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Dirty Plays


Quidditch in the winter was James’s least favorite part of being on the team. He decided this when he woke up and shivered as he put on his Quidditch robes, so cold he could scarcely do up the buttons. The window showed a grey and dismal day outside as the finest sleet clicked against the glass. He made sure he grabbed the heated gloves his Dad had given him out of his trunk and double padded the socks in his trainers. Lily was in the common room, already in her Quidditch robes and curled up in front of the early morning fire, reading a book. She looked up as James descended the stairs, biting the ends of his gloves as he tightened them ‘round his wrist to keep them from falling off. Her broom leaned against the table. James leaned his alongside it and set himself down on the couch as she turned back to her reading.

Derek had demanded everyone be up early in the morning for the match, which would be against Slytherin, as he wanted to be sure they had plenty of time to talk over strategies in the locker rooms before taking the pitch. James looked up at the clock and wondered if maybe he and Lily were a little earlier than Derek had had in mind - seeing as neither Derek nor any of their other teammates were there just yet.

“Any sign of anyone else being awake up in the boys dorms?” Lily asked, looking up as she turned the page of the book she was reading.

“None that I heard,” James answered.

Lily turned back to her book.

James studied her a moment. “So Remus told you… stuff, I heard,” he said after a long moment.

She nodded without looking up.

“What do you think about it?” he asked.

Lily held up a finger, her lips forming around the words on the pages she was reading until she came to the end of a sentence, then she pressed one finger against the spot she’d left off at and looked at James. “What do I think about it? What do you mean by that?”

James shrugged, “I mean, surely you have some sort of thought or - or opinion on it, yeah?”

Lily frowned, thinking, and then replied, “I think I understand why Remus was sorted to Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.” Her green eyes seemed even greener in the low lighting, if that were possible, dark like a forest, though, rather than their usual bottle color. She ran her fingers along the edges of the pages of her book thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” James agreed, “I reckon it probably takes an awful lot of courage to be Remus Lupin.” He nodded.

“How long have you known about it?” Lily asked.

“He told Sirius, Peter, and I last term. About a year now, I s’pose… Blimey, that was a quick year.” He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Sirius had figured it out and sort of… sort of confronted him about it.”

Lily looked shocked.

“Yeah. Confronting a werewolf. Guess there’s no question why Sirius was sorted Gryffindor, ‘ey?” James chuckled. He smiled and Lily noticed for the first time that his smile was a bit crooked, one side of his mouth lifting a bit higher than the other, and a small wrinkle of a dimple in the lower side. His deep brown eyes reflected the fire a bit and for but a moment Lily could see why it was that Alice Bell had once called James Potter a looker. But then he added, “I’m not afraid of him, either, of course -- belonging in Gryffindor as much as either of them…” His tone carried that boisterous, egotistical over confidence that Lily so loathed.

He’d been surely about to go off on some long winded tirade about how brave he was, but luckily for Lily, James was interrupted by the sound of Frank Longbottom and Andrew Woodhouse coming down the stairs with their Quidditch robes on. Andrew carried his Keepers pads as well. The others followed along not much longer and they all made their way down to the pitch. All except Derek.

“Where’s Derek at?” James asked, looking at Bilius and Alex.

Bilius shrugged. “We assumed he was down here with you lot already,” Alex answered.

As though being summonsed, the portrait door flew open and Derek Bell came through. He looked surprised to see the full of the Quidditch team already waiting for him in the common room. He glanced at a shiny new watch on his wrist and said, “Blimey, I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Late?” echoed Frank Longbottom with a yawn, “You call this late?”

“Let me go and put on my Quidditch robes,” Derek said, heading for the stairs. “You know, if you lot wanted to head down to the pitch, I’ll follow along in just a second!” He disappeared up to the seventh year dorms.

Alex looked ‘round at Bilius with his eyebrows raised.

Bilius sighed, “Alright you lot, you heard the Captain…” and he motioned toward the portrait hole.

“What if we get down there and he keeps us waiting all over again?” Andy Woodhouse complained.

“He won’t keep us waiting again --” said Bilius, though his voice wasn’t as confident as he’d wanted it to be when he’d said it. He led the way, nonetheless, into the corridor, and the rest of the team followed along, taking it in turns to pass a yawn about them as they made their way through the castle.

Derek did not keep them waiting very long. He arrived to the team locker room in no time at all, pushing along one of the blackboards that Madam Hooch kept in the pitch house for use in planning out strategies. Derek swept a piece of chalk over the board, drawing out complicated plays and explaining what each of the players were meant to do. “It’s Slytherin, don’t forget,” he said, “They’re likely to play a bit dirty and a bit rough, so we need to be prepared for that as well.”

“It’s Slytherin,” said Bilius, correcting Derek’s words, “They always play very dirty and very rough.”

Lily looked a bit nervous. “But Madam Hooch will call a penalty if they’re too bad, won’t she?”

“Assuming she catches them,” mumbled Frank. “They’re bloody sneaky about it.”

“And there’s usually so much dirty play going on it’s right hard to keep up,” Alex Tinnamin added.

“Just play your best,” Derek said, “Don’t get dirty back. I want our team to win, but I want us to win cleanly and well, not because we’re bullies on brooms.”

Later that night, the Gryffindors returned to the common room that night, soaked and frozen to the core.

Despite all the planning, the game had gone rather poorly - though partly because of the Slytherin team’s nasty showmanship. Several penalties had been called, it was true, but several more easily could’ve been. Lily had sustained a rather sizable bruise from a bludger before Frank Longbottom could fend it off. James had been hit in the leg by the bat of one of the Slytherin Beaters, who had claimed he’d thought he saw a bludger, but there hadn’t been one anywhere near James at the time - only the quaffle, which James had been about to shoot through one of the rings. All in all, the Gryffindors were quite discouraged as they tromped back into the common room, followed by the rest of the house. At least they were finally away from the cheering, gloating Slytherins, who had shouted and jeered all the way across the grounds from the pitch.

“That was awful,” groaned Bilius, dropping into the cushions of the couch and covering his eyes, letting his beater’s bat fall to the floor at his feet. Water dripped from the ends of his hair as he leaned his head back.

Derek set himself to pacing before the fireplace. “At least we played a clean game. We didn’t resort to the rubbish they did. We may not have gotten the points towards the House Cup, sure, but we’re not entirely out of the running - that’s the first loss we’ve had this season, and I’ll be quite justified in taking more of you lot to the tourney than some of those awful Slytherin players. The tourney has to be fought clean or it’ll reflect poorly on Hogwarts. So, there’s that. And Dumbledore said that each player on the tourney team will represent a hundred points for their house. So the House Cup could still be Gryffindor’s…”

“Well Derek was a helluva lot more cheerful tonight than he has been,” said Sirius that night as they climbed the stairs. “He’s been storming and stewing about the castle all week.”

“I know,” said James, nodding, “And he was a lot more attentive out on the pitch today than he’s been, too. Less distracted. We might’ve lost but it certainly wasn’t because any of us played a poor game on the Gryffindor team. It’s those ridiculous Slytherins that’s done it. Did you see that one play, when that Isaac Horan bloke nearly took out my ankle with his bat?”

Remus spoke up, “He’s in that awful Slug Club thing that Professor Slughorn drags Lily and I off to every now and then.” He frowned. There hadn’t been many Slug Club events yet this term - only one small party back ‘round Halloween time - but the idea of it left a poor taste in his mouth. There was another event coming up that he wasn’t going to have to attend, thanks to a Full Moon. For the first time in his life, Remus was thankful he was going to be spending the evening gone wolf.

“Whatever for?” demanded James.

Remus shrugged, “He’s supposed to be Slytherin’s star player, isn’t he? I reckon that’s why.”

James rolled his eyes, “Not very bright for a star.”

Peter laughed a little too loud at the joke, and they all turned ‘round to look at him. “It was funny,” he said defensively.

In their dorms, the boys sprawled about in their various places about the room, after changing into their pyjamas. James snuggled himself under the blankets, warming his toes in their depths, and pulled the little snitch from the drawer of his nightstand and set himself to a bit of catch-and-release with the little golden ball. Meanwhile, Remus set to homework while Peter set up a game of Wizard Chess with Sirius. It was some time that they spent there in the room in peace, the only sounds included the ticking of sleet on the window, the whir of the snitch’s wings, the scraping of Remus’s quill, and the occasional whispered curse from Peter as one of Sirius’s pieces crushed one of Peter’s.

At least until the silence was split by a spine-chilling shriek.

James sat up, the snitch escaping and zooming off into the canopy over his bed, bouncing off the thick velvet there, trying to get away. Remus spilled some ink across his parchment, and Sirius leaped up, knocking the board into the lap of a squealing Peter, withdrawing his wand with wide, alert eyes. The boys looked at one another in the silence that followed the scream, and then they all four rushed for the door at the same time.

There was a commotion in the common room. An owl perched on the back of the high chair by the fire, watching with serene eyes over the scene before him. One of the fourth year girls was collapsed on the carpet by the table, Bilius Weasley kneeling beside her, her head resting on his knee as two other fourth year girls fretted, one fanning her with a bit of parchment, as the girl on the floor sobbed, clutching a scrolled up letter to her chest.

Remus spotted Lily Evans, standing to one side, looking quite horrified, and he moved toward her, followed by the other three Gryffindor boys. “What’s going on?” he asked her lowly.

“That’s Amelia Parry,” Lily replied, “And I’m not certain exactly what’s happened but - but somebody’s been killed by the sounds of it.”

Remus hung his head.

“Somebody go for McGonagall!” shouted Bilius, “And Pomfrey as well!”

“I’ll go,” Sirius offered, and he bolted for the door as quick as lightning, disappearing through the portrait hole, followed quickly by James.

“More deaths,” whispered Peter, fretting and kneading his fingers together, “Isn’t there anybody that’s safe?”

Lily shook her head, “It doesn’t seem as though there is, Peter.”

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey arrived at nearly the same time just minutes after James and Sirius had gone for them. Amelia was led shakily, still sobbing, out of the common room, leaning upon McGonagall for support as Pomfrey made a fuss and tried to give the girl some potion to comfort and calm her. Bilius followed them as far as the portrait hole before McGonagall bid him to stay. “We can take are of Miss. Parry from here, Mr. Weasley.” He nodded and watched as the portrait hole swung closed.

In the rush of conversation that followed Amelia Parry’s departure came about the truth that it was in fact her father who had been killed - as well as a muggle family to whom the Parrys were rather close. The story was in the Daily Prophet the next day as well, revealing even more information about what had happened. It had been the dead of night and Mrs. Parry had heard a funny sound next door, where the muggles lived, and woke her husband, whose protective charms were all over the muggle house. He had run to check on the muggles and moments later their home had been destroyed, killing every living creature within - including three muggle children, their parents, their pet cat, and, of course, Mr. Parry. The explosion was being investigated, but it was strongly believed by Ministry of Magic Aurors to be the work of Death Eaters.

Lily cried at the table in the Great Hall while reading the article. Remus put an arm ‘round her shoulders and her tears spilled into his chest while James tried not to look at them, studying his porridge. Sirius was busy hoping it hadn’t been Orion or Walburga that had done it. For once, Peter was not the only Gryffindor at the table that seemed sick with nerves as a result of the story. He was just one of the many.

“I just don’t understand,” James overheard Frank Longbottom saying to Andrew Woodhouse further down the table, “Exactly how does murdering a lot of muggles during the night help You-Know-Who gain power? It’s cowardly is what it is…”

James scoffed, breaking into the conversation, “Isn’t everything that Voldemort does cowardly? Hiding behind followers, rather than doing the dirty work himself. He thinks he’s so great -- ha!” James shook his head, “He’s nothing but a coward. And I’ll tell him that to his face, too,” he added, “If I’m ever given the chance again.”