the Horcrux Thief, james potter

xviii. everything goes

"I carried it away from its home; a crusade with the Holy Grail, and I wanted to tell the world of my feats as I felt it swept over me, the wave of pride, the wave of hubris, for I had stolen what had been lost, and I'd make it known somehow. I gave it to him, let him fracture it with his tainted soul, and give it to one of his devotees, one of his brainwashed morons. Still, I knew it in my heart, I had held in my hands power, I had stolen that power. And I would take more.

"I'd show her, my darling little one, I'd tell her if she became more—if she let herself move past her obstacles—the pesky things her mother had given her—she could, perhaps, be a fraction of what I am— And then he goes on to say his kids are a disappointment," said Amaya, feigning nonchalance as she looked at a very focused James. "Pick up on anything?"

"He stole the Cup," James said, tapping his fingers on the desk, as he wrote fast on the notebook where she kept her notes in. "Gave it to You—Voldemort, and the bastard passed it on to one of his most loyal followers."

"I believe it says he passed it to one of his 'brainwashed morons'."

James snorted. "Semantics. But he wouldn't give it to just anyone to keep safe. It must be someone higher up in his ranks."

"How do you know it's the Cup?" asked Amaya, standing up to stretch as she locked the journal, and walked around the desk, looking over James' shoulder. "He said he stole what had been lost. Wasn't the diadem the lost one?"

James' brows furrowed but he shook his head looking up at her. "The diadem is lost, but no one was ever really sure where the others were. The diadem was just lost for longer. Besides, it mentioned the family held an air of those in charge of education, the yellows in life. That's gotta be Hufflepuff. Besides, isn't a Grail a—"

"A cup. The Holy Grail. Joder." Amaya rolled her, falling to the chair next to him. "He's really frustrating. He said it as a metaphor, but—I'm so stupid. My mother is a catholic—I mean, most of the people in the Peninsula are religious, of course, he'd make that association with the Holy Grail."

"You're not stupid," said James with a roll of his eyes, pulling her chair closer by the leg of the chair, until their legs touched, and despite the infernal heat neither of them pulled away. "You were translating the whole passage while trying to understand it, I'd wager that's pretty smart."

"I'm your favorite. You're biassed."

James grinned at her mention of their talk from the Opera but shrugged. "It doesn't matter. We found something, rather important information we should share with Old Dumbles, so, we deserve a break."

"First to the pitch wins?" asked Amaya with a grin, and before he could answer she'd leaped from her chair and started racing outside, James hot on her heels.

She let out a laugh as she ran, using her magic to create a lump in the rug on the floor, sending James tumbling, nearly head-first into the ground before he regained his balance, but it was too late, she'd already slipped past him.

The moment her feet touched the ground of the pitch she let out a shriek when he caught her by the waist, tackling her to the ground and making Amaya giggle as he started tickling her.

"I won," she gasped out, and James grinned as he looked down at her.

"You'll lose the game."

"Wanna bet?"

"If I win, you have to show me your tattoo," he said, eyes glinting in curiosity, as he hovered above her.

She hummed in thought as she looked up at him, his glasses falling off the bridge of his nose, his jaw sharp and his eyes looking nearly green under the light of the sun. "Alright. But when I win, you show me your tattoo."

"Deal," he said, standing up and giving her a hand to help her up. He tugged her closer, smiling, "By the way, the game is simple. Each one of us has to try and score on opposite ends, the moment anyone reaches five goals, the game ends."

"What's the catch?"

"Everything goes," he said, mischievously.

The game started well, mild. Amaya shot the first goal. James the second. Soon both of them had three each.

And then their eyes met, and she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and winked at her—with that, their sportsmanship dissipated with the heat, and everything turned upside down.

Amaya was the first to attack, and used an old trick, using James' broom's automatic brakes to make him drop the Quaffle, catching it and scoring.

But then, James flew just below her, grasped her ankle, and tugged her down, causing Amaya to flip upside down on her broom, her face right by his, and in a split moment James winked at her, and slapped the quaffle out of her hands. He scored.

For the last point though, all hell broke loose.

Amaya was cornered in the sky as he flew in fast circles around her, in every direction ready to barge his way in front of her, and so she let herself fall off the broom, with the Quaffle and caught herself on the handle several feet beneath him—only because she was only using one hand, James took the Quaffle out of her hand, with thank you.

So, Amaya used her magic to make his palms sweat, and flew past him, snatching it back. They went around for a while, back and forth, falling off their brooms, nose-diving, James trying to hit her with hexes, Amaya trying to blind him with the sun's light.

Until, finally, when Amaya was just close enough to the rings where she was supposed to score, she dived out of the broom, meaning to dive through the circles and catch her broom on the other side.

Only James was expecting that apparently, because instead of snatching the Quaffle, he grabbed her around the waist mid-air, and stopped her from scoring, instead racing to the other side and passing through the hoops with Amaya screaming for him to let her go, while he held onto her waist, and kept her tight against him, his hold safe—given, the arsehole was cackling.

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