It all starts with one hand.

Not many people possess the endurance to keep playing a game while on a firm losing streak. Too many people have the sense not to. Whichever way you look at it, an unlucky table is often left empty.

James did not like to leave tables. He usually didn't have to; he was undeniably lucky. He insisted that he did not have losing streaks- that his winning streak was just a little late in coming. Which was true; if you played any game long enough, you were bound to win.

Remus was a little different. He mostly gambled with his mind. He could count cards (he'd once taught James and Sirius how to, but they'd always neglected strategy for risk), was able to read the average person with astonishing accuracy, and didn't have the money to bet big anyway. Remus recognized when he hit a losing streak, and Galleons had more meaning to him than the other Marauders. They called him chicken, but really he just had more sense than the other three.

But whether it is a James, a Remus, or someone in between, it really only takes one hand. A substantial win was enough to make James go all in; it was enough to keep Remus smiling and in the game. No matter the outcome after that, the same argument goes through everyone's head. This marks a change in the tide! If I win one, I'll win another.

And in this way, in card games or real life, we start dragging more chips onto the table. We begin to take a risk, one our rational self would never take. The success seeps through our consciousness and makes us believe that that one hand is a symbol of future victories. But it's not. It's a ruse to persuade us to put one more chip on the table. And for some reason, when we lose, and the dealer pulls back our bet to his side, it's that one chip that haunts us, though it is among so many. It was that one risk we took. It's the one we lost.

"I know Amos was being an arsehole."

It was probably the last sentence James had expected Lily to say during the hour and half of rounds. Actually, he hadn't expected her to say anything. It was the first Wednesday of the year, and the few days of class before hadn't resulted in a single word being exchanged between the two Heads. In all honesty, James had been completely lost. While Remus had tried to explain his responsibilities to him, James had no idea what exactly he was supposed to do. It sounded like an empty title to him. He'd taken thirty-seven points from Slytherin so far, twenty of those from Snivellus for being a git, but this was apparently not enough to coax a reaction from the Head Girl. That or she hadn't heard about it. The Marauders had agreed it was in all likelihood the latter, but Sirius kept goading James to take more points away. He usually gave in, though with a slight twinge of guilt in his gut.

Lily had put him in a very difficult position by insisting he be Head Boy. He'd declared openly that he wasn't going to become the cookie-cutter good boy, and James couldn't even entertain the idea of becoming a model student overnight without raising an eyebrow. On the other hand, he had been willing to give up the chance to abuse his position so Lily would have an opportunity to be a respectable Head. He couldn't just turn around and ruin exactly that now without being a hypocrite. So far, James had settled for bullying a few points from any Slytherins that antagonized him, but otherwise he completely ignored the silver badge on his robe and the responsibilities that came with it.

In fact, the only thing he had done was show up for rounds, which he wouldn't have, had Remus not pointed to the patrol schedule posted on the notice board in the Common Room half an hour ago. He'd met Lily five minutes past eleven in front of the Fat Lady, but she had held onto her silence instead of remarking on his lateness. For the past twenty-five minutes, the pair of them had randomly opened and closed various doors on the seventh floor in silence. Twice James had come across a snogging couple, but had opted for ignoring them instead of punishment. Lily, in contrast, had sent three people back to bed, one with a detention, another with the knowledge that his midnight escapade had cost his house ten precious points. James had suddenly been overwhelmed with gratitude that the Marauders had finished the Map last year.

"What?" he asked stupidly, his hand still on a large brass doorknob. His brain was having difficulty processing that she had said anything at all, let alone against Diggory.

"Not that you weren't being a prick," she continued, as if he hadn't said anything. "Just that Amos was as well."

"Right," James said, as if he was following the conversation. "I'm glad you told me that."

Lily blinked. "I just thought you should know. It's not that I favor him over you, it's just that..."

"Actually, that's exactly what you do." It was as if someone else with his voice and his mouth and his tongue had said it, someone who clearly had no idea about the consequences of words. It sounded bitter and jaded, tainting the air around them with a stiffness that caused James to tense as if for a duel, and Lily's posture to straighten.

"I didn't mean it like that," Lily said, her voice caught between apology and admonishment. "I meant in terms of the argument."

"If you say so," James replied, but, despite the expression, his tone was anything but indifferent. Lily would've had to be deaf not to pick up on it. The two of them stopped in the middle of the hallway, mentally circling each other for the inevitable argument.

"Is there a reason that you think I'm your property?" she asked suddenly, although it was a lot more like an accusation than a question. James didn't think she expected an answer, but he felt compelled to respond; he opened his mouth in protest, but she continued as if she didn't notice. "Because you seem to think that just because you asked me out a million times means you have some sort of claim to me. And this is just past the summer. We haven't even seen each other since June, and you just take it for granted that you're going to 'fancy' me again. How do you know, James? I could be somebody totally different, and you just act like..." She did not finish her sentence, gesturing madly with one of her hands instead. "You have no right."

James' eyes lit up, his words flowing out of his mouth without any thought, only the sudden indignation that was strangling all reason. "I have no right? I have no right to fancy you, to care? I-"

"That's not what I meant at all!"

"Maybe you should start stating explicitly what you mean then! 'Cause from where I stand, you're telling me that I'm in the wrong because I have feelings for you and I'm acting on them!"

"Except, one, you actually don't-"

"Are you honestly telling me what I do and don't feel?"

"We've been over this, James, and I don't want to do it again."

"No, we've never really discussed this," he countered, shaking his head decisively. "We've touched on it, but I still have no idea why you don't believe it. Yeah, okay, I was lying when I told you I'd marry you in fourth year, and I was taking the mickey out of you when I declared my undying love, but I'm just saying I want to get to know you and take you on a date. What is so unbelievable about that?"

She took a step backward, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. "The fact that it's you," she said with conviction. Her gaze never wavered. "You go through girls almost as fast as Black. I've never seen you more interested in a girl than with a broomstick. And I'm not your type."

"My type?" James said skeptically, stepping forward and spreading his arms as if to present a target. "I have a type?"

"Of course you have a type," she spat. "The kind of girl that spreads her legs after the first date, the kind of girl that laughs when you torture students, the kind of girl that thinks you're a god-"

"So only the observant ones?" James interrupted with a smirk.

Lily's jaw dropped; she practically ran at him, her rage propelling her until she was almost face to face with him. "You're ridiculous! We're having a row, and you still have to insert some pompous, moronic self-serving jibe in there! And you wonder why I say no!"

"Merlin, learn how to take a joke."

"Have you ever considered that maybe your brand of humor doesn't apply to everyone, James? That's the other thing! We have nothing in common, yet you still insist at the beginning of every year that you fancy me. I'm just supposed to believe that you're inexplicably drawn to me, at the start of the year, when you have no idea how I've changed, what kind of person I am after the entire summer, so I can only assume that you're just in it for a challenge or because you're physically attracted to me, so in either case you'll lose all interest as soon as the date's over, and-"

"Or maybe," James said relatively quiet, considering their voices had previously been reverberating throughout the entire seventh floor, "I know that you're not the kind of person that changes very easily, and I want to know more about those things that did change you. Maybe I'm just cursed, Lily, I don't know. I just can know, I can feel-"

"Oh, just shut up!" Lily yelled, the sound stinging his ears. "I don't buy this bullshit, no matter how nice it sounds. I'm not that kind of girl, Potter, and that's something you should know by now." She turned, stalking down the corridor. "You can go back up to the Common Room. I'll finish rounds."

"Oh, no," James objected, lurching forward and grabbing her wrist. "I'm not going to let you walk around the castle alone at night."

Lily scoffed, wrenching her hand from his grasp. "I can take care of myself."

"Well then, consider this a renewed commitment to my Headship," James replied firmly. Lily whipped around, continuing down the corridor, but she did so in silence. James followed her, knowing that she really didn't have any other option but to let him.

The castle, without the pair screaming at each other, was completely devoid of any sound except their footsteps. The sound of them opening and closing random doors was almost a relief. The air was crisp and cold, but James still felt the warmth from the row. He was sorely tempted to reach in his pocket for one of the three joints he'd bought from Mundungus Fletcher earlier, partly out of the need to unwind but mostly just for something to do.

He stuck his hand in his pocket, rolling a joint between his fingers. "I don't want the year to be like this."

Lily stared straight ahead, but it wasn't as if there were any other sounds to interfere with his words. She checked a classroom and slammed the door shut, barely looking inside at all.

"For whatever reason, you made me Head Boy. And if you want some help or you'd just generally like to avoid being pissed at me all the time, we should learn how to deal with each other. What about last year, eh? We got along alright then."

She didn't respond.

He almost started smoking right there, in front of Professor Vector's office, just to get a reaction from her. But something held him back- a solution he knew was just out of his mind's reach, if only he could remember it.

James smirked abruptly, pulling his hand out of his pocket. "Lily... what's your favorite color?"

He saw her smile, even if was only for a second. She turned to face him, the stubbornness still present in her face, but her eyes were almost laughing.

"C'mon, you don't wanna give me a point, do you?" James coaxed.

Lily sighed, leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. "It's brown."

He raised an eyebrow. "Obviously?"

There were a total of twenty-three people on the Quidditch pitch at seven o' clock: six prospective Seekers, nine Chasers, three Keepers, four Beaters, and James. There was far more than that in the stands; they were the friends of those on the pitch, either there out of an obligatory sense of support or an eagerness to see how the team would size up this year. This was James Potter's last year after all, and everyone could practically see the determination radiate off of him as he stood in the center of the field, a brown chest at his feet and a broomstick draped around his shoulders.

"You should see him on game day," Troy Quiver whispered to the girl to his right. Former members of the team nodded, a few others swallowed as if to steel themselves for what was to come.

James suddenly stopped in the exact center of the pitch. "This is not 'just a game'." His voice carried the same weight as a commander to his army. Even Troy straightened slightly. "If you make the team, this is your first priority. I don't just train you to be better fliers- I train you to be better athletes. Quidditch is not just about flying and goals and Snitches. It's about heart and skill, and damn if Gryffindor doesn't have more of that than all the houses put together.

"I've been Captain since my fifth year. That year, we had a perfect season, but since Hufflepuff was completely slaughtered by Ravenclaw that year, a whopping 490-30, we lost the Cup. Last year, we won the Cup, but we lost our first match to Slytherin. This year, we're going to get the best of both worlds. Are we clear?" It wasn't a question, but the players in front of him nodded all the same. "Good. Seekers first."

The six Seekers flew up into the air, James right behind them with the Snitch in hand. He didn't need to see their faces to know how anxious they'd look; he had a bit of reputation as being ruthless at try-outs, and Seekers were always the most vulnerable as they were usually the youngest. Angela Warren caught his eye once, and even she looked worried. He restrained himself from smiling reassuringly; he couldn't display any preference.

James tried to keep that in mind during the try-outs, but it had been near impossible when Angela practically burst into tears when Ben Hatter caught the Snitch before her. Luckily, this seemed to motivate her even more, making her catch the Snitch three times in a row, the last one complete with a fantastic dive. It was fairly obvious when the Seekers descended that Angela would be returning to the team, and James mentally thanked Merlin for the easy decision. He didn't think he could've told a sobbing Angela that she didn't make the team.

The Beaters were more of a challenge. Emmeline secured her spot fairly quickly, literally knocking James' shoe off with a Bludger, but Blake was on shaky ground. A fifth year named Anthony Rogers hit a Bludger hard enough to make the solid iron goal post shake, though James had a creeping suspicion that he'd been aiming for it to go through the circle instead of just under it. Still, it was an impressive display of strength, and James knew he could correct that aim. Blake was noticeably disheartened by Rogers' performance, but it was a lot easier to think of cutting him from the team than Angela.

He watched the Chasers and Keepers simultaneously. When Nick Gallagher missed three easy saves in a row, James openly shouted at him to get back in the stands. The Keepers performed considerably better after that, each of them afraid to be called out in front of everyone. Gideon Prewett, who'd been on the Reserve team for the past two years, seemed to be James' best option, and having a fellow teammate in the dorm with him could be a lot of fun.

It was the Chasers that he really concentrated on. He couldn't just go off skill- they had to work together. Last year, he'd been forced to choose Troy simply out of lack of talent elsewhere, but he certainly had competition this time. Frank Longbottom had some potential as far as throwing went, but James ruled him out quickly when he saw him almost slip off his broom three times.

Claire Davens surprised him by tackling the Quaffle right out of Troy's hands. He probably had three stones on her, but she soared across the pitch and shot the Quaffle straight through the center hoop. Davens mocked bowing to the crowd as she circled around the pitch, and despite himself, James cheered loudly, pumping his fist into the air. The next play, however, Troy easily tackled her so effectively it was as if she hadn't held it at all. She would clearly have a disadvantage; James was forcibly reminded of himself as a second year, being told he'd have to play Seeker in order to play, that he was "too small" to be a Chaser...

He had a few tricks he could teach her.

"GO FRANK, GO!"

James turned to face the stands. Alice Logan was leaning over the edge of the stands, putting anyone else's enthusiasm to shame. Her shrill scream could be heard throughout the entire field, causing the Head Girl sitting next to her to sharply cover her ears.

Lily saw him looking. She smiled and waved; James returned the grin, but didn't get a chance to wave. The game had carried over to the corner of the pitch where James had been hovering, and he had to roll quickly to the left in order to avoid being knocked off his broom by Frank.

"Watch it!" Troy shouted, his robes brushing past James' face. Thomas Bishop dropped the Quaffle; James dived and caught it almost on reflex, arching back into the air so his broom was perpendicular to the ground. He turned his head, seeing Lily roll her eyes, but the smile stayed put.

"Back on the ground," James ordered. All the players descended, and the Seekers and Beaters who'd been waiting in the stands scurried down to the grass. James placed the Quaffle back in the chest, not making an effort to close it very thoroughly. Hooch would have to check that it hadn't been tampered with anyway.

"Don't keep us waiting, James!" Alice demanded, wrapping her arm around Frank's.

"I'll post it by the end of the night," he announced, swinging his broomstick back over his shoulders. "I have to think about it."

James saw the players steel themselves; no doubt they were thinking of the long hours of mentally replaying their performance. The anxiety was visible on all their faces, especially Angela's. She swung her hair out from behind her ears so it shrouded her face, as though determined not to let anyone see how red her eyes were.

Troy, at least, seemed confident. He started walking off the pitch, the rest content to follow him, when James called out, "Angela, do you mind carrying my broom? I'll get the box." He nudged the chest of Quidditch balls at his feet.

Angela nodded grudgingly, taking his Nimbus from him as everyone else left. James picked up the box, feeling the Bludgers bustling within. He deliberately began walking at a leisurely pace with Angela trailing beside him. When there was a good twenty feet between the pair and Frank and Alice, whom were giggling at the back of the group, James whispered, "You know you're Seeker, right?"

She turned to him so fast that he was surprised her neck didn't snap. "What? Really? But I missed that first one, I saw it, James, I really did, he just got there first, and I'm so sorry, but really? Honest?" She eagerly tucked her hair behind her ear.

James surppressed a chuckle. "Yeah, Ange, honestly. You were the obvious pick. It's not Seekers I have to think about."

"Blake?"

It was his turn to look at her in shock. "You're more observant than you let on."

"He didn't do a very good job today," she said. "But he was on the team last year, and-"

"I know, Angela. And he did decent, but I don't know if he made the cut yet or not... You cannot tell anybody about this conversation, okay?"

"Alright, alright." They glanced at each other, and James could tell she was thinking about the last time she'd agreed to be silent at his request. He saw the guilt etched in her face before she turned to the ground, hair obscuring her expression.

James nudged her shoulder. "Hey. That wasn't your fault."

He could tell she was about to play dumb, but she changed tactics at his knowing stare. "I broke so easily."

"C'mon, don't be daft. They performed Legilmency on you. You couldn't have done anything about it. And it all worked out for the best, they got suspended, the school was better off without 'em."

"Yeah, but... I promised."

"Maybe there are more important things than promises," James said as they reached the broom shed. He kicked open the door and swung the chest on to its designated shelf. James didn't make a practice out of keeping his Nimbus in the shed, preferring to store it safe in his room, but he knew Angela did. He reached out his hand for her broomstick, but she merely stood in the entryway of the dark shack, the remaining evening light centering on her.

"You didn't think so," she whispered. "You didn't tell."

"They didn't break into my mind, Angela," James said impatiently, snatching her broom from her. "You can't blame yourself for something like this. You couldn't help it. And I... I was just being thick-headed. People are more important than my word."

"Are they?"

He placed her broomstick gently in its place, stepping aside so she could secure it. She waited for a few moments for him to respond, but when he remained silent, she stepped into the broom shed, pulling her wand from her pocket. James wanted to dismiss her words as simple thoughts of a fourteen-year-old girl, but he couldn't. Her question fed so well into his own rational; the reliability of his word, his honor, separated him from them. It was what was right, but it was only that way on one side of the coin. The other side had the safety of students inscribed upon it, and he couldn't just pretend that it didn't exist. The sessions with Drake, though now long over, were still making him question his actions. Perhaps that had been the point all along.

Angela tapped her broom with her wand, muttering some incantation or another, before turning back to him. "I won't tell anyone that I'm Seeker," she said, not looking him in the eye, but James knew this wasn't a sign of dishonesty, only of nervousness. He nodded, taking his Nimbus from her.

"I'll see you sometime this week. I'll post practice times with the roster."

She left quickly, closing the door behind her. James did not know why he hadn't left with her, why his words had carried an air of dismissal, but the darkness enveloped the bright scarlet of his Quidditch robes. He held his broom tightly, suddenly very conscious of the lack of space surrounding him. James wasn't exactly claustrophobic, but it made him distinctly uncomfortable. He left the broom shed a few seconds after Angela, the wind outside a relief in more ways than one.

The Marauders were waiting for him at the edge of the pitch. Remus had just finished smoking a cigarette; he flicked the rest of it on the ground, nodding as James approached them. Sirius was smirking in such a familiar way that James grinned almost automatically.

"What?" he asked expectantly, placing his broomstick lightly upon the ground.

"You took your time," Peter explained, staring pointedly at Angela's retreating form.

It took James a second longer than it should've to understand. "Angela? No way. She's fourteen."

"So?" asked Sirius. "I took Bridgette Walkers out last year."

"Well, maybe I'm not a fucking slag like you," James countered, dodging Sirius' tackle at the last second. "Hey, I'm fine with you being a nonce, but I don't think Moony'd appreciate you ditching him for some girl-"

Remus joined in the chase at this point; he and Sirius sprinted after a laughing James, wearing half-smiles themselves, across the grounds with Peter trailing behind. Sirius snatched the back of James' robe, forcing him to shrug it off to keep running. Heavy thoughts left behind him, he purposefully remained just outside their grip. Sirius would definitely pin him if he could just reach him, and Remus wouldn't be easy to beat either. But James could run faster. One of them practically growled behind him when their fingers grazed his back, and James was just about to turn around and laugh in their faces when they reached the Black Lake. He turned sharply, losing his advantage, and someone's hand closed on his shirt.

The world was briefly white as the fabric was pulled over his head. James lost his balance, falling into the Lake. Water soaked through his trousers, the fabric clinging to his legs as he jumped up, about to make another run for it-

"Accio!"

The absence of a familiar weight on his nose was noticeable for only a second before the world blurred and something plowed back into him, forcing him back in the water. He rolled over, untangling himself from what he was sure was Remus by the mass of blonde hair, and was almost out of the water before Sirius pulled him back down.

"Not fair!" James cried, spitting out a mouthful of water. The two boys wrestled for a moment, but when Remus came to Sirius' aid, James knew he really didn't have a chance. Sirius pulled his arm behind his back, making James cry out in pain. The water was achingly cold now that he wasn't moving.

"Not fair? I just exploited a noticeable weakness in my enemy. Nothing wrong with that, so long as I win," Sirius mocked, dropping his friend's arm and rising from the water.

"No, you don't!" James grabbed Sirius' leg, causing him to trip and land in the shallows. After a few minutes of resumed fighting, Remus grew bored and sat at the water's edge with Peter, lighting another cigarette. The two dark-haired Marauders carried on for much longer than they should've, neither willing to admit defeat, only stopping after spying Hagrid walking to the castle for dinner.

"I'm starving," Remus said loudly. "Can you two stop groping each other long enough to eat?"

"Don't push it, Moony," Sirius advised sternly, but he and James walked onto the shore all the same. They were soaked and covered in mud; James held out his hand wordlessly for his glasses. After a few seconds passed, he sighed, staring at the blur that was Peter expectantly.

"Honestly? C'mon, give me my specs back."

The cold frames were thrust into his palm. James shoved them unceremoniously on his face before stealing Sirius' wand from him- he hadn't carried his own because of Quidditch practice, and Sirius', while not his own, could easily be used for minor spells.

"How'd you know it was me?" Peter asked, shocked.

"I didn't," James replied, cleaning and drying his trousers with a wave of his wand. He handed it back to Sirius. "But you caved."

The Marauders walked towards the castle, the last of summer sun shining on their backs. James picked up his clothing along the way, shoving it on his body with the franticness only cold could cause. They were seemingly the only people on the grounds; everyone else was at dinner or sleeping through it in preparation for a long load of homework. James stopped and looked over his shoulder, realizing he was forgetting something.

"My broom!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Damn it! I'll meet you lot in there, yeah?" The Marauders nodded as James sprinted in the opposite direction; Peter called that he'd save him a seat. James hardly heard him; his mind was so centered on his Nimbus 1700. Cursing Sirius for making him drop it, he scanned the grounds for the mahogany strip of wood by the edge of the Quidditch pitch.

His heart sank as he neared the spot where he dropped it. The grass was conspiciously absent of any broomstick. James spun wildly around, searching for it anywhere nearby (perhaps Peter had kicked it when he'd been running behind them?), but it wasn't anywhere on the ground. Nor was it in the broom shed, by the Lake, inside the Quidditch pitch, or on the grounds at all. The sun was setting quickly, stealing the light that James so desperately needed to keep searching. But even as he ran into the castle to retrieve the Marauders, he knew it was useless. If he hadn't found it in daylight, Lumos could only do so much; he'd delibrately put an Anti-Summoning Charm on it to prevent other teams from sabotaging it. His broom could be anywhere, and the thought that his top-of-the-line Nimbus could be in the hands of the Slytherin Quidditch Captain made his fists curl.

He'd been foolish to leave his broom unattended. James usually never parted with it on principle, unless it was locked away in his dormitory. And now his hand felt so empty, his consciousness naked without the knowledge of where it was. The feeble advice of the Marauders given by wandlight as they scoured the grounds only irratated him more- yes, he'd already checked the broom shed; yes, he was sure there was an Anti-Summonging Charm on it; no, he hadn't seen anybody else except Hagrid outside. Sirius resolved to wait with James outside the groundskeeper's cabin until he returned from dinner, but James was so furious at himself that the gesture was meaningless.

Remus and Peter retreated back to castle, promising to ask Hagrid if they passed him. Sirius and James sat on the steps in front of the cabin's front door, the latter unable to stop fidgeting. It was completely dark by then; Sirius lit something, a cigarette or a joint, James couldn't be sure, but he didn't much care. A flicker of light was visible across the grounds for a split second, as presumabley Remus and Peter opened the Entrance Hall doors. He briefly saw the scarlet from his Quidditch robes, but it was shrouded in black the next moment.

"It's only a broom, mate. It's not like you can't buy another one," Sirius supplied.

"I know," James spat childishly, "but this is my broom."

He could barely make out the outline of Sirius' face, but James still could sense him rolling his eyes. Sirius was a fan of Quidditch, more than Remus or Peter anyways, but he didn't quite reach the level of devotion that James had. He could easily tell between a Silver Arrow and a Nimbus, like most any wizard, but he didn't understand the subtle differences of... well, almost a personality like James did.

Hagrid approached his cabin about an hour later, reporting that he hadn't seen anybody on the grounds at all besides the Marauders. James and Sirius grudgingly thanked him and refused his offer for a cup of tea and some rock cakes, despite how loudly their stomachs protested. James was too furious to think about food at the moment.

Someone had clearly stolen James Potter's broom. This, in itself, was not surprising. What was downright astonishing was that the culprit was going to get away with it. But it played very nicely into a well-established truth that James was just learning: the world senses when everything is going too well, it knows when everything falls into place. And it always responds with a sharp slap to the face, a kick to the crotch, or a stab through the heart. It's as if the world was saying not to get back up, not to bother with dreams and smiles and love. Even if it was only a stolen broomstick, it was not so much about what happened as when.

It was a reality that James was understanding very late in life. It was a lesson that would never be fully learned.