“FUCK!”
A bludger skimmed the side of James’ head, brushing past a few of his unruly, brown curls.
He looked around to find where the ball came from, a Slytherin beater - was Crouch his name? - smirked back at him.
James returned the grin with a less than friendly gesture from his middle finger.
Crouch just kept smiling, the fucker, and nodded his head upward, indicating a threat coming from behind the Gryffindor.
This time, he didn’t have time to swear.
Another bludger, or perhaps it was the same one, was flying towards James at a terrifying speed.
He heard it before he saw it, the familiar hiss as it tried to demount players from their brooms.
Fortunately, the chaser had the sense to urge the broomstick upwards before the damn quidditch ball could pierce through his ribs.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t reached enough of a height, and the bludger landed at the tail of his broom, knocking his balance all over the place.
James could faintly hear a yell coming from someone, it sounded like they were saying “Prongs” - ah, must be Sirius then.
James leaned forward, clutching on the wood, but without the second half of his broomstick, he couldn’t do anything except for keep hold.
And then, he let go.
The sweat from the anticipation of the game, mixed with the loss of uprightness he’d experienced with the broom breaking, had loosened his grip.
In the end, he was blindly reaching out for his broom which was left five metres higher than him.
“JAMES!”
Someone else was screaming now, but the Gryffindor barely heard it over his own shouts.
And… cheers?
Then someone, he assumed a professor maybe, had uttered a braking spell on him, to soften the fall.
“Hey,” as soon as James landed on the ground, still bewildered as to what had gone wrong, his best friend joined him.
“Pads?” “Mhm, you alright?”
“I think? Why- ” the chaser shook his head, making sense of the situation, “Oh.”
A scoreboard, red on one side, green on the other, read out “60 to 180: Slytherin Victory”.
“Yeah,” Marlene, another member of the Gryffindor quidditch team, and one of James’ closest friends, nodded, “I went for the snitch but noticed your fall midway through.”
“Baby Black got it,” Marlene shrugged, “Next time, eh?”
“Fuck,” James let the “k” sound ring on longer than needed.
“Potter,” Minnie’s - Professor McGonagall’s - voice was anxious, “Let’s take you to Madam Pomfrey, you suffered quite the fall.”
“I’m okay, you stopped the fall pretty well.”
McGonagall tried to argue back, but another set of feet landed on the ground before she could do so.
His silhouette was outlined by the setting sun in the background, hair awfully pristine as though he hadn’t been flying for half and hour at least by now.
“Potter,” this tone was a lot colder, his silver-grey eyes looking up and down, seeming to decided himself whether James was okay.
The Slytherin captain, also Sirius’ little brother, dropped the newly-caught snitch in his opponent’s hands, “Rematch.”
He picked up his broom, walking away without another word.
Silence followed for another few seconds, and then, “Well. That was something.”
James didn’t know how to reply.
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