Gryffindor's second game of the new year did not go nearly as well as the first. Lily could be found in the stands with her peers, the freezing late-February air stinging her face as she bit her nails watching a particularly rough game against Slytherin. Gryffindor Keeper Marc Hughes was not at his best that day, and though James, Libby, and Frank managed to score five goals between them within the first half hour, the Slytherin Chasers matched them in no time.
"Come on," Sirius groaned two rows ahead of Lily.
Madam Hooch called for several time-outs due to foul play and had to reprimand the players more than once for unnecessary force. James and Avery in particular were guilty of this, as both Chasers made a point to shove, bump, and attempt to dismount one another every time they were in close quarters.
"He's going to get us a foul, that's what he's going to get us," complained Jasper in agitation when James passed the Quaffle to Frank and made a point to let his fist collide with Avery on the toss.
"Did you see Avery just grab his broom though?" Lily said. "He made Potter miss Libby's pass."
"Yeah well it's to be expected of them isn't it?" said Jasper, gesturing toward the Slytherins. "Potter should know better than to play into it, he's going to foul us.
"Yeah, well, Avery started it," Lily muttered moodily.
Jasper looked quickly in Lily's direction. They stared into each other's eyes for a second before Jasper smiled sweetly and flung his arm around her shoulders. "You're right," he conceded, his golden-brown eyes twinkling. He made to say something else when Peter's voice drowned him out, crying, "Let's go, James!" just as he had every time James had come into possession of the Quaffle. James scored, and just as the Slytherin Keeper, Dennis Fiore, hurled the Quaffle back into the pitch in the direction of one of his Chasers, James intercepted it and scored again.
"And a perfect Double Dip from Potter!" wailed Georgia as the Gryffindors cheered wildly. Lily shrieked as she jumped up and down, high-fiving Jasper, Maggie, and Alice in turn.
"Keep those eyes peeled, Philomena!" James bellowed to his Seeker as she swerved past him.
It was only another minute before she spotted it; though Lily could not see the Snitch from where she was sitting, she saw Philomena begin looping wildly around the Pitch, diving around her teammates erratically as a bumblebee. It looked like sweet victory loomed ahead for a moment, with the Slytherin Seeker far across the Pitch and, clearly, still oblivious.
Avery, however, was not oblivious. His Seeker could not hear his wild cries that the Snitch had been spotted and Philomena Simon was trailing it, so he turned to desperate measures. As Philomena flew past him he stretched out his arm, catching her around the throat and pulling her clear off her broom.
Perhaps afraid to let her fall, Avery held onto her, his arm hooked around her neck as her legs thrashed violently and she clutched at his arm, obviously struggling for air. In a flash, James shot at Avery, stopped short directly in front of him and punched him in the gut, pulling Philomena safely onto his broom. Though she held James's waist with one arm, she aimed a punch at Avery. Madam Hooch blew her whistle.
"An appalling show of sportsmanship, or lack thereof!" her voice rumbled. "Foul!"
It became quieter in the stands as everyone watched James catch the Quaffle and ready himself to take his foul shot. Lily leaned over the stands, and before she could help herself she blurted into the relative silence, "Come on, Potter, put 'em to shame!"
She was shocked at the way her voice carried in the absence of the usual cheering and booing. Her friends gawked at her, and James turned all around in the air to find her face, as if not believing that Lily was actually cheering him on. When he found her he grinned widely, winked, and gave her the thumbs-up. A second later he put all his strength behind a swift throw, and as the Quaffle soared dead-center through the goalposts, the Gryffindors were beside themselves.
Frank and Libby scored a goal each soon after, and the Gryffindor team seemed to be in such high spirits over being so far ahead in points despite Avery's foul play that they continued to score, and score, and score.
Libby lobbed the Quaffle so hard at one point it flew almost too-far to the left, but when she made the goal everyone was sure she would miss, James was so elated he practically tackled her in the air and kissed her forcefully on the head.
Two hours into the game, Gryffindor had scored so many goals that only one more would end the game in a tie even if the Slytherins won the Snitch. Marc Hughes seemed to have snapped out of his torpor and the Slytherin Chasers struggled angrily to get anything past him, and the angrier they became the more their accuracy suffered.
"And Gryffindor in possession, the Quaffle tight in Longbottom's grasp as he makes his way toward a nervous-looking Fiore. And over to Potter as the Quaffle is very nearly intercepted from Longbottom, and—ooohhhh —a nasty play by Avery! The idea is to take it from the opposition, not try to ram it down their throats! And it's anyone's Quaffle now, and—oh, caught by Libby Eaton, and she's absolutely tearing down the Pitch. Will it be another goal for Gryffindor?"
Slytherin Keeper Fiore saw Libby coming a mile away, weaving deftly around the other players with the Quaffle nestled securely under her arm.
"Yes!" called James, he and Frank Longbottom flanking her protectively as Slytherin Chaser Harrow and Beater Morgan swerved menacingly around her. "Yes, yes, yes!"
It all happened very quickly. Though the Bludgers were nowhere near, Morgan aimed an almighty swing at James's arm and a sharp crack echoed around the Quidditch Pitch. Angry calls and booing erupted around the stands as James fell from his broom; Remus had to restrain Sirius from diving angrily over the stands and onto the pitch; Frank took a nose dive to catch James; and an oblivious Libby, her eye on the goals behind Fiore, was left vulnerable. Morgan rammed Libby from behind so that she lost control, her broom fishtailing wildly, and Fiore swerved out of her path so that she collided, face first, into a goal post.
The collective groan from the stands was colossal. Alice and Maggie covered their faces. Lily shrieked and Jasper stood, both hands on his head as he watched in horror.
The loud ping of the stricken goal post, or the way Libby slid limply, clearly unconscious, off her broom was nothing to the sight of all the blood spattered on the goal post, dribbling as she fell, or the way her face no longer looked anything like Libby Eaton. Gryffindor Beater Jack Belby rushed to catch her, as James shouted furiously from the ground.
There was uproar from the stands, particularly from the Gryffindor crowd, most of whom were on their feet and shouting angrily. But at that same moment there was wild cheering from the Slytherins. They had just realized that not a second before this unsettling chain of events, the Slytherin Seeker's hand had closed around the Snitch.
It was over, and Libby had failed to score the goal that would have tied the game. As the Slytherins celebrated, Jack laid Libby gingerly on the ground. James dashed toward her across the Pitch, supporting his broken arm with his good one, and shoved Jack a bit more roughly than he probably intended out of the way. He quickly procured a splint for his arm with his wand and lifted Libby from the ground.
Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore rushed toward James, who was already sprinting toward then with the unrecognizable, unconscious, badly bleeding Libby cradled in his arms.
Lily leaned worriedly over the stands, but she could hear nothing over the angry cries from her classmates. The teachers, James, and Libby headed to the hospital wing as Madam Hooch followed Professor Slughorn onto the Pitch. Slughorn was shouting at Morgan and Harrow, but their victory was clear. The Snitch had been caught fair and square, and in the end the two boys received only a detention.
Lily spent the remainder of the evening in the library. She didn't feel much like company, and she had to shake Jasper off in the Entrance Hall by telling him she had an essay to make up for Monday. Jasper had begun to "bump into" Lily more and more these days, apparently pleased with the evening he spent with her at Slughorn's party and hoping for more.
Like the rest of the Gryffindors, Lily was upset about the Slytherins' winning despite their foul play. But there was something more, something she was ashamed of…
Libby was her friend, and she was horrified and upset to see her so badly injured. So why should she be so troubled by James's tenderness toward her when he saw her hurt, the way he cradled her in his arms?
When Lily returned to the Common Room that evening, most people had moped off to bed. Only Gwenog and James remained in a chair in front of the fire, and Gwenog seemed to be comforting a frustrated James while he cleaned his broomstick. The loss that day had been a big one, and Libby's injury was salt in the wound.
Lily greeted them with apprehension.
James glanced at her. "Don't look so put-out, Evans. It'll be sweet victory in the end. Gwenog and I have worked it out. As long as we cream Hufflepuff next match by at least a million or so, we're back in the running."
Gwenog sighed and rose to her feet. "Well, I'm off. Good game today, Potter, all things considered. Excellent flying." She attempted to smile and high-fived her teammate.
"Brilliant beating, Gwen," said James. "Though I reckon it's time I showed you the best way to sink a Bludger right down the opposition's throat. Nothing like a long-distance tracheal goal."
"Righto. Goodnight Captain Mad. 'Night Lily."
Lily bade Gwenog goodnight, and for a moment watched James clip the end of his broom.
"Shame about today. You must be so upset, I can't imagine…" Lily said.
"Not too bad," said James casually, flicking a bit of straw off his trimmers. "What gives you that impression? Losing to a pack of slimy, cheating, Slytherins? The permanent image of Avery's stupid gloating face in my head?"
Lily laughed gently. "Well, also, you're tending to your broom."
"So?" said James, clearly lost in replaying parts of the game in his head.
"Well, you don't do it when you've won, or when you've suffered a decent loss. You only do it when you're really miffed about the game."
This got James's attention. He looked up at Lily, curiosity and mirth in his narrowed eyes. "Stalking me, Evans?"
"Just…observant." When did she start feeling so self-conscious around him?
James's gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then he nodded, stroking his broom absently. "Really rubbish game though. Should have heard McGonagall in the hospital wing when she found out those idiots only got a detention each. Was shrieking about how they ought to be taken off the team. Bloody Slughorn," he grumbled. "Not to mention my girlfriend's facial reconstruction." He smoothed some broomstick treatment over the handle, looking forlorn.
"I'm really sorry about Libby," said Lily awkwardly.
James looked up from his broom at Lily, the gold in his hazel eyes standing out sharply in the dying firelight of the Gryffindor Common Room, and he smiled crookedly, laughing in one short breath. "Ah, Lily," James teased, resuming his work on his Cleansweep, "I was bound to give up on you one day, and she's a lovely girl, really. This is no time to be having second thoughts. Although, I could make an exception if you're willing to keep it quie—OW!"
Lily had struck James on the arm but was, James was pleased to see, fighting laughter. "I meant her Quidditch injury, you buffoon. I don't care who your flavor of the week is!"
"Flavor of the week?" said James, sounding scandalized. "Crikey O'Reilly, Lily, you must fancy me after all. But if you're going to big me up this way, next time take care to do it in a more public place—you know, give the ladies the right impression."
James was treated to another thump on the arm. Lily laughed, but quickly staggered back as James rose abruptly to his feet, inches away from her.
"What you playin' at, Evans?" he asked in a threateningly low voice, advancing toward Lily. "Throwing punches, are we?"
Lily backed away. "I was, er, trying to help you," Lily lied quickly, stepping behind an armchair.
"Trying to help me, eh?" James played along, removing the armchair from between them with a casual wave of his wand. "With what, I wonder…"
"I thought I saw a bowtruckle on your shirt, and...you know, they have got very sharp claws…" Lily struggled to swallow her laughter now, and James' responding grin was enormous as she backed away.
"A bowtruckle did you say? In the Gryffindor common room of all places?"
Lily fished for her wand in her robes.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, my dear Evans. You're feisty but I reckon I'm a shade more skilled in combat. You haven't gotten into enough trouble the past five or so years, see." James was getting very near now, his wand pointing at her. He dropped his gaze for a fraction of a second to avoid a cushion on the floor, and Lily seized her chance; with a flick of her wand, she sent James flying toward the ceiling, bursting into laughter as he hung upside down from his ankle, his glasses barely hanging on to one ear.
Lily was in stitches as she surveyed him, his fallen wand out of reach, his shirt, heaped under his neck, exposing part of his chest and the whole of his abdomen (Lily was happy her face was already flushed from laughing).
"Oi!" James called, but the syllable was broken by a chuckle. "Alright, alright, point proven! Now let me down, you mad witch."
Lily stopped laughing enough to say, "First tell me I win."
"You win," James laughed, attempting to cover his torso.
She moved closer to his quickly reddening face, and added, "And that I am better in combat."
This time, James' husky, mellow laughter made her stomach do back flips. She smiled widely, waiting. "Potter? Have you got something to say to me?"
"You are better in combat, but it's got nothing to do with skill. I would also like to add that you are mad as a March hare."
Lily smiled. "One more thing," she said, moving close to James's upturned face. It was suddenly very quiet, and as she approached, James's throat undulated in an audible gulp.
"What's that?" he asked, voice husky.
"You've got broomstick treatment on your nose." And she sent him crashing to the floor.
Lily laughed as James lay there for a moment, dazed. "You're trouble, Evans," he said, straightening his glasses and righting himself again. "You'll be the death of me, I think."
"It would serve you right!," said Lily, and they both began making their way toward their separate dormitories, both of them chuckling.
"Right. Goodnight, ya lunatic."
"Sleep easy, Potter."
"With you right across the way?" said James darkly, "I'll try."
They had both reached the first steps of their respective stairways when Lily stopped in her tracks. "James?"
James stopped, not failing to notice that she had addressed him by his given name rather than his surname. Flush crept into his face again. He stooped on the spiral staircase, leaning against the archway. "Hm?"
"What did you mean—er—well, when you said I am better in combat, but that it hasn't got anything to do with skill…what do you mean by that?"
James's expression was unreadable as he looked at her for several seconds. Then, with a heavy sigh, he said, "It means…I dunno. Don't worry, it's not a bad thing. Just difficult to explain."
"Have a go."
James chuckled. "Well, to make a long story short…to simplify things very, very much…I meant…"
Lily raised her eyebrows. James sighed, and after a pause, he said, "I think you're lovely...and it's distracting."
Lily, who had been expecting some slight against her magical ability, some joke about wizards being more skilled than witches, was a bit embarrassed. James hadn't tested her interest in him for so long—for him, anyway—that the simple, bald-faced compliment took her off guard. What was more, James usually bestowed compliment after endless compliment upon her very easily, a shower of flattery that he pushed upon her with straightforwardness and often arrogance. This time, however, the first time in nearly 8 whole months, he delivered his compliment rather bashfully. Something about the arrogant, exceedingly confident James Potter being timid was irresistibly charming. "Oh," she managed to finally say. "Er—well, thanks, Potter."
"Yep!" he chirped, and leapt up the stairs to the boys' dormitory and out of sight.