the far wall. (He was fifteen minutes late.)

"I said I would, didn't I? You've been reminding me all week." He slid into the open seat next to Ellie, then turned to the rest of us. "Éamon Donoghue, pleasure to meet you both."

"I'm Eva Wood," I reached out to take his proffered hand.

" James Potter." The two shook hands in what looked like a very firm handshake.

"I'm actually just leaving," Fred chimed in.

He only made it a few steps from the table before he turned around and said to James, "I'll stop by the supermarket on my way home."

Considering that I'd witnessed their last attempt at cooking - and cooking was a generous term for what those two had been up to - I wondered why in the world they would need eggs.

"He's my flatmate," James explained at Éamon's look of confusion. "We're trying to learn to make scrambled eggs."

Holy hippogriffs, I'd thought their attempt at spaghetti was bad.

"Well, how's it going?" Ellie asked, sounding genuinely interested. "The scrambled eggs, I mean."

James pulled a sour face. "Not well. Last night the whole flat smelled of burnt eggs."

Lovely thought, that. Hopefully the lads had remembered the air purifying charm Christine had taught them.

"Why don't you just ask your mum?" I suggested. "Or your Nana Weasley. They're both brilliant cooks."

"Yeah," James hedged, scratching the back of his neck somewhat awkwardly, "but we're trying to not ask our relatives for too much help. We're trying to be proper adults."

"Your options are to starve or eat takeaway for the rest of your days," I informed him. "Just ask for help."

"Or let Eva do all of your cooking," Éamon laughed, but he was the only one.

"Sorry?" I asked, then realized that James had said the exact thing at the same exact moment.

"I'd never ask Eva to do that." I didn't think I'd ever seen James look so affronted over something that wasn't related to Quidditch.

I wanted to kiss him for that. It would have to wait for later, so instead I settled for a smile. In response, James bumped his leg gently into mine.

Éamon seemed to realize he'd put his foot in it and quickly backtracked. "I'm hopeless in the kitchen. I'd starve without Ellie. I was subsisting on takeaway and beans and toast before she moved in."

"Exactly what I'm trying to avoid," James replied, his voice cool.

"I'll get us a round of butterbeers, shall I?" Éamon said rather than asked as he stood up and moved towards the bar.

"He doesn't force me to cook for him," Ellie said the moment Éamon was out of earshot. "I love cooking, I'm happy to do it."

"As long as he does his fair share of chores around the flat, yeah?" I said, trying to lighten the tension that had fallen over the conversation.

"He's neat as a pin," Ellie agreed quickly, clearly eager to lessen my bad opinion of her boyfriend. "And he's forever tidying the flat. Everything has to be in its proper place. I leave things all over, then Éamon puts them away and I can't find anything."

"That's the nice thing about having a flatmate that I've already shared a dormitory with for seven years," I mused. "We didn't have to adjust to living together."

Ellie nodded. "It has been a big adjustment, living together. Bigger than I thought. I went into it a bit naively, I think. Not that I wouldn't do it all over again, because I would. I love Éamon. I would just have more realistic expectations."

I wondered what it would be like to share a flat with James. Would he leave his trainers in a heap by the front door. Would he dislike my habit of leaving dishes in the sink overnight. Would we cook dinner together in the kitchen. Would my clothes take up twice the space his did in the wardrobe. Would we spent winter evenings curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

I wasn't ready to live with James, not yet. But...I could see myself wanting it in the future.

"I'm sorry if Éamon's come across as a bit of a prat," Ellie apologized, looking highly distressed. "It's just he's been so busy with work and then us moving in together. He's really lovely and so supportive of my career. I was ready to give up on Quidditch when I wasn't selected to a team last autumn, but he encouraged me to try out again. And now here I am on the Holyhead Harpies."

"I haven't always made the best first impression either," James acknowledged, throwing a smirk in my direction.

Ha, bad impression was an understatement. James Potter had gotten on my nerves since the very first train ride to Hogwarts. It was strange to think of how different everything was back then.

"Here we are," Éamon carefully set down a tray with four butterbeers and a bowl of crisps.

"So, where do you work, Éamon?" James asked as he took a sip of his butterbeer.

"I work in the patent side of the Experimental Charms Office," Éamon told us, pride filling his voice. "Essentially, I ensure that new charms or artifacts enchanted with charms are properly regulated and documented. Anyone can enchant items in their home of course, but objects for sale to the public need to be tested and approved. It's quite a demanding job, but there's lots of room for advancement. I's nothing like playing Quidditch for a living, but I enjoy it."

"Éamon was president of the Charms Club at Hogwarts," Ellie said, patting his arm. "He's brilliant at Charms."

His cheeks flushed pink at her praise, and I found myself liking Éamon a great deal more than I had when this double date began.

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"Wood, you're off balance again!"

"Ugh," I muttered under my breath and centered myself on my broomstick for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon.

Coach Rinaldi was no longer just observing but was actively running practice for the reserves. She had definitely not been taking the mickey when she had claimed that she had incredibly high expectations and pushed everyone hard. The only good thing was that the entire team was in the same situation.

Her whistle sounded and we all dove for the ground.

"Wood, you're putting yourself slightly off balance with your throws," Coach Rinaldi explained once we were all on the ground, circled in front of her. "You too, Cooper," she added.

"Am I not throwing enough from my shoulder?" I asked, trying to figure out what the problem was. It seemed as though this had been a problem for half of the morning. I wanted to improve, not keeping doing something incorrectly.

"You're not leaning into the throw enough," Coach Rinaldi informed me. "Both of you. You're sitting too upright on your brooms."

"But I'm trying to keep from being thrown off balance," Ellie protested. "I don't want to lean so far into the throw that my center of balance moves forward."

Coach Rinaldi stared at Ellie for a moment as though trying to determine whether or not Ellie was being argumentative for the sake of it or not. She apparently felt Ellie was being sincere, because when she answered it was in her usual clipped tones but not accompanied by a narrowing of her eyes.

"Your center of balance will shift - the goal is to find somewhere in the middle between leaning in enough that you add extra momentum to the throw, but not so much that you're pulled too far forward on your broom. It takes practice. To that end, you'll be spending the afternoon with Trainer Smith."

Joelle Smith stepped forward and ushered me and Ellie over the side of the pitch.

"Right," she said, not wasting a moment. "Let's get cracking."

Half an hour later we were sent back to rejoin the others with the ominous warning that Trainer Smith would be adding more abdominal exercises to our workouts.

"A strong core help you balance," she told us as she made notes on her ever-present clipboard.

"My stomach hurts just thinking about it," Ellie groaned once we were out of earshot.

I couldn't disagree with her. It would be worth it in the end, but achieving the results was going to mean a lot of sore muscles.

"I thought our double date was nice," Ellie said as we approached the rest of the reserve side. "We should do it again sometime."

"Oh," I said, slightly taken aback by the idea for no particular reason. "Yeah. Sure."

"Did you like Éamon?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "After you got to know him a bit?"

"He was nice," I said, not knowing what else to say. Éamon had improved from my first impression of him, but he had seemed overly occupied with work. Although who was I to judge others on the devotion to work when I lived and breathed Quidditch? "How long have you two been together?"

"Since fifth year," Ellie said. "I asked him to Hogsmeade. At first he said no and I was terribly crushed. But then a week later he stopped me after Charms and said he'd changed his mind and asked if we could still go to Hogsmeade."

"Do you know what made him change his mind?"

Ellie grinned. "Apparently he saw me perform an exemplary cheering charm and decided that he wanted to get to know me. And the rest is history."

Merlin, he was even more of a swot than Christine and Kiernan. And as much as I loved my friends, that was saying something.

"When did you and James start dating? When I left Hogwarts, everyone knew that you were Quidditch rivals. What happened?"

What had happened? How to answer that…

"I was finally able to see past the idea of us being rivals and realized that he made me laugh more than he annoyed me."

"That's sweet," Ellie sighed. "I feel so lucky to have found Éamon so early, you know? I have friends that go on a lot of dates but I don't have to do that because I've already found who I want to spend the rest of my life with."

"Enough inane chit chat you two," Coach Rinaldi scolded us as we rejoined the rest of the reserves. "Now hop on your brooms and we'll see if you've been able to improve your technique."

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A week later, practice with Coach Rinaldi hadn't improved much. I was learning how to find a balance having enough power behind my throws but keeping my equilibrium steady, but it was difficult to measure up to Coach Rinaldi's very exacting standards. My abdomen had also never been so sore in my life. Yesterday Christine had been telling me a funny anecdote from her job that had made me laugh, but it had felt like I'd taken a Quaffle to the stomach.

I was looking forward to a restful evening with a mug of tea and a promising book about a mystery at a Quidditch stadium.

"Look who I found rummaging in a bin outside when I came home!" Christine happily exclaimed the moment I walked in the door.

I was tired and Christine's words didn't immediately connect in my brain. It might also have been attributable to the fact that I'd taken a Quaffle to the head, courtesy of Branwen. (In all fairness, it had been an accident and she was very sorry.)

"What?" I stared at her stupidly. Then I noticed that Christine was holding something small and orange in her arms.

She held it up for my inspection. "Isn't he positively adorable?"

The kitten was adorable, I had to admit. He was mostly a striped orange, but he sported four white socks and his chest appeared to be white as well. He hadn't grown into his large ears yet, which gave him a slightly comical appearance.

"Are we allowed a cat?" I peered at him. The kitten's golden eyes stared back at me.

Christine smiled widely and lifted the kitten to her cheek, giving him a loving cuddle. "I already asked Ms. Owens and she said we could have him as long as we're sure to keep him upstairs so he doesn't give King Arthur a fright."

Yeah, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to allow the cat to scare the living daylights out of our landlady's pet bird. I'd grown to appreciate King Arthur's rain forecasting abilities. It was dead useful when I wanted to go out for a run.

"Have you picked out a name?" I asked, quite sure that she had. I reached out to let the kitten sniff my fingers and decide if it would accept being petted by me.

"What do you think of the name Oliver?"

"Ha ha," I intoned and resisted the very strong urge to stick my tongue out at her.

The kitten leaned into my hand and happily allowed its head to be scratched.

"Sorry," Christine grinned apologetically. "It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Although I do think he could carry off the name. But I've decided to call this little fellow Simon."

"Cute," I agreed, then remembered something. "Isn't Kieran allergic to cats?"

"Well, yes," she admitted. "But I've always wanted a cat and now's my chance. Besides, Kieran's not terribly allergic. His eyes and throat just become a bit itchy."

Oh, was that all? Just itchy eyes and throat. No problem at all, then.

"He can take a potion for allergies," she rationalized. "He'll be fine."

Christine pressed a soft kiss to the top of Simon's orange head. "I love him already."

Later that evening when Simon crawled into my lap and curled into a ball, I decided that I did too.

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"That shade of blue is lovely on you, Eva," Sorcha said the moment I walked into the room where she would be interviewing me.

"Oh," I replied, having expected a rather different greeting. "Thank you."

It had taken me a two minutes standing outside the door to mentally prepare myself for this interview. It had taken me another full minute to find the will to open the door.

"Would you mind sharing with readers where you bought it?" she asked, quill poised above a stack of new parchment.

I looked down at the robes that Christine and I had picked out specifically for interviews. "Er, do readers care? There won't be a photo, will there?"

Sorcha shook her head. "No, no photo. But of course readers care. This is Witch Weekly, after all."

Ah, silly me for forgetting.

"It's from Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley."

"Very relatable to the average reader," Sorcha nodded approvingly as she scribbled that information down on the parchment then reinked her quill.

"What's the official color?"

"Er…" I tried desperately to think of what the tag had said. Not that I had paid much attention, mind. The robes were a pretty blue color, they looked nice on me, and I liked them.

"We'll call it azure. It compliments your eyes."

Fine by me.

"Now, then," Sorcha tapped her wand to her quill, causing it to hover above the parchment. "Transcription spell, just like last time," she explained.

"In two weeks, the Harpies will have their first match of the season against the Tornadoes. How are you feeling about the upcoming game?"

I thought for a moment like Mum and Dad had suggested, then said, "I'm always a bit nervous before a match, but practice has been going well and I think the Harpies will be ready for the Tornadoes."

"Your brother, Tristan, plays for the Tornadoes. Does that make you more nervous for the match?"

And there it was, the question I knew was at the heart of this interview.

"No," I replied, only lying a wee bit. "I'm a new reserve. The chances of me actually playing against Tristan are incredibly small."

"But you're his sister. You know his strengths and weaknesses."

Not lately, I didn't.

"I haven't seen Tristan play in ages," I answered truthfully.

"Really?" Sorcha sounded shocked as her quill skittered across the parchment. I mentally kicked myself, worried that I had inadvertently opened a can of worms.

"I was at Hogwarts when he joined the Tornadoe's main team," I reminded her. "I haven't had the chance to see him play."

"Oh, right," Sorcha nodded in remembrance. "But your family - don't you all play Quidditch together? You're the Woods!"

"Yes," I allowed, dragging out the word. "But family matches are for fun. We don't play our best."

That was mostly true. We didn't play poorly during family matches by any means, but we didn't try our hardest. I wouldn't play with broken fingers during a family match, for example.

Sorcha looked as though she wanted to press me on this matter, but (wisely) decided to let the issue drop.

"Will James be cheering you on in the stands?"

The question made me pause. Of course James would be at the match to support me, but it wasn't as though there would be much to cheer me on about. Sitting on the sidelines wasn't terribly important, after all.

"I'm sure he'll be there to support me and the Harpies."

"That's right," Sorcha smiled. "James is a Harpies fan. I remember seeing him wear a green Harpies shirt at Hogwarts sometimes."

I found myself smiling too. That Harpies shirt was so soft and comfortable. I briefly wondered if James would notice if it went missing, but then decided that he definitely would.

"He's a lifelong Harpies fan," I confirmed. "Because of his mum."

"Any other thoughts on the upcoming match you'd like to share?"

"No," I answered entirely truthfully. "That's all."

"Thank you for your time, Eva," she smiled and tapped her quill with her wand to stop the transcription spell.

"You're welcome."

"I'll be cheering for the Harpies, of course," she told me with a conspiratorial wink. "But I couldn't have the quill recording that. Strictly off the record."

What? I would have bet several galleons that Sorcha loyally supported Puddlemere because of my dad.

"I thought you were a Puddlemere fan?"

"Oh, I am," Sorcha quickly reassured me as she placed the quill, ink, and parchment into a large handbag. "But that doesn't mean I can't cheer for other teams when Puddlemere isn't playing. I want to support you and your team, silly."

Sorcha wanted to support me? She was cheering for the Harpies?

I must have been staring at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a quaffle for a second head, because she said, "You and I go way back. I came to your second year tryouts, remember? The whole dormitory did."

I remembered that Christine had been there. She and I had walked down to the Hogwarts pitch together, but until now I had forgotten that the other girls from my dormitory had been there too. Well, now I felt like a horrible person.

"That's right," I said as the memory dawned on me. All of the girls had dressed in Gryffindor red and gold. Roxanne and Gemma had waved pennants.

Sorcha slung her handbag over her shoulder and waved as she exited the door. "Best of luck, Eva!"

"Thanks," I called after her.

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

"Look what I have," James announced happily as I stepped into his flat.

The last time someone had said something similar to me Christine had brought home a stray cat, so I eyed him with some apprehension.

"Banoffee pie!" he smirked as he held out the plate for my inspection. "For dessert."

"Revolting," I told him, kicking my trainers off by the front door. "I gave in and tried a bite of your banoffee pie at that restaurant and I still loathe it."

"You'll change your mind yet."

Ha, no chance of that ever.

"I also bought a bakewell tart as well so you could have dessert to," he added, somewhat reluctantly, as though this small concession was painful for him.

"Thank you," I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Careful, don't squash the pie!" James stepped back quickly.

The earnestness in his voice was endearing, but it made me laugh all the same. "What a terrible loss that would be."

"I'd be devastated," he protested sincerely. "I've been looking forward to banoffee pie all day."

"All day?"

"All day," he insisted. "Now c'mon."

With his free hand he grabbed one of my hands and pulled me towards the kitchen.

"What are we having, anyway?" I asked, thinking that I should have considered this sooner. As previous incidents demonstrated, James's cooking skills were something less than brilliant.

"Scrambled eggs and beans on toast," James told me proudly.

"The only thing you know how to make." I struggled not to laugh at him when he was clearly trying so hard.

"I have to start somewhere," he pointed out, setting down the banoffee pie with such tender care that it was almost comical.

"Am I supposed to stand here and supervise?" I asked curiously, glancing around at the ingredients and utensils that he had carefully laid out ahead of time.

"I don't need to be supervised," James replied, his voice a bit tense. He grabbed a carton of eggs and counted out five.

"All right."

He looked up the bowl he was cracking eggs into."What does that mean?"

"It means all right," I shrugged.

He scowled at me and returned to the eggs. "You said it with a tone."

"I did not!"

I hadn't meant to, anyway. But it was hardly my fault that I had a hard time keeping a neutral tone when I could clearly see a piece of eggshell floating among the yolks and whites.

James narrowed his eyes at me in a look reminiscent of former days spent together on the Quidditch pitch.

"Oh fine!" I threw up my hands. "There's eggshell in there."

He looked down at the bowl and frowned. "Why didn't you say something?"

"You didn't want to be supervised."

James paused, then admitted, "I reckon I need some supervision. But I want to mostly do it myself! I said I'd make you dinner. You shouldn't have to help."

A rush of affection swept through my chest and I felt as though I needed to kiss James right then as much as I needed air to breathe. My hands came up to his face, feeling the slightest of stubble under my fingertips and I pushed up on my toes until my lips met his. James dropped the egg he was holding - shell and all - into the bowl and wrapped his arms around me. The back of my shirt probably had raw egg all over it, but I couldn't find it in myself to care.

As our mouths moved together, I felt James's fingers suddenly playing across the skin of the small of my back. When he had moved the hemline of my shirt, I wasn't sure, but I also didn't mind. It was a strange sensation, slightly tickling and burning all at once.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against my lips as his hands slid higher.

"Yes," I breathed. "Can I...I mean…"

What I meant to ask was if James would mind if I also moved my hands under his shirt, but I couldn't seem to form the proper words.

But James seemed to know what I meant. He lifted one of his hands from my back and took my hand from where it was resting on the side of his neck. Slowly, he guided my hand to the hem of his shirt and then under. I gingerly moved my fingertips against the smooth skin of James's side, and he jerked slightly in response.

I pulled away slightly and looked him in the eye. "Are you ticklish?"

How had I not known this before?

"No. Maybe. A bit," James grimaced. "Doesn't matter."

We stared at each other for a breath and then I moved my hand over his ribcage, away from where he was ticklish.

"Your hands are cold," he said as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along my jaw.

"You'll just have to get used to it," I said as I ran my hands across the toned expanse of his abdomen. My mind drifted momentary back to the time at Hogwarts I'd walked in on James without his shirt and how distracted I'd been.

James's hands had certainly wandered before (as had mine) but never this far. His hands supported my ribcage while this thumbs stroked the underside of my bra and I wondered how far this was going to go.

No sooner had that thought flitted through my mind then suddenly James's hands were on my waist and he was lifting me onto the kitchen counter with surprising ease.

"James!" I gasped against his mouth at the unexpected movement.

Now that I was seated on the counter I was a similar height, so when James pulled back he was able to look me directly in the face.

"Too far?" he asked, worry evident in his brow.

I paused. "No, just surprised."

"You sure?" His brown eyes were locked on mine, urging honesty.

"I mean, this is...just snogging, right?" I asked, making sure we were on the same page. I mean, I assumed that James would be fine with going further, but I also knew that he respected my boundaries.

He quirked an eyebrow and I had the urge to punch him in the arm.

"Heavy snogging," I amended with a small smile. "This might be more than just snogging."

"This can be any kind of snogging you want it to be," James told me, the smirk still firmly in place, brown eyes gleaming.

My mind drifted again to the Quidditch locker rooms at Hogwarts and I wondered how to ask for what I wanted.

"Can I...er...that is, would you mind…" I felt my face growing red as James's smirk intensified.

"You can just say it, Eva," James prompted me, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face.

I took a deep breath and rallied my Gryffindor spirit. "Do you remember that day last fall when I came into the locker room and you had that scrape on your shoulder?"

James's smirk morphed into a full-blown grin and in one mostly-fluid motion he grasped the hem of his shirt in both hands and pulled it up and over his head. The action had caused his hair to stand on end (even more so than usual). He dropped the shirt onto the floor, his eyes never leaving mine.

I tried not to stare at James's upper body (too much), even though I had just asked him to take his shirt off, in not so many words. I had thought he was toned at Hogwarts, but that was nothing compared to how he looked now after weeks of training with a professional Quidditch team.

"You can look at me," he teased, once again causing my face to flush pink.

"I don't want to objectify you," I protested. "I mean, I appreciate that you're fit. I'm not blind. And I've wanted you to take your shirt off for a while now, but - what?"

James was clearly trying not to laugh at my little speech.

"Eva…" he said, the intense look in his eyes practically making me melt. "I know the kind of person you are. I know that what we have together is based on so much more than appearances. And... And I don't mind if you appreciate all of my training."

I hardly knew what to say, so instead I didn't say anything at all and stretched out my hands and slide them up his chest to the tops of his shoulders. My heart was bursting with all of the words and actions that had taken place since I arrived at his flat. This was the lad I was falling in love with. And maybe...

"James," I struggled to find the words to reply to him. "How did it take me so long to realize how wonderful you are?"

James leaned forward and right before he kissed me he whispered, "It's probably because I'm incorrigible."

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

"Put your hands together for your Holyhead Harpies! Morgan! MacSorley! Kington! Murray! Bakshi! Mahoney! Aaand Ayan!"

The reserves all clapped and cheered for our main team. Behind us in the stands, the Holyhead fans roared their approval. Throwing a quick glance over my shoulder, I scanned the crowd for my parents, Christine, and James. Dad, Mum, and Christine were clapping politely, but James was on his feet cheering madly. I knew it was mostly because the Harpies were his favorite team, but it still brought a smile to my face.

My very first professional Quidditch match and my heart was about to beat out of chest from the excitement of it all.

"And now for the Tutshill Tornados! Morrison! McDonnell! Orson! Larsen! Wood! And Anscombe!" the announcer's voice rang out. My heart clenched slightly as Tristan took his lap around the stadium with the rest of the Tornadoes. He'd always looked so at ease on a broom, but as I watched him I thought he might have been a bit tense.

The toast and fruit I'd eaten for breakfast sat uncomfortably in my stomach. I knew the odds of being put into the match were extraordinarily slim, but that almost made it worse. I would have to sit on the sidelines and watch while the other Chasers faced Tristan when I knew his strengths and weaknesses. To be helpless and watch others face him across the pitch… Or maybe it had been so long since we'd properly played together that I didn't know his playing style anymore. Neither thought was particularly comforting.

"The odds that we'll play are quite slim," Ellie said from her place beside me on the bench.

"I don't know if that's good or bad," I replied as the players assumed their starting positions.

"It can be both," she shrugged.

Over the past several weeks of playing and training together, she'd gained a sense of how I felt about Tristan. That was to say, how much he confused me.

Suddenly the Quaffle had been thrown into the air and all of our attention was on the match.

"Anscombe with the Quaffle, passes to Gardiner. Gardiner to Larsen, back to Gardiner, over to Anscombe. A nice Woollongong Shimmy there by Anscombe. He's nearing the scoring area - a reverse throw to Larsen and…LARSEN SCORES! The Tornadoes are the first to score in the match. Ten to zero in the first few minutes."

The Tornadoes crowd clapped and cheered wildly as Larsen did a victory loop-the-loop and waved to the crowd.

"Show off," Ellie muttered under her breath.

I was inclined to agree based on the interviews with Britt Larsen that I'd read in Quidditch Weekly. One goal five minutes into the match was hardly cause for celebration.

Gita Bakshi, one of the Harpies Beaters, sent a Bludger towards Larsen in retaliation. Larsen was forced to perform a barrel-roll to avoid the Bludger while the Harpies reserve bench cheered for Gita.

"The Harpies are in possession of the Quaffle for the first time in the match. Morgan with the Quaffle, Anscombe tries to intercept the throw to MacSorley but MacSorley manages to hang on!"

"Good one, Aoife!" yelled Branwen. "Protect the Quaffle!"

"Yeah," Teagan yelled, pumping her fist in the air. "You protect that Quaffle! You protect it!"

"MacSorley passes to Kington. The Tornadoes Chasers attempt a Parkin's Pincer, but are foiled by the Harpies Beaters. It's early on yet, but Bakshi and Murray really working hard today against the Tornadoes."

I watched Tristan as the Harpies Chasers moved across the pitch towards the Tornadoes' goal posts. He was hovering forward in the scoring area watching the Quaffle as it quickly moved from Chaser to Chaser.

"Kington passes to Morgan, Morgan back to Kington, Kington to MacSorley. MacSorley to Morgann aaaannd, Wood blocks to attempt."

Tristan had feinted to the left and caught Morgan's throw. He threw the Quaffle to Larsen, who gave him an air high-five as she sped by.

I let out a long breath of air. I hadn't realized that I'd been holding my breath as Angharad Morgan approached the scoring area. The first test against Tristan in this match was over but strangely, I didn't feel any less on edge than I had before.

"Tornadoes in possession. Larsen to Gardiner, Gardiner to Anscombe, Anscombe - and Morgan gets the Quaffle away and is speeding down the pitch towards the goal post!"

"Come on, Angharad!" Teagan cheered, getting to her feet. "Morgan, Morgan!"

It didn't surprise me in the least that of all the Harpies reserves, Teagan was the most vocal. Frankly, I would have been shocked if it was anyone else.

"Hart, sit down," complained Siobhan. "You're blocking my view."

"Then stand up and cheer!" Teagan grabbed Siobhan by the hands and dragged her to her feet.

"This happens at least once a match," Branwen informed me. "Teagan can get a bit excited."

Angharad executed an excellent Woollongong Shimmy just before her approach to the scoring area, then drew back her arm - and feinted.

"And Morgan scores! Ten-ten!" cried the announcer. "We're ten minutes into the match and the score is even."

The Harpies crowd exploded in cheers as Angharad quickly conferred with Aoife and Zoe.

"Larsen with the Quaffle, passes to Anscombe. The Tornadoes Chasers doing a Hawkshead Attacking Formation. Murray unable to stop them - Mahoney and Morrison are racing across the pitch! One of them has seen the Snitch!"

Those of us who weren't already standing jumped to our feet. Niamh Mahoney and Coretta Morrison were both laying low on their broomsticks, blurs of green and sky-blue against the pitch.

I glanced at the clock on the scoreboard. Would the match really be over this quickly?

"The Quaffles and Bludgers are still in play," reminded the announcer over the wild chanting of "Morrison!" and "Mahoney!" from the crowd.

"McDonnell and Orson are waging a battle of the Bludgers against Bakshi and Murray. Neither side can seem to get the advantage. Anscombe's throw is wild and the score remains ten-ten. The Seekers seem to be closing in…"

"COME ON, MAHONEY!" screamed Teagan, jumping up and down.

Across the pitch, a Seeker in sky-blue robes raised their fist triumphantly and the Tornadoes crowd erupted into deafening cheers and applause.

"Damn it," Siobhan said quietly, her expression tight. Teagan uncharacteristically said nothing.

"Morrison has really gotten better over the last two seasons," Isobel commented to no one in particular. "She'd be difficult to go up against."

I looked over at the scoreboard, flashing Tornadoes 160, Harpies 10. The match had lasted just twenty-nine minutes and forty-two seconds. All that worry and stress for just under an hour and a half.

The Tornadoes were celebrating on the pitch, while images of the match flashed on the scoreboard. The Harpies main team members silently made their way to the locker rooms, and Coach Rinaldi motioned for the reserves to follow.

"The reserves join the main team for post-game," Coach Rinaldi told Ellie and me as we filed into the main team locker room.

"Well," Coach Pendergast said once everyone was seated. "We have one match of the season under our belts. There were things that went well and things that could have gone better. Obviously the short time span changes a lot of the dynamics of the match, but on Monday we'll take a look at the areas where we can improve. Everyone get some rest tomorrow and we'll see you on Monday morning."

I knew from Dad that the coaches and trainers would spent the next day and a half before Monday's practice reviewing all of the details of the match and creating a training plan to address any areas where improvement was needed.

"Looks like it's time to wash the socks," Teagan said sadly as the reserves made our way to our own locker room.

"The socks?" I asked.

"Those minging socks," Siobhan grumbled. Annika, Branwen, and Isobel made similar noises of disgust.

"My lucky Quidditch match socks," Teagan explained, perking up. "I wear the same pair of socks to every match. If we lose, I wash them. If we win, I don't."

Ellie and I glanced at each other, there was a pause, then Ellie asked, "Why?"

"Because she has some revolting notion that if we win and she washes the socks, it washes the luck out," Annika explained.

"But if we lose, then they need re-washing to clean them out to accept new luck," Isobel finished.

I had the distinct impression that the other reserves were all too familiar with Teagan's Quidditch match socks.

"It works, I tell you!" Teagan insisted, pulling off her kit and stowing it in her locker. She carefully peeled off her socks and placed them in a small box within her locker. They were very ordinary looking socks, just the standard Holyhead Harpies colored socks we were issued.

"This box is enchanted against sock thieves," Teagan explained at my curious look. "They've tried to steal them before."

"Last year," Branwen said as she pulled on her trainers, "we won six matches in a row. The third match was in practically torrential rain and the socks were dripping water but she wouldn't dry them because that might affect the luck. So the socks smelled musty and rank for the next two matches until we lost the seventh match and she finally washed them."

"It wasn't as bad as all that," Teagan protested weakly.

"Why can't you use a spell to help the odor?" I asked, somewhat confused by the rules governing the socks.

"Because it might affect the luck," chorused Isobel, Annika, Branwen, and Siobhan.

Teagan just grinned. "They're right. It might."

"I'm glad my locker is on the far end away from yours," I jokingly told her. "These socks sound...interesting."

"You have no idea," Branwen said darkly. Branwen shared a locker wall with Teagan, so I could understand her deep disgust towards the socks. "She doesn't wash them at the end of the season if we win the last match. She waits until the next match we lose the next season."

"Those minging socks," Siobhan repeated as she strode to the door. "I'm off, Diarmaid's probably waiting for me."

"Me too," Annika said as she followed her. "Felix has to announce a match tomorrow in Stuttgart, so we're leaving first thing in the morning."

The discussion of the Quidditch match socks had taken my mind off of the loss, but now everything came back. It was an odd feeling, being a part of a team that had lost but not having played in the match. I was disappointed, of course, but not upset in the way I had been when Gryffindor lost. There wasn't anything I could have done to affect the outcome.

And then there was the fact that my team had lost to Tristan's. But again, I hadn't been on the pitch trying to score against my brother.

"Want to go to the Leaky Cauldron and have a drink?" Ellie offered as we walked out together. "Éamon and James can come too."

"No thanks," I shook my head. "I think I want to go for a run."

A long run might be just what I needed to sort out my mind.

"Maybe next time," Ellie said, unbothered.

I pushed open the outside door to the stadium and was greeted by the sight of James waiting for me. Éamon was standing next to him, waiting for Ellie.

"Eva," James said as I made my way over to him. "How are you?"

"Hello, love," Éamon told Ellie, enveloping her in a hug. "Better luck next time."

"I'm fine," I told James truthfully. "It was really odd not to be out on the pitch during the match. And I'm sorry that we lost to Tristan."

"Your parents went to congratulate him. They didn't think you'd mind."

"No," I shook my head. "He actually played in the match and his team won. They should be with Tristan."

There really wasn't any need for them to come and see me after a match I hadn't even participated in. They had already sat with James among the Harpies supporters during the match and I knew they were proud of me just for being a part of the team.

"Do you want to go for a run?" James asked as we walked towards the Apparition point together hand-in-hand.

I smiled at how well James knew me. "I would love to go for a run."

Later that evening after a long, satisfying run with James (which I won), I sat down to write a letter.

Dear Tristan,

Congratulations, you played really well today.

Love, Eva

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

The urgent knocking at the front door startled me, making me nearly drop the copy of Quidditch Weekly that I was reading. Simon bolted from his place in Christine's lap and disappeared down the hallway, probably to hide under her bed.

"Eva, it's Tristan," came my brother's voice followed by more insistent knocking. "I need your help."

My help? Since when had Tristan ever needed my help? I exchanged confused looks with Christine. She shrugged, but motioned me towards the door.

A moment later when I opened the door, Tristan pushed in without bothering to wait to be invited.

"What's wrong?" I asked, beginning to worry. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, and his eyes flickered around the room in obvious agitation.

"I'll go check on Simon," Christine excused herself from the room. Tristan seemed a bit calmer once we were alone in the room.

"I need your help," he repeated. "With a potion. It's...sensitive. I didn't know who else to ask."

"What kind of potion?"

"Neither Elena or I can be seen buying it. Or the ingredients, they're a dead giveaway. It would be all over the tabloids."

"What kind of potion?" I repeated slowly, fairly certain that I knew the answer but hoping against hope that I was wrong.

He paused for several long seconds, then admitted in a low voice, "A pregnancy test."

Oh, holy hippogriffs.

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

Thank you for all of the lovely reviews, favorites, and story alerts! I appreciate everyone who reads my story and everyone who has let me know how much they enjoy it! And a special thanks to my beta, blue and gold, for the helpful suggestions and fabulous beta abilities.

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Next chapter: An important potion is brewed, there is news from Hogwarts, and someone has an announcement.

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