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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 Seven - in which it is not Friday
James was sitting by the fireplace, minding his own business, when the unthinkable happened. Quite of her own accord, Lily came over to talk to him.
“James,” she said. Instantly and inexplicably, every connection between James’s brain and his mouth was severed. He managed, “Grrrargh,” before falling into silence. Diplomatically, Lily chose to ignore this. “James, it’s about Kit Marlowe. You’re on the Gryffindor team with him, aren’t you?”
Some of James’s mental integrity was restored. Quidditch was his specialist subject, after all. “Yes,” he said faintly.
“He’s had a bit of an accident.”
“He’s what?”
“He’s broken his leg,” Lily said carefully.
“He’s what?” yelled James again, leaping to his feet. “How? The match is in two days! Where is he?”
“In the hospital wing, of course,” Lily replied, surprised. “I was passing and he yelled for me to go and get you… although I doubt Madam Pomfrey will let you in,” she added as an afterthought. It was too late. James had already sprinted the length of the common room and thrown himself through the portrait hole. Lily sighed.
James didn’t stop running until he had reached the hospital wing. It was on the other side of the castle, and once he’d got there, he had to stop to catch his breath, leaning against the door. Seconds later he regretted it, for the door opened from the other side and he almost fell through it, grabbing at whatever was closest to stay upright. This turned out to be Remus Lupin, who blinked in surprise. “James?”
“Remus?” James was still gasping for breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I expect,” Remus replied. “I went in to see Kit, because you can’t, and I asked him…”
“What do you mean, I can’t?” James interrupted.
“Madam Pomfrey won’t let him have any visitors. Can’t you hear her?”
James listened carefully, and was rewarded with the sound of Hogwarts’ matron in a fine old temper. “No, you cannot talk to James Potter! You need absolute rest! What part of that is unclear to you, Mr Marlowe?”
“Then how did you get in?” James asked Remus.
“She likes me,” said Remus simply, “and besides, I was only in there for a minute. Look…” he glanced behind him through the door, “we can’t really do much here, so we might as well go back to the common room.”
James acquiesced, and on the way Remus told the story as it had been told to him. It would appear that a couple of the Slytherins, namely Rodolphus Lestrange and Sirius’s cousin Bellatrix, had fallen into conversation with Kit on his way to his Potions lesson down in the dungeons. They had been quite friendly and civil, talking about this and that as if they had clean forgotten about the centuries-old rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and Kit had been surprised but gratified by these sudden overtures of friendship. During the course of the conversation, Bellatrix had idly asked what date it was; she wasn’t entirely sure, and was afraid she’d been writing the wrong date on her work that day. Lestrange had just as idly said it was Friday, so it had to be the fourteenth. Bellatrix had thanked him for this information, and it was at this point that they had both parted ways with Kit, as they didn’t have to go to Potions. After this civil parting, Kit had found himself at the top of one of Hogwarts’ many staircases. It being Friday, he stepped confidently onto it. Sadly, it wasn’t Friday at all, but Thursday, that particular staircase’s day for being temperamental, and it had promptly flipped over like something out of an Escher painting. Kit had been deposited on the landing ten metres below, having his leg broken his leg in the process. By which time, of course, the two Slytherins were nowhere to be seen.
“It’s a pity,” Remus was saying as they clambered through the portrait hole, “as Kit’s a good Quidditch captain, but he isn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the box…”
“They were Slytherins!” retorted James defensively. “Evil, conniving gits, the lot of them!”
Sirius, once he had been told the whole story, had much the same to say. “Bella!” he exclaimed furiously. “Not only does she have to be my cousin, and she has to be in Slytherin, but she has to have a Slytherin boyfriend as well!”
James sighed. Sirius was one of very few in his family not to be sorted into Slytherin, and the suspicion he might not be a true Gryffindor was always something that rankled.
“You have to admit it was clever,” said Remus thoughtfully, staring into space. They all turned to look at him, and he frowned. “What? It was clever! They could have just hexed him in the corridor or something, but this was different – this can’t be pinned down on them.”
Secretly, James agreed with Remus on that, but he didn’t comment for fear of aggravating Sirius’s wrath further. “It was still deliberate sabotage,” he said slowly. “And the match is in two days!”
“Madam Pomfrey can mend bones instantly,” said Remus soothingly, adding, “I ought to know.”
“Yes, but will she let him fly so soon after?” said James shrewdly. “If she doesn’t, we’re doomed – we don’t have a reserve Seeker. Slytherin will win.”
Strangely, it was Sirius who was inclined to be philosophical this time. “We can only wait and see,” he said heavily, and the matter was shelved for the time being.
The night before the match, Madam Pomfrey let James in for a few minutes. No small talk was made, no pleasantries exchanged; Quidditch was far too serious a business for that.
“I’ll play,” Kit said hoarsely. “If I have to ask Dumbledore himself for permission, I will. If I have to Stun Madam Pomfrey, I will. I’ll play.”
“Get some sleep, now,” said James kindly, wondering if he ought to be quite so supportive. A broken leg was no use on a broom.
Kit obediently snuggled down in the hospital bed, but he didn’t attempt to go to sleep. As James departed, the Quidditch captain’s eyes shone with an insane, glittering light. He was going to play.