Dodging Prison and Stealing Witches

Chapter 51: Soul Anchors - Part Four

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text
"Welcome, witches and wizards! To the second quidditch match of the year! I'm your commentator — Lee Jordan — and this is Gryffindor vs Slytherin!"

A wave of cheers swept across the stands. Hundreds of students waved banners, flew flags, or showed off their charm skills with animated lions and snakes. Even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws pledged their allegiance to one or other of the teams, at least for the event.

"History in the making, Hogwarts! Last year, Gryffindor fielded the youngest seeker in a century, our very own 'Boy-Who-Lived' and duelling phenom, John Potter — and this year, Slytherin will match them with their own first-year seeker! A fierce duellist in her own right and the first witch on the Slytherin quidditch team in twelve years — Ginny Weasley!"

The air carried a nip that fought against even the older year's warming charms. The previous night hadn't seen a cloud in the sky, leaving the grass crisp with frost and the breath of students foggy. The crowd was a roiling sea of thick, long robes and cloaks, with the occasional muggle winter jacket thrown in.

"And here come the Slytherin team!"

Another round of cheers sounded out.

In the Gryffindor vomitorium, John Potter held his Nimbus 2001 clenched in a fist.

They would start cheering him soon. They always did. They always did, and, until this year, he'd always loved it. He knew those cheers were supposed to be supportive, but given everything that had happened, the weight of their expectations now felt more of a rock than a balm. Twice, he'd publicly stepped up to the plate since coming back in time, and twice he'd failed — first at the last quidditch match, when he'd accidentally won the match for Slytherin by catching the snitch in his mouth — and then second at the duelling tournament when Harry had been ready to beat him, if Dumbledore hadn't sprung his trap to send Harry to Azkaban in time to save him — a trap, which hadn't even worked, despite putting him in hospital.

A tendril of guilt about that whole affair wormed its way into his head before he firmly crushed it. He couldn't afford to be weak. There was too much riding on it. Virgo was right. He needed to be strong. He needed to be powerful. He needed to stop losing.

"And now, here comes the Gryffindor team! Wood, Spinet, Johnson, Bell, Weasley, Weasley, and Potter!"

The cheers rang in his ears as he walked onto the pitch. John Potter — the Boy Who Lived — the fake — the fraud — the chosen of Fate and Death — and now, the one who was always losing.

"Ready to lose, Potter?"

It took every ounce of self control not to wince at the words. Ginny Weasley, wearing green robes and a smirk, stood opposite him with arms folded while Flint and Wood looked like they were trying to break each other's fingers.

"Lose, little sister?" Fred Weasley asked from beside him with a raised eyebrow.

"Isn't it you who should be ready to lose?" George added.

"Don't think we'll go easy on you—"

"—Just because you're our dear little sister."

John took a deep breath. He narrowed his eyes. "I will not lose. I cannot lose."

Ginny actually looked momentarily surprised by the force in his words before her smirk became a grin. "Good, Potter," she said. "Then I won't need to hold back." And for just a second, John thought he saw a flash of his own Ginny buried deep in the Slytherin facade that stood before him now. That flash died a second later though, replaced again by the cold smirk, and his thoughts passed over the rumours he'd heard in the last week — that Ginny had duelled Snape in defence class, and that she hadn't been found wanting, at least in a very limited duel. At first, he'd dismissed the claims out of hand — Ginny was never that good — but after Virgo had started pouring over all those possible rituals with him — rituals with terrible costs, but which might improve someone's fighting prowess by a little, or a lot — doubt had stirred.