Chapter 19

"Potter scores again!" boomed Daffyd's loud voice, and Elle struggled to keep her composure on the field. That was twice in the first five minutes of the game. She'd known that Gryffindor v. Ravenclaw would be a tough match to win, but this was just ridiculous. Every time that Potter had the Quaffle, it was like the beaters suddenly could not hit the broad side of a barn. They choked up their bats, hitting too hard and too precisely for Potter's flying style. Potter rode the air like a wave – dodging and weaving more on instinct than on reaction. It was, Elle begrudgingly admitted, sort of beautiful to watch. But it wasn't the flying style that was throwing the beaters off – Elle had seen them adapt to her own uncommon style with ease. It was the name on the back of his Quidditch kit.

Elle had been aware, almost from her first meeting with him, that James Potter had a reputation that preceded itself. As soon as he came into possession of the Quaffle, this reputational aura came into full force. A hush went over the crowd. People held their breath. The beaters choked up on their bats. Elle fought the urge to roll her eyes. Potter was good. Maybe the best at the school. But he was not perfect. And he could be beat.

"Aim for the shoulder opposite the Quaffle" Elle said, pulling her broom up to level with Henry's. Henry looked at her in confusion. "He throws ambidextrous, but he tends to favour dodges on the side he isn't carrying on. Aim for where he's going to go, not for where he is. He's too damn fast." Henry shrugged and nodded, "I'll try anything at this point" he replied, and Elle zoomed off towards the Quaffle with a thumbs up.

The next part was about trust. Elle needed to trust that Henry would make a good hit, because where she would have to fly would partially occlude the keeper's view. She flew past Isla on her way to catch up with Potter, who had just come into possession again. The telltale hush of the crowd gave her the quiet she needed to shout "trust" to Isla as she passed her. Isla's dark brown eyes met hers, and she saw the nod.

It was all Elle needed. She was on Potter's flank, imitating a defensive position. James caught her eye and grinned. Logic would dictate that he would dodge away from her, but he was carrying the ball on his opposite side. It was now or never. Elle suddenly made a dead air drop. It was a tricky little move that involved forcefully shoving herself off the broom, so that it began to drop as if it was not being ridden. The trick was to let herself fall without instinctively grasping the wood for support, which would immediately stop her descent. As she made her drop, she heard the whistle of the bludger and, shortly thereafter, the sound of a thud as the bludger made contact with something solid. The next second the Quaffle was in Elle's hands. She was halfway down the pitch when she heard the crowd roar. Gryffindor had caught the snitch.

Elle landed on solid ground still clutching the quaffle, biting back bitter tears. They hadn't even had a chance! The game had lasted 6 minutes and 12 seconds, according to Daffyd's gleeful announcement. She made her way to the change room without sparing a glance at the growing crowd of scarlet bodies to her right. The mood in the changeroom was sour. "Rotten luck" Isla had muttered to their seeker Tom, and nothing else was said. Lester was the first to get up, and he was already at the door when Elle finally plucked up the courage to speak.

"Wait!" All eyes in the room turned to her. "Um… usually we go around the circle after a game to talk about what went well and what we could improve." Lester sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was barely keeping his cool under the watchful eyes of Isla. The coach had threatened to bench him after she'd heard that he'd sent Elle to the kitchens at midnight to get her away from the party. "Look, kid" Lester said. "The game was half a dozen minutes. The seeker caught the snitch on a fluke. Nothing we could have done. And I have a potions paper I need to write, so I'd rather not waste time." "Bullshit" Elle said. Archie (badly) bit back a laugh that turned into a snort. Lester was looking at Elle, first incredulously, then with rage.

"Well, I believe you have a paper to write. And the snitch was a fluke. Really not much you could have done" Elle said, shooting a sympathetic glance to Tom and trying desperately to back-peddle. She saw that there was no getting out of what she started however, so she hesitantly went on. "But before that happened, Potter had scored twice in five minutes. We aren't going to talk about that?" Isla was looking between Lester and Elle, a bemused smile on her face. "She has a point Lester" Isla said. "Take a seat." Lester did not listen to his captain. He stood right where he was, the leather bag he stored his Quidditch kit falling to the ground with a thud.

"What is there to talk about?!" Lester half-yelled, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. He laughed an angry laugh. "James Potter scored twice in the first five minutes because he's James Potter. End of story." "Bull-" Elle started but Isla raised her hand, a clear 'don't push your luck' look on her face. "James Potter can be beat. Or at least beat down." Elle said, standing up. Even though she was twelve, she stood almost as tall as Lester, who was short and stocky. Lester stepped up to her and they were now nose-to-nose. "I'd like to see you tell us how" Lester growled.

"He favours dodges on the arm he's not carrying the Quaffle with" a voice from Elle's left spoke. Lester looked over to Henry, and Elle took the opportunity to step back, making space between her and the older boy in front of her. "Huh?" Lester asked. "Elle told me that in the last minute of play" Henry said, speaking quietly but firmly. It was only because Elle had seen him catch a few first years trying to break into the Quidditch supplies closet after practice one day that Elle knew that it was his 'angry' voice. "And then he did exactly what she said he would. He dodged into where Elle said he would, and I hit him with a bludger. I don't know if you noticed. But James Potter dropped the ball in the last minute of play. How often does he do that Louis?" Henry asked. Louis looked up from where he had been sitting in the corner of the dressing room. Elle knew that he had been caught up in the drama, because it rarely took him more than three seconds to answer a question on Quidditch stats.

"Uhh… not once in the match against Hufflepuff" Louis said, pushing his glasses farther up his nose and consulting a long piece of parchment filled with small, cramped handwriting. "And last year's average was 1.7 times per match. 99.6% of all losses of possession on Gryffindor occurred from the other two chasers. And-" "And?" Lester asked rudely. "And preliminary data suggests that he's gotten better. I expect to see an average below one this year" Louis said. You could have heard a pin drop it was so silent in the changeroom.

"Right" Isla finally said. "That settles it. Something we did in the last minute of play worked. And if we'd had time, maybe we could have turned the game around. Potter apparently can be… beaten down, so to speak. We'll have a strategy meeting later this week. The short game might have been a blessing in disguise. We lost by a very small margin. We aren't out of the running for the cup just yet, and I'm confident we can crush Hufflepuff. In the meantime, we'll strategize on Potter. I expect we'll see him in the finals, if we make it there. Team dismissed." Isla said, and the room was filled with the sounds of shuffling bags. "Except for you, Lester" Isla said. "I'd like a word."

Elle made her way out of the stadium as quickly as she could, embarrassed that she'd nearly caused a fight. She left so quickly that Henry had to jog lightly to catch up with her. "Don't… take… what Lester says… too seriously" Henry said, his breath puffing out from him in the cold February air. "He hates me" Elle said sulkily "I shouldn't have said anything." "He hates that you got the spot on the team and his fifth-year mate is the backup" Henry said. "He doesn't hate you specifically." Elle chewed her lip, still discouraged. "And" Henry continued "you spoke up knowing it would piss him off. But you did it for the good of the team. The team respects you for that."

"I did it for myself" Elle said miserably. "I did it because I know Potter can be beat, and I was annoyed that everyone was treating the game like it was already over before it began." Henry laughed. "Maybe not as selfless" he said. "But at least you're honest." Elle nodded. She knew that Henry was trying to cheer her up, but it had the opposite effect. Because Elle knew that 'not selfless' was a code word for selfish. So selfish the voice hissed again in the back of her head.

Albus jumped in surprise at the sound of the door opening, and he briefly panicked that someone had found the secret broom closet, and the Polyjuice potion that was bubbling slowly in front of him was discovered. But it was only Scorpius. "Hey" Albus said. Scorpius shut the door softly behind him, throwing a last glance down the corridor to make sure he hadn't been seen. He watched Albus for another few seconds before speaking.

"You know, contrary to popular belief, potions don't actually brew faster when you watch them" Scorpius said, a hint of teasing in his voice. Albus shrugged. "It's a tricky few hours. We have to make sure the fire stays at exactly 1100 degrees, with an error margin of only 30 degrees on either side to get 'satisfactory' results." Scorpius sat down opposite Albus, the large cauldron between them, their knees almost touching the room was so cramped. "Rose figured out that fire taming spell last week, do you not trust her?" Scorpius asked sceptically. Albus sighed. He'd been hoping that Scorpius would overlook that little detail. But Scorpius never overlooked anything.

"I don't want to go to the game" Albus muttered. "Elle's playing" Scorpius said. His voice was neutral, but Albus couldn't help but feel judgement. "James is playing too. I reckon my dad will be there. He never misses a game" Albus crossed his arms over his chest. "My dad has never visited the school for me" he added bitterly. "To be completely fair" Scorpius said in a measured tone "you are not actually on any clubs or teams. I'm not sure what he'd visit to come watch..."

"I have zero talent. I get it. Thanks for rubbing it in" Albus said, angry now. Scorpius raised his hands up in resignation. "I didn't come in here because I like getting second degree burns on my ankles" Scorpius said, gesturing to his legs, which were dangerously close to the cauldron fire. "But I won't stay if you're going to yell at me." Albus bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue.

When it became clear that Albus wasn't going to say anything, Scorpius went on. "So, while we're on the subject of talent. Or lack thereof, I should say… Have you ever actually tried out for anything? Ever even signed up for a club?" "Well… no" Albus grumbled. "And why not?" Scorpius asked. "Isidre and Rose are in the chess club, and Ruth and Sam do gobstones. And you know I'm in the choir, or at least I assume you do, since I miss lunches every Tuesday and Thursday." "You also sing all the choir songs in the shower" Albus said. "Can't imagine how you made the cut if that's anything to go off of." Albus dodged the pestle that was thrown his way.

"So… why haven't you tried out" Scorpius said, rubbing his shoulder on the spot the pestle had hit him, being too slow on the dodge when Albus had returned fire. Albus shrugged, hoping to drop the subject. But Scorpius remained annoyingly silent. He always did this when he knew Albus was holding something back. Just waited. And it was infuriating, because it always worked. "I don't try out because I don't want to get cut" Albus said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's bad enough being the outcast Potter. I don't need to be the outcast Potter who also can't even make the Herbology club." Scorpius sighed.

Albus waited for the usual advice that was thrown his way – that he was great, that Potter was just a name, that he shouldn't listen to what other people say about him. To his surprise, Scorpius asked him a different question. "What were you thinking, when you put on the sorting hat?" "Err…" Albus said, his cheeks growing red. It was an oddly intimate question, and he felt a little vulnerable answering.

"I wanted to get put into the house I deserved to be in" Albus said. "Did you use those words" Scorpius asked. "the house you deserve?" Albus racked his brains. "I… I don't think so. I think I said the house I belong in." Scorpius nodded. "and what else were you thinking about? What did you want out of Hogwarts?" Albus winced. It was painful to go back to that night. "I was thinking about my brother, I think. How I… I… don't laugh okay?" Scorpius looked at him with his salt grey eyes, unblinkingly. "I wanted to be just Albus. Not Albus-James's-Little-Brother. Not Albus-Potter-Harry-Potter's-Son. Just Albus. I wanted to prove myself."

"And how is that going for you?" Scorpius asked patiently. Albus frowned. "I guess I've been doing a pretty shit job at it." "Well," Scorpius said, gesturing to the cauldron in between their legs "half of making a name for yourself in this school is getting into trouble. I think you've got that part covered. But teachers are more lenient on punishments if you're also good at something that is not illegal…" Albus laughed, before abruptly cutting off when he realized what he was doing.

"How do you do that?" Albus asked. "Do what?" Scorpius replied innocently. "How do you come in here, when I'm determined to be in a foul mood, and get me to laugh five seconds after you've made me realize that I'm in a foul mood because I'm being a prat?" Scorpius shrugged. There was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.