He was panting, his hair wild and fluttering, his eyes as wide and glassy as crystal balls. The Snitch was held in his fist so tightly that James wondered if he’d need to pry his fingers loose one at a time.
Dimly, he became aware of the sound of cheering and laughter.
“I thought for sure you were going to smash yourself flat as a dinner plate!” Deirdre cried, swooping alongside James and clapping him on the back. “That was the most recklessly brilliant flying I’ve seen in forever!”
The rest of the team gathered around as James drifted to a landing near the Gryffindor grandstand. He could still scarcely believe that he had succeeded in catching the Snitch. As his feet touched the grass again, he forced his fist open, revealing the tarnished golden ball and its furled wings.
A woman’s rather shrill voice spoke up from the nearby grandstand stairs. “I don’t know whether I am more impressed by your resolve or concerned for your lack of self-preservation,” Professor McGonagall commented, “But allow me to remind you, Mr. Potter. It is only a game.”
James nodded at the professor faintly as she eyed him and then turned to leave, following the rest as they streamed happily out into the night.
A hand plucked the Snitch from James’ palm. “As much as I hate to say it,” Graham said, throwing an arm around James’ shoulders.
“McGonagall’s right. Brilliant flying is one thing. But if you go and kill yourself first time out, we’d be in dire straits for a Seeker the rest of the season, wouldn’t we?”
James glanced aside at Graham, and saw that, despite the boy’s apparent concerns, he was grinning with barely concealed excitement.
Somewhat breathlessly, James asked, “So, do I make the team?”
Graham turned suddenly businesslike and gave a shrug, stepping away to slot the Snitch into its place in the Quidditch trunk. “I’ll write up the roster tonight and make the official announcement sometime tomorrow. Lots to consider. But you made a good showing. A very good showing indeed.”
James wanted to press Graham for an answer now, but sensed that it would be futile. Either the boy was enjoying stretching out the suspense, or he truly didn’t know whether James would make the team or not. Either way, there was no point in trying to winkle an answer out of him now.
“Nice one, James!” Lily said, bumping James with her shoulder as she passed, drawing him along with her. “For a moment there, I thought I was going to end up an only child. Frankly, I could see an upside to it.”
The rest of the team gathered around jovially as the crowd poured away from the pitch and toward the glow of the castle. Many hands clapped James on the back and ruffled his sweaty hair, many voices congratulated him on an amazing, if manic, performance.
And as James joined in, laughing, glad to be, at least for the moment, absorbed into the camaraderie of the team, he thought to himself that he probably owed Albus a secret thanks. Whether his brother had intended it or not, his teasing attempt to steal the Snitch had been all the impetus James needed to risk life and limb to win it.
If James indeed made the team, he would do so on his own grit, determination, and merit. But there was no question that it would be Albus’ brotherly rivalry that had sealed the deal.
Back at the common room, the evening’s festivities were in full swing, what with tomorrow being Saturday and everyone’s minds full of Quidditch and weekend cheer. James tried to adopt an air of dejected surliness as he eventually stowed his broom, ran a comb through his wild hair, and made his way toward the portrait hole for his “detention”.
Rose met him there, looking equally morose. But as the pair finally ducked through, leaving behind the raucousness and warm glow of the common room, their moods changed completely. They darted breathlessly through the halls and down the stairs, wending their way to the far corner of the castle and the arches to the outdoor amphitheater.
When they finally reached it, the huge doors were unlocked, leading out to a moon-filled natural depression lined with stone seats, all descending and arcing around the stage at the bottom. James had participated in several events here, not the least of which being his own performance as Treus in the Muggle Studies production of the wizarding classic, The Triumvirate. Unlike any of those times, however, the amphitheater was eerily empty now, silent and drifted sparsely with the first autumn leaves. Clouds scrubbed the starry sky, occasionally blotting the full moon and casting the amphitheater, and the forest beyond, into inky shadow.
Donofrio Odin-Vann arrived shortly after nine, finding James and Rose waiting in the back row, huddled in the nighttime chill.
“Right,” he said in a hushed voice, glancing around to assure that they really were as alone as they felt. The only light was the silver moon-glow and a narrow band of gold that fell from the open doors of the castle. “I apologize for the ruse that I was forced to use to bring you here. Ostensibly, you shall be cleaning the aisles tonight, scooping up old candy wrappers and programs. But in truth, we have a much more important matter to attend to.”
“Without Ralph,” Rose said, standing and brushing herself off.
Odin-Vann blinked at her as if he didn’t immediately know of whom she spoke. “Oh. Yes. Without Mr. Deedle. We only need the three of us this time. Inviting any more would be to increase the risk of being noticed.” He paused and looked from Rose to James. “You don’t think I deliberately excluded him because of his words the other night, do you?”
James stood as well, brushing dead leaves from his jeans. “Well.
The thought had crossed our minds.”
“I trust the three of you as much as any single one,” Odin-Vann said briskly. “Which is, I must admit, exactly as far as necessity demands, and little further. This is indeed dangerous business, as Mr.
Deedle was very correct to point out. Feel free to tell him of tonight’s mission if you feel so inclined. I won’t prevent you, and it probably will be best for him to be kept up to speed in case of future developments.
But believe me, his lack of involvement tonight is purely pragmatic.”
“So what’s going on?” Rose asked, hushing her own voice but unable to hide her anticipation.
“Right,” Odin-Vann said again, glancing around at the rows of dark, empty seats. James realized that the man was nearly crackling with nervous energy. “Tonight, we help Petra accomplish the first and most vital component of her plan to replace the Crimson Thread.”
The familiar sinking sensation fell over James again—the mingled hope and reluctance he felt every time he considered Petra’s mission. “What part is that?”
Odin-Vann looked at him directly. “We have to collect the symbolic Crimson Thread that was left in the World Between the Worlds. Without it, Petra cannot fully assume her role as Morgan.”