A/N: It's been a while – for several reasons. Main takeaway: I'm still kicking, and have every intention of finishing this story. So – after a long hiatus – welcome back.
XIII. Like Bombs Beating
"If."
– Sparta, in response to Philip II
There was something about his laugh, Lily surmised as she drunk her coffee, eyes peering over the rim at where James sat with the rest of the Marauders about halfway down the table, dressed in his Quidditch robes. Yes, definitely the laugh. And the animated gestures he made with his hands as he emphasised a point. And…
She picked up a piece of toast and with a small furrow in her brow, went back to her study of his features.
The last few weeks had been challenging, in some ways. James had willingly let her take the lead on their Head duties for a week or so, but once he had his feet under the desk, in Remus' words, there was no stopping him. And sure, the way he'd dealt with a couple situations wasn't necessarily how she would've handled things. But equally, it was clear to her that he respected her experience as a Prefect and was willing to learn if she had advice to offer him.
There was still plenty that grated on her – his casual arrogance, the blind eye he turned to his fellow Marauders, the way he'd saunter into class late…
She hated to admit it, but most James-related exasperation she usually felt these days was extinguished by his stupid sheepish grin – and that was what, if she had to admit it, the real cause of the slight frown on her forehead.
Something had changed – not just in him, but perhaps in the way she perceived him too.
"What are you looking at?"
Lily turned away from her study of James Potter and met Marley's quizzical gaze.
"Nothing."
"Okay, who are you looking at?" Marlene smirked.
"No one!"
Marlene raised an eyebrow.
"How's James this morning?"
"I wouldn't know."
"That's funny, I could've sworn you've spent the last two minutes staring at him."
"I glanced in his direction. Once."
"Pretty long glance," Marlene grinned.
"Shut up, Marley."
He had to hand it to Sirius. James didn't know the full ingredient list (and frankly, he was scared to ask) but whatever went into Sirius' Pepper-Up Potion – the same one he'd been drinking before every Quidditch game since fourth year – well, it did the fucking job.
He'd crash later, of course – the accumulated bruises of a Quidditch match and a belly full of Firewhiskey, win or lose – would guarantee it.
But now, right now, there was fire in his veins.
He scanned the faces of his teammates. Marlene and the other old hands had that same reassured confidence that comes with experience. The two new recruits, one promoted from the practice side, the other a fresh find, both looked like they were about to throw up.
Plenty of time for that on the pitch.
He wished Sirius was here. His best mate had been in a foul mood all week – even going as far to ask McGonagall to rescind his Quidditch ban from last year, but she hadn't relented. At least they'd have him back for the Slytherin game.
James pushed the thought from his memory.
"First game is a statement of intent," James said, echoing words drilled into him by Gryffindor Quidditch captains of yesteryear. "No quarter, no quit."
"GRYFFINDOR!" he yelled.
"GRYFFINDOR!" they replied in kind.
They strode out into the sunlight as the crowd roared. A little dewy, a light breeze, not too much glare – fine conditions for Quidditch.
The attack on the Hogwarts Express some six weeks ago felt like a distant memory.
James walked to the middle of the pitch where Professor Hawthorne waited with the Ravenclaw Captain.
"Let's set an example for good sportsmanship, today, gents. It's just a game."
James smirked. Every year Hawthorne would lecture them about the importance of fair play – but James suspected it was more to do with Madame Pomfrey's shrill lectures at the growing body count each season than any real concern on Hawthorne's part. The man had played professionally for eight seasons. He understood.
James shook hands with the Ravenclaw Seeker, Matthews, a sixth year playing his first game as Captain. He wasn't a terrible Seeker, James would concede – but there was an art to leading your team while looking for the Snitch. A distracted Seeker was a bad Seeker.
Hawthorne's whistle blew as he flung the Quaffle into the air.
"And Gryffindor lead, 70 to 40 – what a shot from McKinnon!"
Marley pumped her fist as she circled around the goalpost. James nodded in approval. Their defence had been a little lacklustre – four goals on five shots meant he'd be looking for a new Keeper before the week was out – but their offence was still red-hot.
Hunching low over his broom, James sped down the pitch, anticipating Ravenclaw's counterattack. A little tinkering with his new Nimbus had paid off – there was an edge to his acceleration that hadn't been there before. Of course, there was only so much you could do without raising eyebrows – but James' view was that everyone modified their brooms in some way, shape or form. Very few things in Quidditch were black and white, and the winning team was usually the one best at flirting with the rulebook.
He ducked his head as a Bludger shot by, and flew into a diving tackle on his opposite Ravenclaw Chaser. She was a nice-looking girl, but –
"And Jones is going to feel that one! A brutal block from Potter, who steals the Quaffle. That's the kind of defence we've been waiting to see from this champion Gryffindor side!"
James streaked across the pitch as both Ravenclaw Beaters flew in pursuit.
"Looks like they're setting up a pincer – what will Potter do? They can't play the Quaffle but they can try to slow him down here…"
Emphasis on try.
Tucking the Quaffle tightly under his arm, James veered upwards as the first Beater, fellow seventh-year Crosby, made to intercept him, before bringing his broom crashing down on the hapless Ravenclaw. As the crowd roared, the other Beater leaned in with a shoulder charge, but found only air – before James' boot swung into his chest.
Hawthorne's whistle blew.
"An obvious foul here from Potter – looks like Hawthorne is giving him a right bollocks-ing – sorry, Professor…oh, and Hawthorne's awarded a free shot to Ravenclaw! Potter is very unhappy – he would've liked his chances for a goal there."
James swore as the Ravenclaw Chaser – Jones, the nice-looking one – put the Quaffle through.
"And that's 70 to 50! They lead for now, but will Gryffindor's lack of discipline cost them today?"
James signalled for a time-out. Yelling at his Keeper would make him feel better.
"Looks like Hawthorne is sick of getting an earful from Pomfrey," James said. "Play tighter."
He turned to Sirius' replacement – a fifth year called O'Reilly. "Tail their Seeker – I want you to stick a Bludger on his arse for the rest of the game. And I don't want him to see the Snitch."
O'Reilly grinned as James turned to his Seeker, Alistair Thomson.
"Thomson – I can't see us running up the scoreboard on their Chasers so we're relying on a catch. The rest of you – get rid of the rust. I know it's the first game back but play's got to improve. Goad them into committing a few fouls if you can."
Hawthorne blew his whistle again and play resumed.
"Potter has the Quaffle back – offloads to McKinnon, who passes to Doherty, back for her second year in Gryffindor colours, she's in the area – but intercepted by Jones, who is impressing today! She's back up the Pitch with Potter and McKinnon in pursuit – dodges a well-placed Bludger from O'Reilly. Potter is closing in – oh!"
James never saw the second Bludger. The ball slammed into his gut with a vengeance before spinning up and smashing the underside of his chin.
"Potter's off his broom! Not a great sequence for the Gryffindor Captain. Can he get back up?"
Yes he fucking can. James sucked in air and grimaced. He could already picture the purple-black bruise forming. Ribs a little tender but mostly spared. Teeth – seemed okay. Jaw – that would need time with Pomfrey.
"Jones clears the area, she scores! 70 – 60!"
His eyes roved over the crowd. Even among a sea of red and gold banners he could still spot her, sitting between Remus and Peter, wearing that same striped beanie she'd worn to every game since second year.
James reached out a hand and summoned his broom, kicking back into flight.
"Potter's back in the air – although looking a little woozy, I must say…and we, we have a dive! Both Seekers going for the Snitch! O'Reilly is hot on their tails!"
Gryffindor's Keeper had retrieved the Quaffle but made no effort to resume play as all eyes fixed upon the duelling Seekers.
"They're neck and neck – headed for the ground – the Snitch is flying along the grass, barely in front of them…"
It almost felt like slow-motion to James. Matthews, the Ravenclaw Seeker, twisted his broom into his opposite's path, and Thomson flinched.
Inches from the ground, at top speed, you can't flinch.
The unmistakeable sign of splintering wood echoed across the pitch as Thomson crashed into the ground, his broom crushed under him, bouncing before coming to a sudden halt.
"And Thomson's down! Merlin – can Matthews get it? He's closing in, hand outstretched…OH!"
Like a bolt from the blue, O'Reilly's Bludger smashed into Matthew's face as a collective groan went up from the Ravenclaw crowd.
"O'Reilly's breaking Ravenclaw hearts today! That catch was all but guaranteed – I can't believe it! What a play from the Gryffindor Beater! Gryffindor survive – but I don't know if Thomson can keep going!"
Thomson wasn't moving, and even on red robes, James could see the blood. Hawthorne was already at the Seeker's side as James dismounted his broom.
"Madam Pomfrey! Now!" barked Hawthorne.
"Oh fuck," said O'Reilly, joining James on the pitch – and voicing their collective thought aloud at the gruesome sight.
A piece of Thomson's broom was embedded deeply in its owner's side.
"Merlin."
James ran a hand through his hair as the rest of his team gathered around.
"Can he still play?" asked his Keeper.
James shot him a withering glare.
"He's been impaled on his own fucking broomstick."
"This looks bad – Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall both on the pitch now. Thomson's out cold. And – I don't think he's coming back today folks."
James swore.
"How's Matthews looking?" O'Reilly asked.
"Alive, I think. Pity your Bludger didn't knock his head off."
"Not for lack of trying," O'Reilly said.
"It was one hell of a hit," James replied, clapping his Beater on the shoulder.
Marlene joined them as Alistair was stretchered off the pitch.
"Plan? I can sub in as Seeker."
O'Reilly nodded. "Matthews can't be right after that hit. Reckon you're our best chance."
Both looked at James, who nodded.
"Yep. Do it. Lucy?" James said, beckoning his third Chaser.
"Cap?"
"It's you and me."
She grinned. "Is this a date?"
"Smartarse. Go fetch Zoe off the bench."
"Yes sir."
"It'd be nice," Marlene exclaimed, "if we could go a whole game without losing our Seeker to injury."
James made an exasperated sound.
"Dreams are free."
"Gryffindor's revised their lineup as we get back underway. McKinnon slots into Seeker – a role she took on in last year's final – while fifth year Zoe Knight comes off the bench as a new Chaser. Let's see what Potter does here."
James caught the Quaffle, and immediately passed it off to Lucy, who offloaded it to Zoe. The new Chaser swerved to avoid a Bludger, before flicking the ball back to James.
"A good opening sequence – Knight isn't showing any nerves off the bench – Potter's in the area with the Quaffle – he scores!"
"Another ten points to Gryffindor! Potter now with his fourteenth today, and Gryffindor lead by 200 – 130."
James pumped his fist. It hadn't been vintage, but they'd built themselves a lead – even if he had three Bludger hits and another tumble off his broom to show for it. O'Reilly had been excellent: the Ravenclaw Seeker Matthews had been hounded mercilessly by Bludgers – and at one point when Hawthorne wasn't watching, O'Reilly had planted the heel of his boot firmly in the Seeker's eye.
But just as the Ravenclaw Chasers began their attack, James saw Marley swoop down and snatch the Golden Snitch out of the air in front of the Gryffindor goalposts.
"It'll never be that easy! Just like that – it's over! McKinnon comes up with it! Ravenclaw have got to be disappointed."
Matthews had been on the other side of the pitch.
The Gryffindor stands went wild as Marley touched down, swamped by her teammates.
"McKinnon, I could kiss you," James exclaimed.
"Steady on, Potter. You'll break Black's heart talking like that."
"Here," said Sirius, handing James a bottle. "It's the good stuff."
"Yeah?"
"Gets you drunk, eases the pain, what more could you ask for?" Sirius said.
"I think Evans might be right about our drinking problem."
Sirius smirked.
"Don't tell her I said that, though," James added.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They sat in easy silence for a moment. It was after midnight, and the party was beginning to die down. The flames in the fireplace had burned low
"Good work today," Sirius said.
"Shit, it wasn't convincing," James replied. "Not quite the statement I was hoping for."
"A win is a win," Sirius shrugged.
"How do you think the team stacked up today?"
"O'Reilly was impressive," Sirius replied. "Knight – well, I've seen worse performances off the bench. Thank Merlin for McKinnon as per."
"That Jones girl was good," James mused.
"The nice-looking one?"
"She said hello in the Hospital Wing earlier. Said we should do a joint practice to prepare for Hufflepuff sometime."
"She wants to sleep with you."
"She doesn't."
"She does. And you should let her."
"I don't–"
"The rules are simple, Prongs: you're allowed to sleep with opponents after the game."
"You just made that up."
"Made what up?" asked a new voice.
James looked up to see Lily holding two bottles. Her beanie from the game was sitting lopsided on her head.
"I got you a drink – but I see Sirius has already beaten me to it."
"No you haven't," Sirius replied, swiping James' bottle from his hand. "Prongs was just holding my spare drink for me. Such a good lad."
"Oh? Because I could have sworn that bottle's half-empty."
"I don't expect him to hold it for me for free, Evans," Sirius replied. "Wouldn't be right."
"You're incorrigible."
"And you can have my seat," Sirius said, standing up. "I'm going to find Moony."
"He's very good," Lily sat.
"He has his moments," James said, raising his new bottle.
"Cheers," Lily replied, taking a long swig.
"Steady on, Evans."
"You're one to talk. If anything, you're a bad influence."
He grinned.
"We didn't have our ritual post-game chat," Lily said.
"Oh?"
"Where you tell me how much pain you're in while trying to be subtle about how many goals you scored. Then I tell you not to drink so much and accuse you of being an alcoholic and a womaniser."
"Sounds familiar, now that you mention it."
She laughed and twisted a strand of hair around her finger.
"Have I complimented you on your hat?" James asked.
"This old thing?" Her eyes lit up and James' stomach gave an all-too-familiar jolt. "I thought you'd never ask."
"It's not that cold inside, is it?" he teased.
"Temperature charm."
"Should've guessed."
"It can change size too, depending on who's wearing it. See," she said, taking it off and putting on his head, "perfect!"
He adjusted the beanie so it wasn't quite as askew.
"Very fetching, Potter. You should do runway shows in Paris."
He laughed and took another drink.
"Are you feeling okay though?" Lily asked. "That first Bludger hit was wicked."
James let out a mock gasp.
"Concern? From Lily Evans?"
"Prick."
"Admit it, you care."
"I do," she said. "Care, I mean. Really."
He met her gaze. There was something imperceptible in those green eyes.
"I care too. You're Head Girl. I'd be rudderless up shit creek without you."
"Oh, I already knew you cared about me," Lily teased.
"You did?"
"On the train. You threw yourself in front of that curse."
James nodded and took another drink.
"You know, when I got checked up, Pomfrey said I had a blatant disinterest in my own self-preservation."
"I have to agree with her," replied Lily.
"I was more interested in your preservation."
"I think you've taken too many Bludger hits to the head."
"Funny, Pomfrey's mentioned that too."
The party had well and truly ended. Most of the students had ambled off to their dorms, and aside from a small group of fifth years playing a card game in a corner and two students snogging by the fireplace, the Common Room was empty.
Lily leaned closer to him and put her hand over her mouth as if to whisper a secret.
"Who is that?" she asked.
"Hmm?" James asked.
"By the fireplace," she said in a conspiratorial tone. "The one trying to eat Aubrey's face."
"Ugh," James looked up and peered at the couple. "Young love."
"Disgusting, isn't it."
"Can't they find a nice broom closet?"
Lily snickered.
"Shall I let them know you're happy to provide a recommendation?"
"Ouch."
She poked him in the ribs.
"Go on. Best place you've had a snog."
"You first."
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and grinned.
"Fine. Greenhouse Two."
"Greenhouse Two?"
Lily flushed. "It has those really nice flowers–"
"You mean the ones that can kill you?"
"No, those are in Greenhouse Four."
"Who were you kissing in Greenhouse Two?" James asked.
"Would't you like to to know," she replied, looking at him with a mischievous grin.
He would, actually, very much, the lucky git, James thought to himself.
"Right," Lily said, "your turn."
"There's a hidden loft in the Astronomy Tower."
"There is not."
"There is."
"I've been here seven years and never heard of it!"
"You've really been missing out, Evans."
"I'd ask you who you'd taken there but we don't have all night."
"Again, ouch."
"Who was the first person you snogged there?"
"Hannah Gladsby. End of fourth year. She'd just broken up with her boyfriend."
"That bitch. She used to tease me about my hair back in second year."
"If it's any consolation she was a rubbish kisser."
Lily finished her drink.
"Alright, since you told me. Benjy Fenwick."
"Fenwick!"
"He was very sweet about it all, really. And he gave me a flower."
James made a mental note to push Fenwick down a flight of stairs. Preferably a long one. And failing that, he'd assign the Ravenclaw Prefect to Saturday night rounds for the next three months.
"When?"
"Same. End of fourth year," Lily said, then gave a small sigh. "Severus wouldn't talk to me for weeks afterward."
James caught himself before he shared with her exactly what he thought of Severus Snape.
"Benjy asked me out to Hogsmeade next weekend, actually," Lily said, looking down.
James revised his mental note. He'd get Sirius to push Fenwick down a flight of stairs.
"What did you say?" James asked, hoping she hadn't caught on to his blatant effort to feign indifference.
"I said I'd let him know."
"Well, look, Evans, if you say no to Benjy, my offer from fifth year still stands."
"You know, I've never really understood quite why you wanted to date me," Lily said. "Half of the student population of this school are girls, and for reasons beyond my comprehension, some of them are quite taken with you."
Because, Lily Evans, not one of them could hold a candle to you.
James pushed his thoughts away and shrugged. "Couldn't do it. Those girls have awful banter. Have you tried holding a conversation with Melanie Roberts? Ghastly."
"So even though Melanie would say yes to a Hogsmeade date with you in a heartbeat, you wanted to go out with me because I have better conversational skills."
"Nah, you've got the wrong idea, Evans. I only liked you for your body."
She rolled her eyes.
"Bedtime, I think."
James nodded. It was well and truly late, and sobriety was coming for him faster than he would like.
Lily stood, surveying the damage. The mess in the Common Room could wait until morning.
"Goodnight," she said.
"Night, Evans."
James watched her walk away, with so many things left unsaid.
He silently berated himself. He'd resolved, over the summer, to put this behind him. To put her behind him. He would focus on his NEWTS, and another Quidditch Cup – and then forward, beyond Hogwarts, wherever that would take him.
But try as he might, he just couldn't quit.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Would be great to hear what you think.
