Lily Evans and the Marauder's Secrets

Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

Author's Note: Heads up! Tomorrow I will post one more chapter and then I will be on a two week break for travel. When I get back, I'll resume normal posting with a chapter every other day or so. I plan on wrapping this fic up on March 27th in celebration of James's birthday <3 Thank you, all my lovely readers! I'm so excited to have you read the finale!

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Winter breaks with the final Quidditch match before the Cup at the end of term. The last of the snow melts off the grounds, the giant squid pokes his tentacles into the sunlight sparkling off the thawed lake, and the whole castle roils with the anticipation of seeing Gryffindor face off Slytherin on the pitch.

I'm feeling unusually anxious going into this match; indeed, never before this year have I paid so much attention to the sport. But now not only do I have my mate Marlene on the team, but I also have James.

And I'm worried that he's playing the Slytherins.

I suppose it wouldn't be all that worrying if it weren't for one factor. Because even though the captain Flint is fairly decent for a Slytherin, a rule follower if there ever was one, the problem is that both Regulus Black and Rodolphus Lestrange fly for Slytherin.

"I don't like the idea of them in the air with you," I tell James as I walk with him back to the castle after one of their final practices before Saturday's game. "It's already too easy to get injured in Quidditch matches without someone out there who expressly wants you dead."

"Which is why we're very glad you're not on the team," James says soothingly. "He definitely wants you dead."

I punch him in the arm, and he yelps. "Careful! I need that working for Saturday."

When I scowl at him, he rolls his eyes. "It'll be fine, Lily. None of us even play the same position. Black's Seeking. Lestrange is a Beater, and I'm a Chaser. We won't even interact."

"Yes," I say. "Lestrange with a bat and full permission to aim Bludgers in your direction is definitely not any cause for concern."

"He'd have to hit one first," James says, smirking. "Lestrange's aim is terrible."

"It better be," I mutter.

***

"I think I'm going to be sick," I moan, watching the scarlet-clad Gryffindors fly warm-up laps around the pitch late Saturday afternoon.

"And to think, before this year we had to drag you to any of these matches," Alice says. She's snuggled up with Frank, holding his hand. "And now we're here early enough to watch the warm-ups because of you."

"Rightfully so!" pipes Peter. "Warm-ups give you so much information about how the match will go. You can see right away who's going to have an off game."

"Can you?" I ask. I scan everyone in the air, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. Unfortunately, all those years of apathetic Quidditch feelings have left me horribly inept at telling whose skills seem off before the match has begun. All I know is that James looks great, but I know better than to trust that it's because he's actually flying well and not just my love-addled brain making everything he does seem perfect.

"Sure," Peter says.

"And?" I prompt.

He hesitates. "Well...hard to say for sure, but everyone seems to be on today."

"Including the Slytherins," Remus supplies quietly, and I blanch.

"But us too!" Peter hurries to assure me. "Team's flying amazingly already. We'll be fine." But he nibbles his thumbnail, and it does nothing to reassure me. I'd much prefer for the Slytherins performance to be lackluster and be able to hope for a quick end to this match before anyone gets hurt.