A/N: So, here we are - the final stanza of the Song. I hope you've enjoyed my little composition so far, and I was flattered by the number of reads and reviews I received here. Thanks so much to everyone for following this story so closely, and I hope to see you all again in the future!
A note: I had a few of my previous readers tell me that one does not need to be in their sixth year at Hogwarts in order to qualify for the position of Quidditch Captain, so I am now completely aware of that fact, but I thought that it helped to create a bit of a rivalry between two of my characters, which is why I left that little bit in here anyway.
And now, without further ado, Chapter 10 - The Eternal Song.
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"Potter!"
James Potter pulled a sharp U-turn on his broomstick at the captain's call, in what looked remarkably like an airborne imitation of a soldier standing at attention.
"Yeah?" James called back, immaculately balanced on his broomstick, always graceful as a phoenix while in the air. Besides being an almost perfect copy of his father, minus his brown hair, James had definitely inherited the Potter family Quidditch skills.
"Go let the Snitch out, would you? You're about as useful as a Flobberworm out there! What d'you think you're doing, chasing the Golden Fly or something? Honestly, do I have to do everything myself around here?" the captain, Lennie Weasley (whose real name was Leonard - Ron and Luna's idea of a male version of Lennie's mother's name) scolded the oldest of the Potter children.
Harry Potter, watching from the stands with his wife, the two of them thoroughly invisible under his trusty Cloak (to avoid listening to James' complaints about them 'crowding' him), rolled his eyes. Lennie was only one year older than James, but the boy tended to get a bit arrogant out on the pitch, being the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and all. Lennie seemed to forget that it was common knowledge that the entire Hogwarts population, minus Lennie himself and his group of friends, agreed that James would be replacing the young Weasley as soon as the eldest Potter became a sixth-year student and qualified for the position.
James, quite educated on the subject of the Weasley traits (power-hungriness and a near-obsession with the game of Quidditch), both by experience and by his father's occasional warnings about how angry and impulsive the male Weasleys could get when they felt provoked, obeyed the captain's order and returned his feet to the ground, subtly defying Lennie by taking a leisurely stroll in the direction of the old chest that held the Quidditch equipment (still the one from his father's day). Lennie, wrapped up in his favourite activity of bossing the team around, took no notice of James' procrastination, but Harry, whose presence James was unaware of, smiled as he watched his son stroll across the pitch as though he was just talking a walk.
Hermione, seated on Harry's left, rolled her eyes but couldn't keep a small smile off of her face. "How on Earth did we end up having such a passive-aggressive son? You were usually the yell-right-back-at-them type. Or the agree-to-duel-them-even-though-you-don't-know-how type."
"And you were the insult-them-then-threaten-to-curse-them-and-then-punch-them-in-the-face type," Harry replied, smirking as he watched Hermione blush slightly. She was still a little embarrassed by her explosive reaction to Malfoy's teasing back in their third year.
"Yes, well, the ferret had it coming," she said defensively, but Harry could tell that she was still embarrassed. He opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he had been about to say was quickly drowned out by a loud crack - almost like the sound of a shotgun being fired - and a piercing scream from high above the stands. Harry and Hermione looked up to see a brown-haired girl topple from her broomstick, having taken a hard hit from a particularly nasty Bludger, which was now hurtling in the opposite direction, in some weird form of magical hit-and-run.
At the same moment, Lily Potter, who sat a little ways to her parents' left in the row of seats in front of them, snapped her focus away from the book in her lap and looked up as well, her fingers finding their way into her mouth and causing her expression to become a perfect replica of the one her mother had worn as she watched a thirteen-year-old Harry tumble from the clouds all those years ago.
Saving-people thing always intact, Harry's hand moved back to grab his wand from his back pocket, but was promptly stopped by Hermione's hand closing around his wrist. He gave her a thoroughly confused look (what was she playing at, making him sit and watch while a teenager plummeted from the sky, heading for the very solid surface that was the Quidditch pitch? Was this supposed to be some weird sort of revenge, payback for nearly giving her a heart attack back in third year?), but understood when she pointed down at the grassy ground, indicating a streak of red and gold that was flying across the pitch. Harry smiled slightly. Only a Seeker-particularly a member of the naturally light and speedy Potter line- could move that fast.
Both Harry and Hermione had to force themselves to stay seated, fighting down their instincts as they watched the scene unfolding below them. Both of them were so used to saving others (and each other, occasionally) that they couldn't bear to sit and watch as someone, especially a teenager, took such a perilous tumble from her broomstick.
James, however, was definitely not forcing himself to stay still, having chosen to abandon his stroll to the Snitch, jump back on his broomstick and try to race against gravity as the troublesome force pulled the girl back to Earth at an alarming speed.
The other three Potters watched - one of them frozen to her seat and the other two forcing themselves to stay seated - as James employed every last bit of the Potter flying skills in order to stay balanced on his broomstick as he shot across the pitch, streaking straight towards his endangered fellow Gryffindor, his toes practically shaving off the tops of the blades of grass beneath him. Everyone present was forced to watch and wait, hoping that James would make it on time. Nobody dared get in his way, lest they botch his rescue mission.
Mere seconds before the girl hit the ground, James leapt from his broomstick, which fell harmlessly to the ground with a soft thump, and quickly reached out, effectively snatching his team-mate out of the air and saving her from a painful impact with the solid surface of the pitch. All present breathed a collective sigh of relief, before breaking out into thunderous applause (or as thunderous as possible, considering the fact that there were only a handful of spectators present, not to mention the fact that the Quidditch pitch was not only very large, but also outdoors).
Hermione chuckled softly on Harry's left. "There's something about you Potter males and that saving-people thing…" she murmured to him as the two watched James steady the girl, who was cradling her right arm and crying (seemingly against her will), and then lead her to the first row of stands so that she could sit (conveniently in front of the invisible Harry and Hermione). They watched as James carefully slipped the wrist guard from the girl's arm, having watched this procedure innumerable times before as he observed his mother patching up the victims of at-home Quidditch practices gone wrong, set it down on the seat nearest him and pulled his wand out from where he had stashed it in his own wrist guard, before gently taking the girl's hand in his.
"Can you move it at all?" he asked calmly, nodding down at her hand.
She sniffled, wiped her eyes with her uninjured hand and shook her head.
"OK," James said with a small nod. "Then your wrist's probably broken," he explained to her in a soothing tone, having learned from watching his mother at work that the last thing you wanted to do was make an injured person panic, "but that's no big deal. Just stay still for a minute and I'll fix it for you, OK?"
The girl nodded, though she looked a little apprehensive. James, who was not as daft when it came to emotions as his father had been at that age, caught on.
"My mum's a Healer, by the way," he said with a lopsided smile, apparently understanding why she was worried. "I've watched her fix broken wrists a million times. I'm not going to make all of your bones disappear or something," he assured her, eliciting a watery sort of chuckle from her.
Harry grinned as well. He had told James the story of the bumbling, limelight-crazy Defence teacher more times than either one of them could count.
"All right, stay still, now…" James reminded the girl, before murmuring "Episkey" under his breath, repairing the girl's wrist as though Healing spells were no big deal for a fifth-year. His recently rescued damsel in distress tensed a little (Harry could sympathize - he remembered the discomfort of that particular spell), then breathed a soft sigh of relief, her tears slowing.
"Does that feel all right?" asked James, carefully moving the girl's hand around as he spoke, testing his repairs.
She smiled. "Yeah, that feels fine," she said, wiping away the last of her tears. "Still a bit sore, though," she commented.
That lopsided grin reappeared on James' face. "Well, I don't know a charm to fix that, but how 'bout a kiss to make it better?" he asked, quoting the line that Hermione had often used to soothe him and his siblings, though Harry and Hermione were both beginning to realize that this wasn't quite the same thing.
His team-mate let out a soft giggle. "All right," she replied.
Still grinning, James smoothly planted a light kiss on the back of the girl's hand, looking a little like Viktor Krum when the Bulgarian kissed Hermione's hand at the Yule Ball, though this particular scene unfolded in the absence of dress robes, which had been replaced by the kind of robes of which Harry was far fonder: the red and gold ones emblazoned with the Gryffindor crest.
Ah, Harry thought to himself as he watched his son 'kiss it better' for his fellow Gryffindor. Didn't see that one coming.
He watched as the two teenagers sat in front of each other, silent and unmoving, as though lost in their own little world. Smiling, he nudged Hermione with his elbow, causing her to whisper "I see it too" in his ear, a smile present in her voice.
A moment later, Lily, her book tucked under in her in a most Hermione-like way, appeared at James' side and tapped him on the shoulder, but received no response. She frowned.
"James," she said, tapping him on the shoulder again. He didn't budge.
"James," she said more forcefully, poking him in the shoulder this time, but James didn't acknowledge her presence in the least. She huffed, once again in an almost perfect imitation of her mother, put her hands on her hips and shouted, "JAMES SIRIUS POTTER!"
James Sirius Potter just about leapt out of his Quidditch robes and right out of the stands, whirling to face his thoroughly annoyed sister, who still had her hands on her hips and who was looking at him as though he were a Flobberworm. She was only a third-year, but had definitely taken after her mother in how menacing she could be when she was irritated.
"Merlin, Lily!" he exclaimed, obviously not appreciating his sudden removal from the little world in which he and his fellow Gryffindor had been lost. "What do you want?"
She huffed again and rolled her eyes. "I was trying to tell you that Lennie says to quit snogging girls and get back in your position before he tells the team to use you as the Quaffle."
James, who had recovered from the shock of being yelled at by his sister, rolled his eyes in return. "Fine, Lily. Now go read your book," he said, waving a hand in the general direction of where Lily had been sitting earlier. She gave him an indignant sort of look and stalked back to her seat, wounded by how blatantly he had ignored her.
"My kid sister," James explained, turning back to the brunette, who had been observing the exchange with a puzzled expression on her face. "Well, one of them," he clarified. "Holly's only ten; she hasn't gotten her letter yet."
The girl nodded. There was a pause before she carefully extracted her hand from James' and said, "I… um… guess we should get back to practice, shouldn't we?"
James nodded and stood up, but reached out and stopped his team-mate from doing the same.
"You shouldn't play right after I fixed your wrist," he explained when she gave him another puzzled look. "The bones are still fragile. It's not safe."
She nodded. "OK," she said, obviously trusting the Healer's son when it came to her recently mended wrist.
James nodded, not seeming to know what to do with himself - a definite departure from the smooth way he had been handling the situation so far.
"Well…" he said awkwardly. "Right, then…"
He turned, took all of half a step back towards the pitch, and then turned around again.
"Yes?" the girl asked, looking half-puzzled and half-amused.
"Ah…" said James, running a hand through his hair in a very Harry-like way. "D'you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?" he asked a bit hurriedly, that lopsided grin reappearing on his face.
She blushed, smiled and said, quite simply, "All right."
James' grin widened as he blushed a little as well.
"Cool," he said. There was a pause, in which the two merely blushed and grinned at each other, before James spoke up again.
"Well… Right, then," he repeated. "Back to practice."
She chuckled. "Yes, James, back to practice. Go on," she said, "before our dear captain turns the Bludgers on you. I'd prefer it if we could go to Hogsmeade without you looking like one giant bruise."
James chuckled and nodded before heading back down towards the pitch. Without a word, Harry took Hermione's hand and pulled her a good ten or fifteen feet away from the brunette, who was watching James with a telltale dreamy expression on her face. The moment they sat down again, both of them spoke at the same time.
"He fancies her," said Harry.
"She fancies him," said Hermione.
The two chuckled.
"OK, so they fancy each other," Hermione clarified. She smiled fondly at their son, who was now back to his favourite activity of zooming around the Quidditch pitch at speeds that made his mother a little nervous every once in a while (despite her extensive experience with Quidditch-crazy Potter males), actually chasing the Snitch now.
"Isn't it sweet, Harry? Our son's first crush," she said, adopting that motherly sort of voice that she had perfected after fifteen years of raising James, Lily and Holly.
"It's very sweet, though we probably shouldn't let James hear us saying that," Harry agreed, though he used his normal tone. He chuckled softly. "It's funny, though, isn't it?"
"What's funny?" asked Hermione.
"Well, look at her!" said Harry, nodding towards the girl. "She looks exactly like you did in fifth year!"
Hermione studied the girl for a moment before she replied. "She doesn't look exactly like me, but yes, I suppose there are quite a few similarities," she agreed. "Why's that funny?"
Harry grinned. "Because it means that the Potter men both have excellent taste in women, of course."
Hermione couldn't help but turn a little pink. "Flatterer," she accused.
"You know it," said Harry. "And no matter what you say, I know you like it when I flatter you, so don't deny it," he said with a knowing look.
Hermione merely shrugged, but Harry knew that he was right. She did like it when he flattered her, and he was proud of the fact that he could still find new ways to do so, even after seventeen wonderful years of marriage.
Turning his attention back to the girl who he now knew was the object of his only son's affections, Harry smiled as he watched her watch James with that same dreamy expression on her face, obviously making a return trip to that little world to which she and James had travelled a little while earlier.
"She's completely smitten with him, isn't she?" he murmured to Hermione, who smiled as well.
"Looks like it," she replied. There was a moment's pause before she leaned her head on Harry's shoulder and spoke again. "Do you think that she'll ever end up singing to James, Harry?" she enquired.
Harry shrugged slightly, being considerate of the fact that Hermione's head rested on his shoulder. "I don't know," he said. "She might, someday, if things go well. It looks like the two of them are pretty fond of each other, in any case." He chuckled softly. "But I'm sure that she'll never be able to sing as well as you, of course," he added, smiling at his wife of seventeen years, who gave him a tender kiss on the lips in return.
"I love you, you know," she said with a smile.
He chuckled again. "I know. And I love you too," he said, returning her kiss before slipping his hand into hers and turning his attention back to the Quidditch pitch and his son. The two watched and smiled to themselves as James stopped in front of the stands for just a moment, gave the girl a quick wave and received one in return before darting off again, avoiding another scolding from Lennie.
As he watched his son practice, Harry found himself reflecting, for a moment, on the years that had passed since that fateful morning, the morning that had brought him and Hermione together for life, with nothing more than the few lines of a song. The originally sad lyrics had, thankfully, had a happy ending, resulting in a loving marriage and three wonderful children. All that was left to do now was watch, wait, and listen for the song to begin again.
THE END