A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 18: Rumours

Chapter 18: Rumours

The air was electric as the first Quidditch match since the break began, the stands roaring with energy as the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams soared into the crisp morning sky. The Gryffindor stands were a sea of scarlet and gold, students waving banners enchanted with flickering flames that danced along the edges.

James Potter, perched on his broom high above the pitch, scanned the field below with sharp focus, his hazel eyes gleaming with determination. His untidy hair was ruffled even more by the wind, and a faint grin tugged at his lips as he gripped his broom tighter. This was his element—the place where everything else fell away.

The whistle blew, and the Quaffle was released. The game was on.

It was a hard-fought match. The Ravenclaw team, known for their strategy and precision, had kept Gryffindor on their toes from the start. James, as the Gryffindor Chaser and captain, orchestrated their plays with a combination of sharp calls and daring maneuvers.

The Quaffle felt like an extension of his hands as he zigzagged through the air, passing with seamless coordination to his teammates. Twice he dodged Bludgers by mere inches, his reflexes honed to perfection.

"Potter's on fire today!" the commentator shouted, their voice barely audible over the crowd's cheers.

James's grin widened as he scored another goal, the Quaffle whizzing past the Ravenclaw Keeper with unerring accuracy. The Gryffindor section erupted, chanting his name as the score climbed higher.

By the end of the match, it was clear who the victors would be. The Gryffindor Seeker caught the Snitch, ending the game at 260-150 in favor of Gryffindor. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the team descended to the pitch, their faces flushed with victory.

James pumped his fist into the air, his grin nearly splitting his face as his teammates mobbed him with cheers and back slaps. He was still catching his breath, adrenaline thrumming through his veins, when his gaze flickered to the stands.

And then he saw her.

Anastasia Gaunt, seated among the Slytherins with her usual composed demeanor, wasn't cheering or even clapping. But as his eyes met hers, James could have sworn—sworn—that she smirked. It was faint, so quick he might have imagined it, but it was there.

The sight made his chest swell with something more than victory. Whatever it was, it sent a bolt of energy through him, and he felt the grin on his face widen. This win was sweeter now, though he'd never admit why.

The celebration that night was loud and exuberant, hosted by Hufflepuff in their cozy common room, which had been magically expanded to accommodate the influx of students. Yellow and black banners hung alongside red and gold, and tables overflowed with butterbeer, pumpkin pasties, and Honeydukes sweets.

James stood near the entrance, a butterbeer in hand, scanning the room. The music was loud, and laughter echoed from every corner. Sirius was already in the thick of it, regaling a group of Hufflepuffs with a wildly exaggerated story of the match, while Remus stood off to the side, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he sipped his drink.

James, however, was barely listening. His eyes kept darting around the room, searching for a familiar figure.

"He's doing it again," Sirius announced loudly, deadpan, pointing at James without even turning to look at him.

"He's never stopped doing it," Remus replied, not bothering to look up from the butterbeer he was nursing.

James groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. "You two have got to find a new hobby."