Whimsical {James Potter}

Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Quidditch

Cressida never does end up asking James for those extra sessions to catch up on Quidditch training with. And maybe that is a mistake, but a mistake she is willing to risk for the sake of her sanity.

The tent is freezing, its red material walls flapping against the stark wind that brings snow and ice from the skies. But the game will go on. James Potter stands at the front, the rest of the team huddle in a horse-shoe around him.

Sirius leans down close to her ear, leaning on his broom and whispers, "Do you reckon Morrison's sideburns will freeze over?" Cressida smiles silently, ducking her head to avoid their Captain's sharp gaze that lays on each member. Morrison, their Seeker, has sideburns that are almost as long as the rest of his hair. He confidently assured people they are the raging style in London.

"Black," James snaps, halting the pair's sniggering instantly. "Shut up and listen."

Sirius rolls his eyes as James continues talking about tactics they've already run over a hundred times. They brush him off easily enough. He was like this before he was made Captain and the title has only made him worse. "Feeling confident?" Sirius questions lowly, clearly not bothered about James' warning. "Weather's a bit bleak."

"It's a snowstorm," she mutters, shifting weight onto her left foot from the right. "I'd be surprised if there's anyone in the stands."

"I'd say enough people want to watch us kick Slytherin's butt," he smirks. "Besides, it's Britain. People are used to shit weather."

Cressida tightens the thick Quidditch jacket around her, another thick woollen jumper below that as well. "Ain't that the truth."

A whistle blows from outside, eyes naturally turning towards it but James claps his hands together, drawing their attention back. "There are two endings to this day. Defeat, or victory. And I don't accept defeat. Let's move!"

The team begin shuffling out of the tent, Sirius and Cressida being pushed into the heart of it. "You'd think he'd give us some slack, wouldn't you?" Sirius questions, no longer bothering with a hushed whisper. "Considering we're his mates."

Cressida purses her lips together, raising both her hands – the broom in one. "Friends. Quidditch." She weighs the air, the both of them lapsing into chuckles at her result.

The tent entrance opens, an icy wind penetrating even the thickest layers of clothing and the team jobs towards the stands which barricade some of the weather. She jumps from foot to foot, hearing at least a small crowd beginning to chant and their announcer introduce the game. At James' signal, they mount, hovering in the air.

And at the announcement of their team, they begin flying around the Quidditch pit. It is white as far as the eye can see, the usual bright colours of the stand looking as though the colour has been bled out of them. The weather continues to snip at her skin, drying out her lips and skin.

Hooch flies to the base of the pitch where the trunk lays and their match would begin. Both teams circle the area, flying into their starting positions. Cressida moves towards the goals, flying at level with the middle and watches the dark specs from the distance.

This would be a difficult game, she realises. Slytherins play dirty on a regular basis, but with the hard weather impacting not only theirs, and the audience's vision, but Hooch's as well. And they will know they can get away with a lot more than usual.

The harsh wind blows at her and her broom, needing constant readjustment. Cressida watches the dark blotches, delighted that she can at least see the red tint of their uniform. Then suddenly they are moving.