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"This is all your fault," Asteria grumbled, aggressively scrubbing a trophy. James and Sirius looked at her innocently, while Peter hummed in agreement. Remus, being the studious boy that he was, had surrendered pranking in order to study with Lily. At that moment, Asteria wished she had done the same - but mere hours ago, the perfect opportunity to prank Avery had risen, and she couldn't pass that up in good faith, could she?
Much to their dismay, McGonagall had been right around the corner as they unleashed numerous dungbombs on the Slytherins. Asteria reckoned they could've gotten away with it, too, if McGonagall hadn't fallen victim to their prank as well. The professor had stood, glowering at the four students, and immediately assigned them to the worst detention she could think of - polishing the trophies in the trophy room. Peter had tried to worm his way out of it, claiming that he was simply passing by - but the spheres peeking out from under his shirt had not helped to prove his point. Thus, that was how Asteria, James, Sirius, and Peter found themselves laboring with buckets of water and soap at eight pm on a Thursday night.
"No one dragged you into this," Sirius quipped, mumbling under his breath that his knees were hurting. "In fact, I remember you being the one to suggest throwing the dungbombs at Avery." He looked at Asteria pointedly, but she wouldn't meet his eyes, knowing that he was right. Instead, she simply threw a sponge at him - which slapped right upside the head. He yelped, glaring at her, but didn't do anything back for fear of a whole fight starting. Then they really would get in trouble with McGonagall.
"Payback for the lake," Asteria smirked, winking.
"You're never gonna let that go, are you?" James chuckled. He was admiring a trophy with his dad's name on it; it was a Quidditch Cup, and FLEAMONT POTTER: GRYFFINDOR SEEKER was inscribed on the plaque decorating it. James vividly remembered his father's recount of that match - he had caught the snitch in less than ten minutes, and held the record for fastest catch at Hogwarts for centuries. A love for Quidditch evidently ran in the Potters' veins.
"Whatcha holdin'?" Peter asked, distracted from the trophy he was currently cleaning as he looked up at James. James grinned, showcasing the prize to his friends.
"It's my dad's," he explained proudly, pointing at the plaque. "He was a seeker while he was at Hogwarts - best seeker there was!"
"Don't let Macmillan hear you say that," Asteria said, "she'd have your head, and that wouldn't help your chances of getting on the team now, would it?"
"She's not the one that has a whole Quidditch Cup dedicated to her, does she?" James asked, puffing his chest out. "No. My dad does, and soon enough, my name'll be up there with him!"
Asteria shook her head, but didn't disagree. She had seen James's ability with a broomstick during their Flying lessons, had snuck out to the field after classes to throw around a Quaffle. He was talented, that much she was sure of. The boy rode a broomstick like it was second nature, almost like it was a skill as easy as walking. He'd taught her a few tricks, too, to heighten her chances of making Beater whenever the position opened. Though Asteria was already well-versed in beating things with a bat, there was always room for improvement with her flying. And since she doubted she'd have any chance of getting on a broomstick that summer, it was crucial that she practice as much as possible when she was at Hogwarts.
