The Marauders' Era (A Harry Potter Fanfic)

Part 7

"Ooooh-hoo!" James cheered as he soared through the air on his new Nimbus 1500. The crowd exploded in crazy cheers.

"JAMES!"

"Go, Potter!"

"Don't let me down! I bet five galleons on you! Five galleons!"

James smirked. They had already scored a hundred points, while the Ravenclaws had only forty points. His first match as the Gryffindor captain, and they were already close to winning!

"Potter! Look out!" Jordan, one of the Beaters, yelled as a black Bludger swished past him with furious speed. He ducked again as another Bludger was hit toward him by one of the Ravenclaw beaters. James spotted the red Quaffle at the other end of the field, and he leaned forward on his broomstick. The wind whipped past, and all he could hear over the crowd was his own blood pounding in his ears.

In one quick motion he whooped down and snatched the Quaffle from the Ravenclaw captain. What was his name again? Goldstan? Goldstein? Yep, that was it. He flew towards the Ravenclaw goals, Goldstein hot on his trail.

"Bell!" James called as the Ravenclaw Chasers approached him. He tossed the Quaffle to Edward Bell, who grabbed it swiftly from the air. They tossed back and forth multiple times with the other Chaser, Freddie Thomas, until they reached the Ravenclaw goals. Freddie threw the Quaffle to Edward, who feinted left then tossed to James, who then successfully scored again.

"YES!" The crowd sporting red and gold screamed, and James raised his fist in the air. He scanned the crowd, sure that he had caught a glimpse of red hair...

Then he was falling, falling, an unbearable pain in the side of his head...

•

The first thing he noticed was that his vision was blurry. He reached blindly for his glasses on the bedside table, but could not find anything.

Then he tried to sit up.

Big mistake.

A sharp pain shot through his body from the right side of his head, and he cried out loudly.

"Ouch!"

Quick footsteps approached, and he carefully lowered himself back onto the bed.

"Finally awake, Mr. Potter! Don't go sitting up now, you've cracked your skull!"

It sounded like Madam Pomfrey. James realized that he must be in the hospital wing. But why?

"Hi, Poppy." Even his voice was croaky. "Er, do you happen know where my glasses are?"

His spectacles were shoved onto his face. He positioned them again until his vision became clear.

"Thanks."

"You've been out for a whole day now, Mr. Potter," she handed him a beaker. "Drink this, it'll make the pain go away."

"WHAT?! A day!" He cried out and almost jumped out of bed, but Madam Pomfrey forced the liquid down his throat. After swallowing the gruesome medicine with some difficulty, he asked, "What about the match? Who won?"

Madam Pomfrey ignored him. "That's a question your friends will answer. Drink up," she ordered, giving him another beaker. He gulped it down, and was surprised to find that it actually tasted sweet.

"Now, I'll be in my office if you need anything, Mr. Potter, and I'm afraid you'd have to stay tonight. I'll take that." She took the beaker from him.

"But the match--" But she had already slammed the door behind her.

James sighed.

"You can come out now, mates, she's gone."