home :: fanfiction :: links :: livejournal :: recs :: about

Paragons
of delight and uncertainty
by Raven

PG-13, het, Lily/James. James likes Lily. Maybe not as much as he likes Quidditch. She might like him, too - but unfortunately, Sirius, Remus and Peter have got it in their heads to be helpful. The Slytherins are less than amused by proceedings. Complications ensue. With grateful thanks to Pirate Perian for the thorough beta, to Hathor for the loan of her personality, and to Leigh, Tory and Meredith for the ideas.


The retelling of some events that did take place at Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the summer of the year nineteen seventy-six, Anno Domini.

 
Chapter Eight - in which all the best Chasers are girls

James had no idea whether Kit did indeed make good his threats; all he knew was that the day of the match dawned bright and clear, and there was Kit, pacing the changing-rooms as he delivered his usual pep talk. James was hardly listening. He’d been on the team for five years, and this speech had become as routine as putting on his Quidditch robes and attempting to quell the butterflies in his stomach. Also as a matter of routine, he made himself think of Sirius, Remus and Peter sitting up in the stands rooting for him, and some of the nervousness eased itself. After a moment, he realised his thoughts weren’t quite on the well-worn track; as well as his three friends, his mental image also featured a girl, a pretty red-haired one…

“Potter, we’re on.”

He blinked. He’d missed the whole of the speech, but apparently that didn’t mean he’d missed much, as the team were their usual jumpy selves as they  went out onto the green turf of the pitch.

Madam Hooch waited for the green-robed Slytherins to appear, and blew her whistle. “Up!” James yelled at his broom, and was airborne within seconds. As always, the team spread out. The two Beaters launched themselves towards the Bludgers, and Kit flew high above everyone else, watching for the Snitch, leaving the three Chasers, James included, to fly in triangular formation.

Something about the feeling of being in the air calmed him instantly, taking away his fears, even silencing the roar of the crowd in his ears. The whole world revolved around the sleek red Quaffle, and he flew straight towards it, grabbing it and flinging it behind him.

Another Chaser, a blonde, frizzy-haired girl, caught it deftly and swung it towards the goal hoops. She missed, but the third Chaser snatched it away from the Slytherin Keeper’s outstretched fingers and dropped it neatly through the hoop.

There was a roar of pleasure from the Gryffindor stands, and boos and hisses from the Slytherin ones. “And that’s ten points to Gryffindor!” said the commentator delightedly. He was an over-enthusiastic Gryffindor first year named Bill Weasley, and Professor McGonagall was keeping a strict eye on him. “Very nice formation play from the three Gryffindor Chasers, Potter, Cheetham and Moth; and we’re off again, Potter has the Quaffle, he dodges a sneaky Bludger hit by Slytherin Beater Black, he shoots, he sc-… no, the Quaffle is caught by the Slytherin Keeper and play resumes…”

Up above, James was reassured by a brief whisper passing his ear. “Bad luck, Potter,” and Kit was gone, flying higher than James would have dared in his search for the Snitch.

The Slytherins had control of the Quaffle now. Despite the best attempts of the Gryffindor Keeper, they managed to score twice in quick succession, much to the other team’s discomfiture.

“And Slytherin have pulled into an early lead,” said the commentator mournfully. “But what have we here? Gryffindor take the Quaffle! A backwards pass – clever, Potter – and there’s Gryffindor Chaser Cheetham, heading towards the goal…”

James was speeding to catch up with her, meaning to be in the right place at the right time for another pass, but the Slytherin Keeper, having abandoned the hoops, was gaining on him, and in a moment of inspiration he stopped dead. “Hey!” he yelled upwards. 

The blonde girl grinned and caught the thrown Quaffle, lobbing it gently towards the goal. The Keeper, still distracted by James, was far too late. 

“Goal!” yelled Bill Weasley. “Ten points to Gryffindor, nice play by Potter and Cheetham.”

The noise of the crowd swelled. The teams were neck-and-neck now, and it showed in the intensity with which they launched themselves into the game. Slytherin captured the Quaffle first, and from thereon in, they seemed to have an edge over Gryffindor, cleverly using their Beaters as defence and keeping control of the Quaffle. James watched in dismay as the Bludgers were aimed yet again at himself and Cheetham, who had only just recovered from the last onslaught and barely dodged, swearing wildly. The Slytherin Chasers took advantage, scoring twice in a row again to massive consternation from the Gryffindor stands below. One of the Chasers insolently looped-the-loop in triumph, and James groaned.  

So did the commentator. “That’s sixty points to Slytherin against Gryffindor’s twenty. Come on, Gryffindor!”

Seized by a thought, James glanced upwards. Kit was searching for the Snitch with renewed concentration. James hoped he caught it quickly; at this rate, Slytherin might beat them by a hundred and fifty points by goals alone and make the game a lost cause.

He was so busy thinking this that he nearly missed the Quaffle flying past his head. Nearly, but not quite.

“And Potter intercepts! He’s heading towards the goal like a bat out of hell… come on, Potter… he scores! Ten points to Gryffindor!”

Cheetham grabbed the Quaffle the moment it flew through the hoop, dodging the Slytherin Keeper and swinging upwards to the third Chaser, Moth.

James waited as the neat triangle was completed, caught the Quaffle, and watched as the opposing Keeper headed towards Cheetham, James’ obvious choice to throw to. Therefore, he tossed the Quaffle straight back at Moth.

Who scored. James fancied he heard Sirius yelling, “All the best Chasers are girls!”

“And that’s another ten points! Gryffindor are fighting back!”

It seemed to give them confidence. The three Chasers, already used to working as a seamless team of three, inspired the Beaters to their best moves. Both the Slytherin Seeker and Keeper had to dodge heavy Bludgers speeding towards their heads.

Above even the Chasers’ heads, Kit Marlowe flew in somersaults as an expression of his appreciation.

It was a mistake. The Slytherin team were already furious, and for the first time, they seemed to become aware of the Gryffindor team captain’s existence.

The Beaters flew upwards.

“Foul!” screeched the commentator. Professor McGonagall seemed to agree with him, making no protest as Bill continued, “And that’s a deliberate attack on the Gryffindor Seeker by the opposing Beaters! Two Bludgers at once! Will you look at that!”

High above them, Kit had been forced to dodge first one Bludger and then another one in very quick succession, rolling over and over on his broom. For a horrible moment, he looked as if he might fall, slipping off the end of the broom, but he hung on to the handle like grim death, eventually pulling himself up onto the broom again. There were cheers from the crowd below, and as he looked down he was distracted for a few fatal seconds. A Beater aimed another Bludger at him, and it slammed into his leg with a crack. This time, he didn’t fall. He merely aimed his broom downwards at as steep an angle as he dared, and as James watched, he zoomed towards the pitch, landing on it with an awkward flump and slipping off his broom. 

Madam Hooch blew her whistle. For a moment James was worried it was because something really serious had happened to Kit, but as both teams headed towards the ground, he realised she was merely calling for a time-out period. Like the rest of the team, he headed straight towards Kit, who still lay on the ground, groaning periodically.

They were headed off at the pass by Madam Pomfrey, who refused to let them anywhere near their team captain. She was utterly livid. “I warned him!” she yelled. “I told him it was too soon! And now he’s broken it again and he’ll be in bed for a week and…”

“A week?” Kit yelled back at her, rising for a moment, but then slumped back on the pitch, clutching his leg. 

“I can make it three, Mr Marlowe!” she howled. “I can only mend the same bone so many times!”

She was conjuring a stretcher as she spoke, and ignoring his protests, she aimed her wand at Kit and gently levitated him onto it. He gave up trying to appeal to her. Instead, he called out, “Potter!”

James hurried over. Madam Pomfrey seemed to relent for a moment, letting him pass by her and lean in to listen. “Listen,” Kit told him, teeth gritted, although whether in pain or determination it was hard to tell. “We will not forfeit this match. We can’t. Do you understand me?”

“There’s no Seeker…” James began.

“I don’t care,” Kit told him. “We will not let the Slytherins go without a fight. We will not. Do you understand me, Potter?”

“I understand,” James replied, standing back as Madam Pomfrey breezed past, using her wand to prod the stretcher forwards. The team all turned their heads to watch as she moved to leave, taking their Seeker with her.

The Slytherins weren’t trying to hide their enjoyment of the situation, grinning and nudging at each other, pointing at the crestfallen opposing team. It was the sight of Evan Rosier, the Slytherin Seeker, mimicking Kit’s inelegant flight towards the ground that forced James to act. With a few hurried words to Madam Hooch, who glared but nodded, he was off, running up into the stands. He brushed past hundreds of Gryffindors, a mass of red and gold, but he knew where he was going, and he emerged at the top level of the stands breathless and panting.

“James!” Sirius stared at him. “What’s going on? What happened to Marlowe?”

“There’s no time,” James panted. “Kit’s out, he can’t play. We need a substitute.” As he said it, he turned away from Sirius to look straight at the boy sitting behind him.

“What? Oh, no…” Remus backed away from him, pushing past Peter along the line of seats. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Remus, please. We’ll lose the match otherwise. Please.”

“Who says you’d win if I played?”

“At least we’ll have tried!”

Sirius looked from one to the other, saying nothing. James turned away for a moment, looking out at the stand descending below, and the goal hoops far above. Some of the Slytherins were in the air already, no doubt expressing their displeasure at the delay.

Remus was staring at the sky straight above their heads. James followed his gaze to see the moon, a waxing crescent against the blue.

“All right, then.”

James doubted his ears for a moment. “You’ll do it?”

Remus smiled briefly. “Yes, I’ll do it. Lead on, Macduff.”

James was up and moving, but Sirius called him back. “Hey, Prongs! Not quite so fast!”

James turned to see Sirius staring at Remus, looking thoughtfully. As he watched, Sirius pulled out his wand and muttered, “Leonensis.”

Remus’s school robes changed colour. A deep Gryffindor red spread like a stain over the plain black, and eventually, they trimmed themselves with gold. Sirius laughed. “Not quite perfect,” he said, “but you’ll do.”

“Come on,” James called, and the two ran down the steep steps, past the rows of spectators and down onto the pitch. They passed Madam Pomfrey on their way (“Oh, it’s you,” she said to Remus with a glare, and he laughed) and presented themselves in front of Madam Hooch, both somewhat out of breath. “Well?” she demanded.

“We’re going to play,” James declared. “This is my friend Remus Lupin. He’s going to be Seeker.”

“Lupin,” she said thoughtfully, scrutinising Remus. “All right, then. Get on with it, we’ve kept them all waiting long enough already.”

They complied, running towards the rest of the team, who were standing beside their brooms. James glanced quickly at Remus. “Butterflies?” he whispered.

“Pterodactyls,” Remus replied briefly, grinning, and the whistle blew.

previous | next

comments, compliments, rotten tomatoes...

back