The Day the Music Died | Jegulus, Wolfstar

The Victory

We are young, we run green,
Keep our teeth nice and clean,
See our friends, see the sights,
Feel alright.
We wake up, we go out,
Smoke a fag, put it out,
See our friends, see the sights,
Feel alright.

It was a crisp, cold morning of Saturday in the good old Hogwarts, students took their seats along with their friends, - clumsily from the morning grogginess. A few took mouthfuls of delicious baked beans and scrambled eggs, some forced a thin toast with strawberry marmalade inside their mouths, or grimly swallowed a sweet sip of pumpkin juice to avoid fainting in the middle of the day. The air was packed with the mouth-watering smell of the breakfast, that so lovingly the house elves had prepared. It was rather quiet, most of the kids weren't in the mood to chitchat in the early hour of the morning — but not the marauders.

Three of the well-known group barged in the great hall like they owned the place — by habit at this point — James was already dressed up in his quidditch uniform, promptly gesturing with his hands, barely struggling to keep up with his pompous yapping. Peter looked up at him like he was some sort of celebrity, while Remus keenly searched a word in the pages of a book bigger than his head.

No one was annoyed by their attitude any more, they all learned soley them bother in peace, — they wouldn't change, so there was no point in getting mad about it. Well, the Slytherins did mind, but honestly, who didn't they mind?

  "I swear, Pete, yesterday I caught a sickle mid-air — couldn't believe it myself," James scoffed, Pete gasped, Remus sighed, — he heard the story about five times since they all stepped on the train; the little rats couldn't seem to get enough, though.

Following the second of silence Remus had finally been granted, Sirius flopped heavily on the chair beside Remus, he smiled fondly at his raven-haired friend's drained face; since his skin was unusually pale, the purplish bags under his gray eyes were more than noticeable — of course that didn't stop the girls from giggling and waving at him, like every single day. He deliberately ignored them, like every single day. Remus secretly enjoyed having the boy all for himself, while many others would kill for a bit of attention from the great Sirius Black.

"How was your night, Sirius?" Remus softly asked with a copy-and-paste posh accent, which made James snicker.

"Pretty crappy, if I do say so myself, mister Moony," the black haired boy exaggerated, burying his head in between his thin, veiny hands — he was the only Marauder who dared to tease Remus, but the last didn't care; since, well, it was Sirius, he couldn't be bothered.

Peter and James giggled, silenced almost immediately by Remus' sharp look. Although he just liked being rude for the laughs; and, if his posh accent was anyone's fault, it was the Marauders' 'wealthy family' way of speaking only privileged boys had the chance to learn. Remus used to be a tough guy, he used to speak a dirty, thick British accent, now he enjoyed being nice and polite. It made him feel like he belonged a bit more.

Sirius on the other hand had a hard time waking up since they'd know him, quoting, 'I'm not a morning person, never will be.'

James gathered his friends for breakfast with a casual demeanour, and prepared himself for the inaugural match of the season, against the Slytherins. He wasn't worried, not at all, after all he had caught the sickle mid-air. Besides, Sirius was in the team too, even though he was a bit sleepy, he trusted him, he was a fantastic chaser. James was only terrifically glad Remus and him had finally found peace with each other, not having him around — in the team or not— was getting impossible.

He, the seeker on the other side, had quite the rival, Regulus Black, who had been freshly brought into the team and seemed to be doing more than excellently. He was Sirius' smaller brother, one year younger to be precise, equally talented, —James suspected it was a family thing. His flight was agile and light, sort of like a hawk sweeping the air, he was fast, determined; let's just say he was a tough one to beat. But never impossible.

They had higher chances to win nonetheless, they always had, but Slytherin's team had surely got stronger this year, they replaced all their keepers, which would make the job even more challenging. Despite that, Gryffindor's hopes were up.

The marauders split in half, Remus and Peter retreated to the grades, ready to cheer like their lives depended upon in — at least little Pete surely would — and Sirius and James headed to the barracks, where the brooms were located. Unfortunately, they had an unpleasant encounter with the opposite team, who were waiting for him at the other side of the old door. Lucinda Talkalot, the Capitan of the Slytherin's team, gave Gryffindor's Capitan a dirty look accompanied of a cocky snigger.

James ignored her ratty giggle as he spotted Regulus in the corner of the room, eyeing both teams with a mix of disgust and superiority in his eyes — he knew the younger Black wasn't near as keen to truly care about the rivalry between the houses, he just played, and then vanished without a word, even if they won. James wasn't sure if he even liked his friends... he'd never asked; since Sirius didn't speak to him, nor did the other Marauders, — out of respect, James kept is mouth shut. On top of that, Regulus was a particularly nasty one too, and wasn't distinctly fond of them either, probably his family got into his head and filled it with the nonsense Sirius always yapped about.

At that moment, Regulus' smoky eyes met his, James didn't wait to offer him a respectful smile, hoping he'd appreciate his encouragement; but he just jerked his head, dramatically flipping his black hair and exiting the place without a word, the Slytherin's followed after him like chickens.

  "He's a little prat," Sirius muttered, not deliberately trying to get this comment to reach James' ear, he suspected. They quickly headed to the field, already packed with all the bubbly students, James grinned out of pride; the stands were in their majority dyed in scarlet and red banners, a fair few containing his name and Sirius' ('Go James!' 'I love you Sirius! Make Gryffindor proud!') He liked to think they had the same amount of fans, but Sirius won by far, by his looks most probably. These were his thoughts as he rose up in the air, firmly gripping the handle of his broom, Regulus did the same thing in front of him.

"Are you nervous?" spluttered James, barely being aware of saying it. Regulus raised his eyes lazily at him — as if this was a great deal of effort — and frowned with a smug scoff. "I'm never nervous, Potter. Wouldn't be surprised if you would, though."

Damn.

"As a matter of fact, I'm not," James raised his eyebrows, inadvertently accepting Regulus' dare. "No offence, but in summer I caught a—"

"A sickle mid-air. Yeah, somehow it got to me. Good luck then." he didn't smile, but his gaze softened, James took this as a win. However, they could no longer talk, the wind deafened them, and the match began.

***

"James Potter caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins the first match of the season!" Shouted the commentator joyfully, his hands stretched to the sky, as every other student around the stadium.

James raised the gold, glimmering ball in the air, people cheering his name, disembodied lions roaring, sweat dripping off his forehead. He swooped around with the brand-new broom he'd gotten over the summer, staring at all the shining faces, including Sirius', who was looping around him under him, inches over the green field.

He brushed a hand through his thick, brown hair, and caught Regulus staring at him from afar, sitting defeatedly on his broomstick, breathing heavily, legs crossed under the oilcloth device, James smirked at him, hoping it wouldn't come off as cocky — but oh, the unimaginable happened, Regulus half grinned, and swooshed back to the changing room. Regulus never smiled, so this was some news. But he couldn't focus on his smile no longer, his older brother yelled at him as he brushed his knee, swooping about around the seeker.

"We won Prongs! We won!"

James lowered his height, and as soon as his feet touched the ground, he started running, not because his body was full of adrenaline —which it was nonetheless—, but because he had the whole Gryffindor team rushing towards him. Even with his full-throttle sprint, he was too slow; they tackled him to the ground, and after a lot of accidental injuries, he could break free and bawl a triumphant "Yes!" As the victory sank in.

***