All Right, Evans?

Chapter 8

Saturday 9:50 A.M.

It was the first Quidditch match of the season, and conditions were good. It was a breezy October morning, slightly overcast, and the ground was bone-dry from a lack of rain (good for kick-off, bad in the event that someone fell off their broom, James thought, but he'd take his chances).

It was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. James was familiar with the team; Amos Diggory - captain, Keeper, and resident Head Boy - had done a fair job with his recruits. His Chasers were agile, his Beaters broad, and his Seeker quick. Diggory had followed Quidditch protocol, but James was confident enough in his own team.

He watched them as they laced up boots and tugged on gloves in the locker room. Frank Longbottom and Cam Bradley were his fellow Chasers, and he'd be sorry to see them go once their seventh year was over in June; the same went for his Keeper, Joyce Gibbins. But Beaters Sarah Blake and Oliver Tipton, as well as Seeker Raiff Okerley, would be on the team well after James left, so he knew he'd be leaving Gryffindor in the right hands when the time came.

But he couldn't concentrate on that now, James knew. He had to focus, he had to prepare, he had to pep talk. He didn't have time to think about next year or the year after or the fact that maybe he shouldn't have eaten all that junk for breakfast or the way Evans had winked at him when he'd passed by her...

No. James shook his head forcefully. Definitely didn't have time to think about that. Get distracted by Lily Evans and you'd practically be begging for a Bludger to the head.

"All right," James said, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind to be explored again later. "Ready?"

"And raring," Frank said with a grin.

"Hear, hear," Sarah added, and Oliver pounded his broomstick enthusiastically against the floor.

"Brilliant." James snapped his goggles over his head and led his team out of the locker room.

As soon as they stepped onto the pitch, the Gryffindor team was met with raucous cheers from the end of the crowd that was a solid wall of scarlet and gold. Meanwhile, the black-and-yellow clad Hufflepuffs were applauding as their own team approached.

"Captains, shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch as the teams met at the halfway point. James and Amos shook and the players mounted their broomsticks.

"On my whistle, then," Madam Hooch said. "Three, two, one -"

They were off, fourteen blurs of yellow and red, speeding towards their positions, chasing the Quaffle and dodging the Bludgers and keeping an eye out for the Snitch.

"And they're off," said the booming voice of seventh-year Bertha Jorkins, who was commentating. "Bradley's got the Quaffle, Cam Bradley of Gryffindor. She passes to Longbottom and - rather nice swerve around Davidson there - now the Quaffle to James Potter, captain of Gryffindor."

James ducked around another Hufflepuff Chaser, rolling his eyes at Bertha's commentary. She was always so superfluous with the details; then again, listening to herself talk was just something Bertha Jorkins liked to do.

"The Gryffindor Chasers are a tight group," Bertha observed. "Makes you wonder what Potter's going to do without Longbottom and Bradley next year. Of course, he could easily recruit his friends. Maybe next year we'll get to see if Sirius Black or Phillip Pettigrew are any good at sport."

"Peter!" Peter shouted over the laughter of the crowd around him. "It's Peter, you daft cow!"

Bertha, however, was back to commentating on the match, and didn't bother to correct her mistake.