It seemed there was not a single player on the Gryffindor Quidditch team that wasn't complaining. James ran a hand through his hair, trying not to hear the chorus of:
"It's dark out."
"I have a lot of work."
"It's the fifth practice this week, and it's only Thursday!"
James turned to the disgruntled team. "We have a match on Saturday, and I intend on winning! Or are we giving up to Ravenclaw yet?"
"Are we winning in terms of exhaustion?" Sirius muttered, and James pretended not to hear.
Artificial lights had been cast by Madam Jenkins, the Quidditch instructor, who surveyed the field unhappily. She seemed to share the opinion of the rest of the team, but when the Head of the Gryffindor House had personally asked to have the pitch reserved, there were no arguments.
Possibly, James' best bit of strategy so far had been to choose Michael McGonagall as his Keeper, because now his aunt was doing everything in her power to make excuses for the team. She'd even accepted to let James hand in his essay on the risks of human Transfiguration late, on account of the upcoming first match of the season. She'd even softened and wished him good luck before commenting on how difficult it must be to have that sort of responsibility.
The two newcomers were significantly quieter than the other Gryffindors on the pitch. Michael, third-year, was shy for now, but there was something in his bright eyes and slightly prominent front teeth that made it look like he was going to be the one cracking jokes as soon as he got comfortable. Did he look like Professor McGonagall? James wondered. It was hard to tell. What would she have looked like if she were a thirteen-year-old boy?
James dispelled the thought with a shiver, and turned to the other addition to the team, a fourth-year girl who would be their third Chaser. Elaine Finnigan seemed surly, quiet, and unyielding, her face hidden behind a long sheet of wavy, brown-black hair. James wondered how she would do in a match, paired with reasonable, reliable Fabian Prewett, fifth-year, and he himself, James Potter, Team Captain and the generally impetuous, risk-taking third Chaser who, in trying to confuse the opposing team, would also leave his own teammates confused as to what the hell he was doing. That was why James required absolute trust in the field, because, as the older team members had learned, most of the time James' crazy feints and last-minute ideas turned out to work in their favor.
They were finally standing square in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. "Divide into two teams!"
He watched as Sirius and Dorcas immediately went to one side. The two had a strange sort of friendship which revolved around Sirius cracking off-color jokes in an attempt to shock or surprise Dorcas, who had only so far responded with rolls of the eyes or a complete lack of reaction. Dorcas, in turn, was always loyal to their little duo and covered for Sirius when he missed practice, the frequency of which had already thoroughly annoyed the whole of the team.
Fabian followed the two seventh-years, and that left their Seeker, Benjy, with the two newcomers. This was what James had wanted: pitting the newer ones against the older ones so they could learn their tricks, their style, which would make their team a unit that worked together.
James mounted his broom and kicked up into the air. He would show them an idea that he'd gotten overnight: do the exact opposite of what the other team expects, take advantage of the surprise, and score.
One by one, the other players rose into the air, and James blew his whistle, taking his place on the older players' side. Fabian had got possession of the Quaffle and tried to score, a weak throw compared to the fierceness and intensity that he used in a match. His real throw was one that had broken many noses, and James suspected that Fabian was wisely trying to avoid this in practice.
McGonagall caught it easily, and James nodded to himself as Finnigan took the Quaffle and weaved in between the other players. She seemed good, put hadn't yet proven herself under true pressure. Fabian took the Quaffle from her soon after, and James motioned to him.
Out of habit, Fabian tossed him the Quaffle without question, wondering what James was up to now. Feeling the familiar weight of the object in his hands, he flew at a reasonable pace towards the hoops. McGonagall circled the hoops restlessly while Finnigan was at full attention. Just before Elaine Finnigan had reached him, he suddenly turned, racing towards his own side at full speed.
Nonplussed, the other team watched, drawing a little further away from their own goal. When James was about to smack into Fabian, he turned again, looping under Benjy, Finnigan, and McGonagall all at once, and scored easily.
He tapped his head. "Strategy!" he shouted.
Elaine Finnigan shook her head, mouth open.
! #$%^&*
Lily was falling asleep again. The third time she closed her eyes and woke up with a start, almost smacking herself in the face with the spellbook she was trying to read, she decided she needed to brew herself a Wakefulness Potion.
Checking her Muggle watch, she saw it hadn't yet been an hour since the end of classes: Professor Slughorn was still bound to be in the Dungeons. He usually gave an hour to an hour and a half after classes to the students who needed extra time on an assignment, extra help, or his select favorites, who were given full license to brew and experiment under his praising eye.
Stretching herself out, and hearing many distinct cracks in her back, she headed towards the enchanted door. She should probably change the password, she thought, but put it off until later. The days that James had Quidditch, which was becoming almost every day as James' match drew closer (of which he reminded the entire House daily), Lily had afternoons to herself before she would do rounds later in the afternoon.
She'd given up entirely on ignoring James, because it was such hard work. It seems very easy to not do something, and in theory, it should have been less work for her to not talk to him, but she constantly caught herself starting to say something, before remembering she was cross at him. James' satisfied smirks every time she forgot to be angry were unbearable, so she'd done things on her terms and told him she forgave him, before letting out all the things she'd stopped herself from saying: did James believe in Medieval magical rumors, did he have any birthmarks, why was it so cold all of a sudden, what did write for his Transfiguration essay, what was going on with Snape…
Lily's musings had brought her to the dungeons, and she pushed the door open, expecting it to be abuzz with frustrated first-years and a few furtive students attempting to make love potions. Instead, it was dark and quiet, and Lily first thought it was empty, setting her bag down on one of the rough wooden tables.
But it wasn't empty, and Lily felt the prickling in her neck before she heard the noise of the people that were there, before she smelled it, thick, foresty, and somewhat putrid… She gasped, recognizing James' description perfectly, before turning to see a few robed figures running out, with a distinctive flash of green. She couldn't have been sure, but she thought she'd seen Lucius Malfoy's blond hair, or Rookwood's pasty face.
She ran to the other end of the dungeon and saw a cauldron set up, still warm. No ingredients were left out for her to piece together what they'd been making, and the cauldron was empty, but the smell still lingered. Did they Vanish the Potion? Or… did they take it with them?
There was no need for a Wakefulness Potion now. Lily was fully alert, and her first idea was to run to the teachers and tell them what she'd seen. But then she remembered what had happened when James had accused Snape… No one had believed him. And Lily had no more proof than a smell and a very distinct feeling.
James.
She had to run tell him, so they could put into action whatever plan he had in place to catch Snape.
Lily found herself tearing through corridors, her bag slapping her thigh, until she'd left the castle and was running down to the Quidditch pitch. It was brightly lit against the heavy darkness outside, and Lily squinted underneath the extra-bright spells cast over the pitch.
Seven small figures were zooming overhead, and no one heard when she shouted. She shot up red sparks, before finally resorting to magically amplifying her voice.
"I NEED A WORD WITH THE HEAD BOY," she shouted, her voice echoing everywhere and causing more than a few of the players to clap their hands over their ears.
The action up in the air was grinding to a halt, and a single figure flew down, landing next to her. James dismounted, shooting Lily a questioning look while the rest of the team landed lightly.
"Evans Alert: Code Red," Sirius muttered. "Next time anyone wants to skive off practice, just call her."
"Yeah?" James asked, panting and out of breath from… whatever thing they'd been doing in the air. Lily didn't really know and wasn't about to delve into the complicated world of intense Quidditch.
"Let's go to the locker room," Lily said significantly. James followed, looking blankly confused.
"Yeah, and have fun snogging!" Sirius shouted after them.
Dorcas pushed him slightly, a disapproving look on her face, and Michael McGonagall looked vaguely scared.
"Well, more free time," Fabian shrugged. "Good work, team."
Sirius squinted at the two. Something was definitely happening, and he had half a mind to go spy on them. He decided against it in the end. James would tell him later, and if not… Sirius would force the truth out of him. A singularly evil smile took over his features as the team dispersed.
Back in the locker rooms, Lily told James what she'd seen breathlessly.
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure! Smelled like a rotting pine forest, yeah?"
"Sort of, yeah."
"They're going to poison someone else!" Lily said. "We've got to… do something. Whatever you're planning late at night, do it now!"
"Lily… What can we do? We don't know who they're targeting, we don't fully know how the potion works, and the teachers don't believe us."
Lily knew this, but she'd hoped that James would find a solution, fix this somehow. She felt a wave of something terrible wash over her.
"I don't want to die," she whispered.
"You're not going to die," James said, pulling Lily into a hug.
It was symbolic, of course. He had no way of guaranteeing that, and for a moment, they both thought of all the places that potion could be planted, waiting for that single deadly contact. In the dormitory, in the bedsheets, in the faucets, in the shower water, in their pumpkin juice…
True, it was selfish, and she wasn't the only one at risk, but Lily had never so much wished in her life that she weren't Muggle-born.