Hogwarts: The Legacy

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted, except for personal use. The Potterverse was created by JK Rowling, and remains her property. I\'m just borrowing it for a little while.

***************************************************

FIFTEEN: RAVENCLAW\'S FINAL BATTLE

Warning: contains Quidditch, public nudity, and Francesca doing something not-very-nice to Jason.

***

The moment holidays had ended, Quidditch practices had begun in earnest. The plays were geared toward catching the snitch and blocking the opposing seeker. Fabian had proven last year that he was more than capable of stopping their chasers’ shots on goal, and Francesca and Andrew were excellent beaters.

Francesca, though, had been a seeker in third year; she’d filled in in the last game of the season and, although Ravenclaw had been out of the running since January that year, they’d snapped up the snitch after only about half an hour and caused Hufflepuff to lose their chance at the Cup. Wesley was better, but Francesca was good enough for practice purposes. The drills were simple: Andrew would release the snitch and Francesca, armored and warded with shield charms reinforced by Mr Weasley, would go after it. Wesley would have to wait five seconds and then go after her, similarly armored and warded. Jason would try to deter Wesley, and Lisa would try to deter Francesca. Fabian filled in as beater, along with Andrew; Marianne had drawn detention for the first week after holidays, and was unable to attend practice – something about knocking out fourth year Gryffindor chaser Roberta “Robbie” Burns after a heated exchange of spells in DADA.

When Marianne returned, she took over as backup beater and the team played reflective games, the chasers trying to score on Fabian and the beaters hitting lighter versions of bludgers in their direction. Wesley simply chased the snitch, over and over and over. He’d missed it twice already this season, and he wasn’t planning on blowing it again.

The way the Quidditch Cup was awarded, if no team had a clear margin of victory, was by points among the teams tied at the top. Four games had been played already; Ravenclaw had 850, Slytherin 580, and Hufflepuff, although they had lost all three of their matches this year, had 830. The only way Ravenclaw could lose, besides being defeated by Gryffindor in their last match of the season, would be if Slytherin or Ravenclaw managed to outscore them in total points. But Ravenclaw was known for its high-scoring games, so as long as they defeated Gryffindor, the Cup was practically theirs.

Of course, they still had to defeat Gryffindor, and the day for that match came far sooner than anyone had expected.

The day dawned overcast, but Professor Sinistra, who knew not only Astronomy but Meteorology as well, guaranteed the rain would not come until at least five that evening.

“All right, everyone,” Andrew said as they pulled on their gear in the locker room, “this is it. We win this game, the Cup is basically ours. So let’s win it. We’re ready, and we’re hungry, and it’s time we showed them what real Ravenclaw Quidditch is all about.”

“Let’s do it!” shouted Fabian, pumping his fist in the air.

“Let’s win this thing.” That was Lisa. Her snarky attitude had been replaced by determination, a will to win unmatched by anyone else on their side.

Andrew smiled. “Let’s go, Ravenclaw,” he said quietly.

They shouldered their brooms and left the locker room, heading for the staging area. Jason was hanging back, as he was prone to do, and he was the only one who noticed Caroline standing outside the locker room, against the wall.

“Be right there,” he called.

Andrew turned and saw Caroline. He grinned and said, “we have three minutes before introductions. Make it fast.”

Jason jogged back to where Caroline was waiting. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “I just wanted to wish you luck,” she said. “I know this is your favorite activity, and since we’re friends, I thought you might... appreciate it.”

“I do, believe me.” He was trying to figure out what the real reason was, though.

Caroline took a deep breath. In the dimness of the alley around the pitch – they were standing nearly directly below the staff box, but dozens of feet below its lofty perch – Jason could see her blush. “Caroline, tell me, what’s the matter.”

“Nothing’s the matter,” she said. There was steel in her voice. “I just wanted to tell you,” and now her words were coming quickly, “that I care about you and I wanted you to know that I would very much like to kiss you some day soon.”

Then she turned and walked off, her steps quick.

Jason just stood there, dumbfounded.

“Well, what do you know.”

He turned and walked back to where the team was waiting. “What was that?” asked Fabian.

Jason grinned. “Just a little something for me to think about.”

“A little something pretty, I’d wager.”

“Wager all you like.”

Fabian chuckled.

Then the amplified voice of Katie Adams, the sixth year Hufflepuff who announced the games, boomed over them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the fifth Quidditch match of the 2012-2013 year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! This match is Ravenclaw’s final; they are one-and-one, having defeated Hufflepuff in November but lost to Slytherin in January. They are ahead on points, now that Hufflepuff is out of the running, and if they win this game, they are in good position to win the cup. Trying to stop them, Gryffindor, who has won their only match this year, in December, against Hufflepuff. Today they battle to stay alive; if they win, they could steal the cup out from under the noses of Ravenclaw or Slytherin. So, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, your challengers for the Quidditch Cup: Ravenclaw House!

“Ravenclaw is led by their team captain, number 1, sixth year beater Andrew Colwyn!”

Andrew mounted his broom and zipped out the chute. This was the way all the games started.

“Number 14, fifth year beater Francesca Fyreton!

“Number 29, fourth year keeper Faust Fyreton!

“Number 21, sixth year seeker Wesley Sarginson!

“Number 9, third year chaser Jason Goldman!”

Jason followed Wesley out the chute, waving to the cheering crowd, searching for Caroline.

“Number 12, fourth year chaser Marianne Flint!

“And number 36, seventh year chaser Lisa DeMarco!”

The Ravenclaw team circled the stands, waving, before assembling above the pitch in the modified-arrow position they started every game: Lisa in the center, flanked by Jason and Marianne; Andrew and Francesca a few yards behind, bats at the ready; Wesley high above the pitch; and Fabian resting easily atop his broom in front of the center goal hoop.

Katie activated the sonorus spell again.

“And now, your defending champions, Gryffindor House!”

The cheers were positively deafening; Jason saw Katie reinforce her spell.

“Gryffindor’s team captain, number 42, sixth year seeker Jamie Dupree!”

The slender captain of Gryffindor’s team zoomed out of the other chute, smiling as she basked in the crowd’s adulation.

“Number 31, fourth year keeper Asif Raqman!

“Number 18, fourth year chaser Roberta ‘Robbie’ Burns!

“Number 22, third year chaser Jonathan Worthington!

“Number 20, sixth year chaser William Worthington!

“Number 3, second year beater Christopher Keeler!

“And number 48, seventh year beater Jordanna Kollan!”

Jason watched as the Gryffindor team lined up opposite them. They started in a line; Robbie Burns, who still had a faint bruise over her right eye that no amount of healing spells could fix, faced off against Lisa. On her sides, the Worthington brothers, and outside them, the beaters. Their keeper hovered above the goal hoops, and Dupree, their seeker, was close to the pitch – about five feet off the ground – near the base of the goal hoops; Ravenclaw had drilled with Francesca taking off from the ground and picking up speed like a muggle space rocket, because that was how the Gryffindor seeker started every match.

“Ready!”

Mr Weasley held the quaffle in front of him; Robbie shot Marianne a sharp look, and it practically bounced off Marianne’s hard-set face.

“Set!”

“Hey, Burns,” Lisa said, her voice low, “ready to get decked again?”

Robbie mouthed an expletive at Lisa; she didn’t want to risk a penalty so close to the whistle, Jason guessed.

Then Mr Weasley blew the whistle, and the game was on.

Normally, Jason didn’t mind Jonathan Worthington. He was decent with Transfiguration, better at Charms, so good that Flitwick actually called upon him to demonstrate things in class. But on the pitch, no one wearing red-and-gold – or green-and-silver, or gold-and-black – was a friend. Only those in blue robes were going to be considered allies, and that was why Jason didn’t turn away when Jonathan pointed his broom directly at Jason’s and put in a burst of speed.

Jason waited until the last possible second and pulled a quick barrel roll, holding his broom with his legs, reaching up and snatching away the quaffle. Even though Jonathan had been on the team starting in second year, he could still be rattled, and this move rattled him enough that when Jason’s hand grabbed his broom for balance, it tipped downward.

Jason passed the quaffle to Lisa and pulled a tight turn, following her to the Gryffindor goals, while Jonathan fought to regain control of his broom, spiraling downward.

He didn’t watch. He rose up and over Lisa, who tossed the quaffle up to him. Jason faked it back down to Lisa, faked it to Marianne, and then faked a shot on the goal that actually ended up being thrown to Marianne.

She made the goal easily, ratcheting the score up to 40-10. But that was the last goal Ravenclaw managed to score for the next ten minutes. Fabian blocked several shots on goal, but four got past him.

The roar of the crowd momentarily distracted Jason – fortunately, he was in the process of looping around the goal hoops to start a new formation and didn’t mess anything up – and he saw the snitch appear from behind the staff box. Jason also noticed that Professor Granger’s husband had to make a concerted effort not to grab for it.

The snitch was less than twenty feet from Dupree, the Gryffindor Seeker.

She was too good to miss it. Wesley was too far away.

It was practically in her hand.

Out of nowhere, a bludger zipped in and smashed into Dupree’s shoulder. She let out a strangled yell and nearly fell, turning it into a half-roll as she grabbed at her upper arm. There had been an audible crunch; from the expression on her face, Jason could guess it was broken.

Two seconds later, Wesley had the snitch in his hand, and Ravenclaw took the match, 190 to 50.

Jason dropped the vest and gloves of his Quidditch armor onto the floor in front of his locker and went to the blackboard at the far end of the room. With his wand, he did some quick addition:

Ravenclaw: 560 + 290 + 190 = 1040

Slytherin: 330 + 250 = 580

Gryffindor: 210 + 50 = 260

“What are you doing?” asked Francesca. He turned around and did a brief double-take; his teammate was wearing nothing but a white halter-top and blue pants.

“I...” Suddenly, Jason’s mouth was dry. “I was just thinking...”

“He was trying to figure out the margins of victory,” Andrew said, striding up to them, his lower-body armor still on but his impressive upper-body bare. “In the last match, Slytherin will have to score...” Andrew’s lips moved silently. “Slytherin needs to get at least 460, or Gryffindor would need 780.”

“So that’s it,” Lisa said. “We’ve basically won.”

“Don’t get so cocky just yet,” Andrew warned. “They could still pull it off.”

“Come on!” Lisa pulled off her shirt, oblivious to the fact that Fabian, Jason, Andrew, and Wesley were staring openly at her bare breasts. “We set the record for most points in ten years when we beat Hufflepuff! What are the odds?”

None of the boys responded. Lisa looked down, realized why, and shouted, “hey! Up here!” She yanked a black t-shirt out of her locker and pulled it over her head, her motions jerky. “What the fuck did you think you were all looking at?”

“Hey,” Fabian said mildly, “you were showing them. Was it our fault?”

Lisa pulled her wand out of her locker and pointed it at Fabian’s crotch. “Say that again and watch what happens to you.”

Fabian stepped quickly behind his sister. “Relax, Lisa. They’re just breasts. It’s not like–”

“Say another word, Francesca...” Lisa readjusted her wand, pointing it at the beater’s forehead.

“This is getting far too serious for me,” Wesley said. He had already changed back into his shirt and trousers, his Quidditch gear in a large duffel bag he was holding in his right hand. “I’m going back to the common room. Try not to kill each other.”

“Wait up,” Andrew snapped. Wesley turned around, about to speak, and the captain held up his hand. “Good grab.”

Wesley’s face softened. “Thanks.” He turned back and left the locker room.

“Now,” Francesca said slowly, “let’s put our wands away and go to the party, all right?” There was always a victory party after a Quidditch win.

Lisa lowered her wand, but didn’t put it away. “I’m glad this will be my last year. You perverts have to learn to grow up.”

Jason bent over and started unbuckling the armor around his lower body. “She’s right. We really do.”

Lisa’s green eyes widened. “Sorry?”

Jason shrugged as he packed his armor into his duffel bag. “You’re right. The point of one communal locker room is for us to get comfortable with the idea that a body is just a body. And here we are, staring at your chest.” He flicked his eyes down at her torso for emphasis.

She chuckled. “Well, they are pretty nice, aren’t they?”

“Bloody brilliant.” Fabian’s voice was quiet, deep, and thoroughly amused. When he chuckled, Lisa even joined in.

Andrew grinned. “All right. Friends?”

“Friends,” Lisa agreed.

“Friends.”

“Friends.”

“Friends.”

“Friends,” Marianne said from behind a privacy spell, “but I don’t see why I have to say it too. I wasn’t involved in your little fracas.”

“Just get in the spirit of things,” Fabian told her as he pulled on a Ravenclaw Athletics t-shirt. “It won’t hurt you.”

“No, I suppose not. And after all, we did win.”

“That we did.” Andrew shoved the rest of his armor into his duffel bag and left the locker room.

Eventually, only Francesca and Jason were left. Jason had taken a brief shower after Francesca had finished, and he’d cast a privacy spell over his lower half so he could pull on shorts and trousers. “So,” Francesca said conversationally, “have you been watching us?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Francesca folded the last of her Quidditch gear into her duffel bag. “Have you been using the watch?”

Jason’s face flushed uncontrollably.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” he whispered fiercely; no use in denying it now. “But only on occasion. It’s just... wrong.”

Francesca smiled broadly. It was a most unsettling image, as if her mouth could extend past the borders of her face and swallow him whole, should she desire it so. “Now, I could respond to that in two different ways,” she said, her voice mild and conversational.

“Do tell.” Jason dropped the privacy spell and shoved his feet into trainers.

“Well,” she said, extending one slender finger, “I could tell you that only something so wrong could be so wickedly right.”

Jason swallowed hard as he tugged on a blue button-down shirt and started doing it up.

Francesca extended a second finger. “Or I could just tell you there’s nothing wrong with wanting to show off every now and then.”

“Doesn’t it bother the others?” he asked, jamming his gear into his bag.

“A little. But we always make sure there are good silencing spells on their curtains, and anyone who doesn’t wish to participate doesn’t have to.”

“How can you guarantee that?”

Francesca put her hands on her hips. “You’re in Ravenclaw. Figure it out. But keep it to yourself.”

Jason realized that, in two years, Caroline would be in the fifth year dormitory where Francesca now slept. The thought made him decidedly queasy. “What if I don’t want to?”

Francesca stepped forward, into Jason’s body, forcing him to back up against the lockers. “You will,” she said, her voice slow and soft. Her hand whipped forward and Jason let out a strangled cry as her fingers dug into the flesh around his crotch. “You’ll keep it a secret, won’t you?”

He stared down at Francesca, trying to be intimidating, but her hand started to squeeze far harder than he thought possible, and he bit back a shout of pain.

“Won’t you?”

Jason’s eyes were watering. He nodded quickly, and Francesca pulled her hand away. He gasped for air, sliding down to the floor, his legs apart, one hand involuntarily cradling himself through his trousers.

“I’m glad you see it my way,” she said, her voice pleasant once more. “Look in at 7:07 tonight. You might enjoy it.”

“Right,” he whispered, his voice half an octave higher than usual. “Whatever you say.”

Francesca smiled at him, the most predatory expression he’d ever seen on a girl, and then picked up her duffel bag and left the locker room.

Jason didn’t leave for several minutes. He had no desire whatsoever to encounter Francesca.

At least, not until the throbbing pain between his legs backed off to a dull roar.

Maybe not even then.

***************************************************

Notes: As many HPFF authors undoubtedly agree, we’re all waiting with bated breath for Book Six. I may post Chapter 16 on Friday, but I doubt it. Because this story takes place so far in the future, I don’t think I’ll have much to worry about in the way of canon, but should anything no longer make sense, it will remain as-is until I finish the story (at this rate, it’ll take me about 70 chapters, I’m betting) and go into revisions. Still, I’m not stopping. But I will finish HBP this weekend. I guarantee it.

Thanks to intcrimgrrl for her repeat review, and Tris as well. And also to Rights of the Damned for reviewing \"Julie\'s Story\" (http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/story.php?no=544190119)