“You Didn’t Have to Stay.” (Oh, Bollocks Ch. 4)
The students of Hogwarts were not afraid of a little weather. They were English, goddamnit, and in addition to their allegiance to stereotypes of their nationality, the biggest Quidditch match of the school year was on. Gryffindor v. Slytherin, the age old rivalry, was a game that could never be postponed lest the faculty be met with an uprising. So, despite the sheets of rain falling diagonally from the grey clouded sky and winds so strong Flitwick’s toupe was nearly lost, the intense match had been allowed and was in full swing.
James of course had no care for the inclement weather; having worked to lead his team to a place where they would absolutely obliterate Slytherin, he was not about to let “a light sprinkle” ruin his chance to triumph over the subpar house. ( “James, it’s pouring rain. Do you need your eyes checked again?” Remus had jabbed that morning over breakfast). He soared through the rainfall, dark hair plastered to his forehead in a mix of hard-earned perspiration and crisp spring rain. His no-mist spectacles (a Marauders invention for playing in unsuitable conditions such as today) guarded his eyes and let him scan the field for his players and the quaffle, with McKinnon and the snitch also dancing in the back of his strategic thoughts. The field was full of action, dulled by the sleet and wind, but he shook it out of his mind and focused in on his next play.
Slytherin’s Keeper Avery was distracted by action at the Gryffindor goal hoops, which James paid little attention to as Frank was a phenomenal keeper, and so he took the opportunity to call on his fellow chasers to execute a Parkin’s Pincer. He whistled the command and Emmeline Vance appeared beside him. Fabian Prewett, who had just caught the quaffle, intercepting Jernigan and Watkins pass, also darted past him, giving a confident grin. James gave Vance a nod before they peeled off into the rainy haze to attack from three sides. As they sped into the three pronged play, Farley whipped past him on the right, her green robes fluttering ominously. Avery was suddenly met in the scoring zone by all three Gryffindor chasers and on instinct he guarded James, assuming he had the quaffle, allowing Emmeline to guard Fabian as he chucked the quaffle through the hoop. Cheers erupted from the red and gold stands, but through the fog the majority of Hogwarts failed to see that Avery was still barreling towards James, furious that their play had been successful. James himself, caught up in the rousing success of his chasing team, did not see the hulking Keeper until he was actively blagging his broom. Avery’s hand wrapped around the end of James’ Nimbus and yanked down, throwing the Gryffindor captain from the broom and sending him plummeting towards the ground. As he fell, his head smacked Macmillan’s boot, protruding obviously from the beater’s green robes, and the last thing he heard was Sirius screaming, “Bloody Hell! Blatching AND Blagging, Hooch! Call it!”
Lily pretended very hard to not enjoy Quidditch. She rolled her eyes each time Marlene and Emmeline headed off to practice, scoffed as Potter tossed that ridiculous snitch around (he wasn’t even a Seeker for Merlin’s sake), and in the stands she always attempted an air of disinterest, displaying very minimal knowledge of the game. In truth though, she loved the sport. It reminded her of the intense European football matches she’d gone to with her father as a child: the raging crowds, the intricate passes, the energetic announcer keying everyone else into the action. And in her quest to support Marls and Emmy, who’d made the Gryffindor house team in 3rd year, she’d taken it upon herself to learn all the rules and regulations of the sport. Several times she’d had to bite her tongue as Black discussed a play’s legality, knowing very well the intricacies of the rulebook but not allowing herself to blow her facade of indifference and correct him. Her friends, who were not so oblivious to her vast athletic knowledge having seen her read the entirety of “Quidditch Through the Ages”, would speculate that her attitude toward Quidditch had something to do with their house’s stud of a captain ( “Really Lily, you ought to just bite the bullet and admit that you love it. We know a certain someone who would just about die if he heard you mention the Hawkshead Attacking Formation…” ) She laughed them off and tried very hard not to think of her former adversary’s sculpted upper body shining with post-practice sweat.
She trudged out here in the freezing rain with Remus, Peter, Mary, and Alice, the other non-players of the 7th years, to observe their friends in the sport she secretly loved. However much she loved the sport though, she refused to believe it made any sense to allow a match to be played in such atrocious weather. Alice had to drag her out of Gryffindor tower and Mary was still convincing her of the benefits of going out in the hellish downpour as they found their seats in the Gryffindor bleachers. Although they could hardly see the players through the sideways rain, the action of the game and the energy of the crowd, amped up to support the intense rivalry, were undeniable, and soon she was cracking a smile and following the teams’ plays as the crowds chanted raucously around her.
She watched Prewett intercept the quaffle and join Emmeline in darting toward Potter and the Slytherin goal posts, and couldn’t help but stand and watch in glee and anticipation as they trapped Avery in the confusion of their Pincer play, the Slytherin starting towards Potter allowing Fabian to score with ease. She shot up with the rest of Gryffindor in triumph but her eye was stuck on James and she squinted to see his victorious grin through the rain. She’d always loved sneaking a glance at the players after an especially good play. As the crowds roar the athletes celebrate their own victories; she’d watch Marlene and Emmeline usually meeting the others' eye and signaling their handshake from first year across the field, James pointing to Sirius and smiling his lopsided grin. Today as she eyed Potter’s victory moment, her smile was quickly wiped as Avery shot toward him in an obvious blatching foul. She jumped up on the bench to try and get a better look and was terrified and angry as the Slytherin blagged the end of Potter’s broom and the captain went tumbling off his broom.
“Are you joking me Hooch, blatching AND blagging! Call it goddamnit!”
Her friends turned toward her, shocked at her quidditch foul terminology, but quickly refocused, now not being the time to address her quidditch vocab as they too squinted through the rain to see James hurtling towards the ground. His head cracked on Macmillan’s foot and Lily sprinted from the stands as the match dissolved into chaos.
James was carted off to the Hospital wing by Pomfrey and Hooch, along with disciplinary help from McGonagall, eventually reigned in the crowd and the two teams, between which a brawl had almost broken out in the sky. Slytherin was given two heavy penalties for Avery’s blatching and blagging, and the keeper was benched, their second string keeper Rosier stepping in for the rest of the match. Sirius could be seen arguing fervently with Marlene as he tried to fly down and follow James, Marlene reminding him of James’ coaching strategy and the threat of a forfeit. And so the game continued, eventually leading to a Gryffindor victory. The win of course was soured by the drenching rain, the contempt for Slytherin, and their martyred Captain lying in the hospital wing.
James woke up nearly 11 hours after the match had ended. Disoriented at the murky white moonlight filtering through the window to the Hospital and the splitting pain in his head, he shifts in the bed, glancing lazily around for Madame Pomfrey. It’s not until he finishes his scan of the room and his eyes land on the sleeping redhead at his bedside that he notices the hand softly but firmly gripping his own. He blinked shakily, trying to rid himself of this obvious fever dream, but the girl of his dreams doesn’t fade away with his grogginess. He lightly squeezes her hand and whispers, “L-Lily?”
She stirred and blinked the sleep away, then became alert and leaned in toward him, hand still holding his. “James! Er- you,- I thought- I only mean-” She took a breath, closing her eyes, and finally released his hand only to tuck her long hair behind both ears. “I thought you might be a goner there. Shame, though, you missed your victory party.”
His fingers flexed as he replied, subconsciously missing the feel of her hand in his. “Er- I, Yeah, but do you really think I’d let Devus Avery and Bart Macmillan’s boot be the end of me?”
She chuckled but looked very worn and worried nonetheless. “Lily?”
“I’m alright y’know?, S’alright.” His right hand reached out for hers and she eyed his tired and beaten face, before releasing a sigh and taking his calloused hand once more.
“What, James…” He tightened his grip as his deep eyes searched for her tired, emerald ones.
“You didn’t have to stay. Y’know, I’d have been alright by tomorrow, and the boys would have skipped the party.” Her eyes fell down, a ribbon of scarlet falling back into her face, and he saw a faint pink tint rise in her freckled cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to stroke her cheek tenderly and tuck that errant lock of hair back behind her ear.
Lily moved slightly closer to him, sitting on the edge of the wooden hospital wing chair and looked up at him, “I told them to go, Marlene had to practically drag Sirius away from you, but they deserve to celebrate. And I was scared to death-” She stopped, the blush stinging her cheeks once more. “Plus, well… what good am I at a Quidditch party, eh?” A feeble laugh followed her attempted joke and she looked down at their still joined hands.
James observed her face carefully, thinking for the millionth time how beautiful and smart and passionate she was, in disbelief that she’d stayed for as long as he’d been out. He reached out tentatively and brushed past her cheek on his way to tuck the stray lock of hair behind her ear. She leaned slightly into his touch and he watched her as she met his gaze.
His hand rested against her soft skin and she made no move to escape his touch. “Thanks then, for staying. It’s quite nice to, erm, to wake up to seeing you.”
A small smile graced her face as she rolled her eyes half heartedly at this. “I can’t say knowing you aren’t dead is half bad either, James.” Their hand clasped tightened as they looked fondly on eachother.
“She said WHAT?” came the exclamation from both James and Sirius as Alice, Remus, Mary, and Pete recounted Lily’s outburst in the stands. James had been quickly let out of the hospital wing after Lily’s visit and now, weeks later, he was sat comfortably on the common room couch, Lily pressed into his side as if she’d been made to fit there.
She rolled her eyes as Remus repeated the fouls and violation rules Lily had spewed upon seeing Avery barrel into James, enjoying the look of shock and offense on the two Marauders’ faces.
“I cannot believe you’ve been holding out on me like this, Red!” Sirius’ outrage continued. “All this time and you never once cared to mention that you’re a walking encyclopedia of Quidditch rules and history?!”
James’ disbelief translated less into mock anger and more into a cheeky grin. “Well now you’ll have to come to practices, games, the whole lot. You can be our advisor.”
“Oh was that not already in the girlfriend contract?” His eyes lit up at the reminder of their new relationship and he pressed a kiss into her hair. Their friends wandered away towards a rousing game of exploding snap but the two of them stayed cozy in their spot on the couch.
James smiled into her hair as she said the words he’d dreamed of hearing since his 3rd year. “More than Sirius loves Puddlemere United.”
“God I love it when you talk Quidditch to me,” he said mockingly, shifting to look in her eyes with a playful grin.
“Oh yeah?” She smirked, quirking an eyebrow. “Shall I start listing penalties to get you hot and bothered?”
“If you can list all 700 quidditch fouls I’ll have no choice but to propose,” he told her, his smile turning sincere and his forehead knocking against hers. She pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering for a moment before meeting his eyes and whispering:
“Blurting… bumphing… cobbing…”
