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Description
Normally, the sound would’ve brought a triumphant look about his features, but now he merely disregarded it, forcing himself heavily to pull his eyes away from the chanting throng and back toward his fellow Chasers.

Instead, he found two Slytherin blokes whispering amongst each other.  The scrawny form of seventh year, Anthony Trent, held the back of his hand to his mouth as if to prevent eavesdroppers from reading his lips. The short, bulk, and muscular troll, “Grotesque” Goyle, was guffawing loudly, adding more to his air of stupidity.

Simultaneously and quite surprisingly, both pairs of bleak gray eyes met his, and twisted sneers formed on their lopsided lips, revealing several bulging and mismatched teeth.  Feeling not at all intimidated by this, James smirked back with that exact same grin that he shot all of his victims — the grin girls giggled at flirtatiously.  The grin Lily Evans hated to an extent that threatened to match her disdainful feelings for him . . . the bloody toerag, Potter.

“Potter!” Fabian Prewett bellowed, pulling him back into the midst of the match.  James held out a hand, caught the hurtling Quaffle, and lunged forward, alongside his fellow Chasers.

In one quick move, he passed to Prewett on the left, who passed over him to Jordan on the right, who pulled his arm back as he stared attentively at the left goal, and then tossed it to Potter in the middle who aimed for the right and scored.

“Thirty-zero, Gryffindor!”

The chorus of, “Go, go Gryffindor,” grew louder and several people began chanting, “Go, go Potter!” among them.

The Gryffindor Chasers retrieved the Quaffle once more and dodged easily around the Slytherins — all but Potter, who found himself surrounded by the three rivaling Chasers.  He broke into a dive, swerved around them, and rose back up into the air, facing the swarm of red and gold.

And finally, he spotted her — blood red hair moving along the crowd, easily distinguishable amongst the darker haired students. She lifted her head just slightly and green eyes locked with hazel.  A grin broke out on his features, even at her cold look.  But she was not glaring, and at that moment, he felt alive and ready to get back in the game to knock those Slytherins senseless.

Just as quickly, though, Lily’s eyes widened in alarm, and a sickening and thunderous thud! reverberated through his skull, followed by shrieks and gasps from the crowd below him.  He felt the force knock him limply off the side of his broom, but he instinctively wrapped his arms and legs around it and pulled himself back up.

The left side of his head was throbbing fit to burst.  White lights flashed before his eyes, and he blinked painfully to try to clear his sight, but that only led to an obscured vision of blending colors, soon followed by the red blood emerging from his left eye.

His internal screaming drowned out that of the crowd’s, but it never left his mouth; his throat constricted painfully as he hurtled headlong toward the ground, still grasping onto his broomstick.

Every other second, his vision would fade to black, and then return to the blurred mixture of green, white, red, and yellow. A swarm of jeers and laughter mingled with Gryffindor’s terrified screams, and he closed his eyes.

They were not going to make fun of him.  James Potter did not quit, even when taking a hit to the head with something half his weight.  Slowly and carefully, he began pulling out of his dive, but his efforts seemed fruitless.

“Potter’s taken a nasty hit to the head with a Bludger from Slytherin’s Beater, Bertram Aubrey. This does not look well for Gryff — hang on!  He’s coming round.  Potter’s back in the air!”

And sure enough, James felt the rush of wind against his face as his broom returned to the sky.  This commentary was greeted by roars of triumph from Gryffindor.  James could feel his trembling hands slipping off the handle, but he desperately clung on.  The last thing he needed now was to fall forty feet from the air with a mind-shattering migraine.  He winced and shut his eyes again, hoping to ease the pain, but the throbbing only grew worse.  Consciousness was slowly slipping away.

“Potter!” Fabian called, but his word passed right through James’s faltering mind. He opened his eyes just barely to see ahead, but everything was blended together, and the addition of red, gold, silver, green, and blue only did worse.

The more sensible half of him considered returning to the ground safely before he lost his struggling battle to keep awake, but the stubborn and more irrational side told him to keep himself in the game, no matter what the odds were.  The thought of attempting a dive (which might result in him slipping off halfway through and ending up headfirst in the ground) was enough to send another wave of soreness to his throbbing skull.  He therefore listened to his stubborn and more reckless half.

Gideon’s voice loomed in the back of his disorientated mind as he scanned below for any sign of Lily or the three other Marauders, but their red and gold colors merged perfectly within the blurred shades of his House.

He flew forward, blindly listening for a sign of his fellow Chasers.  However, a silver and green streak entered the corner of his vision and he recognized, immediately, the smug expression of the scrawny Slytherin Chaser.  The name escaped him now . . .

James gasped weakly as his rival flew into him, sending him flying to the left, only to collide into another figure, who pushed him back.  He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, trying his best not to scream as another jolting pain swept through him. A double set of mirthless guffaws reached his ears (a little more audible from the right). Slowly turning his head to the left to see his assailant’s accomplice, his clouded, blooded, and watering hazel eyes met the gray, leering ones of the bulk Goyle.

They were closing in on him.

“I sense foul play from the Slytherins!” Prewett bellowed furiously. “They’re ganging up on Potter!  Professor. . .” he added hopefully to McGonagall.  Several seconds later, Madam Hooch was blowing her whistle, but the Slytherins ignored her.

Gryffindors were bellowing relentlessly from the crowd, shouting swear words at their rivals.  Their angered shouts easily outmatched the Slytherin crowd’s.

James blinked several times; he could barely make out one of the towering silver and green stands approaching them.  He tried to turn left, but Goyle shoved him harder than the first time, and then Trent pushed him back.  His head seemed to have jerked ten times more than the rest of his body and he let out an agonized cry.  There was no way out; they had him trapped.  There was no doubt Zanerok and his Beaters, Dolohov and Aubrey, were joining in around them.

A subconscious debate was going through James’s mind: close his eyes and allow sleep to overtake him and wash away the torment, or stay awake and endure the agony with absolutely no way out.  Either way, any choice he made would result in a collision with something hard.

“Bloody snakes!  Five of the seven have got Potter surrounded!  This isn’t a game anymore.  WHERE ARE HIS BLOODY TEAMMATES! Damn!  Prewett’s taken a hit from Aubrey — OI! That’s my brother you’re clobbering you repugnant—”

At that moment, Gideon’s voice was drowned out by the thunderous and aghast groans and shouts from the Gryffindors. James let out a final earsplitting scream as another excruciating blow made contact with his back. He slipped sideways off his broom and tore through the air, gaining immense speed as his back neared the ground.

He could make out the unrepentantly smug looks set about each Slytherin’s face as the distance between them elongated rapidly.  The wind lashed relentlessly against his back, cries of shock echoing from high above.

He cringed as the noise drummed obstinately in his mind, hoping, pleading for his consciousness to slip away before he reached the floor; imploring it to allow him to revert to a painless slumber, but his pleas proved pointless.

And with one final vindictive and agonizing collision, the rush of wind, the terrified cries, the blurred mixture of hazed colors, the sickening pain, and his struggling bit of consciousness were gone.

Description
Normally, the sound would’ve brought a triumphant look about his features, but now he merely disregarded it, forcing himself heavily to pull his eyes away from the chanting throng and back toward his fellow Chasers.

Instead, he found two Slytherin blokes whispering amongst each other.  The scrawny form of seventh year, Anthony Trent, held the back of his hand to his mouth as if to prevent eavesdroppers from reading his lips. The short, bulk, and muscular troll, “Grotesque” Goyle, was guffawing loudly, adding more to his air of stupidity.

Simultaneously and quite surprisingly, both pairs of bleak gray eyes met his, and twisted sneers formed on their lopsided lips, revealing several bulging and mismatched teeth.  Feeling not at all intimidated by this, James smirked back with that exact same grin that he shot all of his victims — the grin girls giggled at flirtatiously.  The grin Lily Evans hated to an extent that threatened to match her disdainful feelings for him . . . the bloody toerag, Potter.

“Potter!” Fabian Prewett bellowed, pulling him back into the midst of the match.  James held out a hand, caught the hurtling Quaffle, and lunged forward, alongside his fellow Chasers.

In one quick move, he passed to Prewett on the left, who passed over him to Jordan on the right, who pulled his arm back as he stared attentively at the left goal, and then tossed it to Potter in the middle who aimed for the right and scored.

“Thirty-zero, Gryffindor!”

The chorus of, “Go, go Gryffindor,” grew louder and several people began chanting, “Go, go Potter!” among them.

The Gryffindor Chasers retrieved the Quaffle once more and dodged easily around the Slytherins — all but Potter, who found himself surrounded by the three rivaling Chasers.  He broke into a dive, swerved around them, and rose back up into the air, facing the swarm of red and gold.

And finally, he spotted her — blood red hair moving along the crowd, easily distinguishable amongst the darker haired students. She lifted her head just slightly and green eyes locked with hazel.  A grin broke out on his features, even at her cold look.  But she was not glaring, and at that moment, he felt alive and ready to get back in the game to knock those Slytherins senseless.

Just as quickly, though, Lily’s eyes widened in alarm, and a sickening and thunderous thud! reverberated through his skull, followed by shrieks and gasps from the crowd below him.  He felt the force knock him limply off the side of his broom, but he instinctively wrapped his arms and legs around it and pulled himself back up.

The left side of his head was throbbing fit to burst.  White lights flashed before his eyes, and he blinked painfully to try to clear his sight, but that only led to an obscured vision of blending colors, soon followed by the red blood emerging from his left eye.

His internal screaming drowned out that of the crowd’s, but it never left his mouth; his throat constricted painfully as he hurtled headlong toward the ground, still grasping onto his broomstick.

Every other second, his vision would fade to black, and then return to the blurred mixture of green, white, red, and yellow. A swarm of jeers and laughter mingled with Gryffindor’s terrified screams, and he closed his eyes.

They were not going to make fun of him.  James Potter did not quit, even when taking a hit to the head with something half his weight.  Slowly and carefully, he began pulling out of his dive, but his efforts seemed fruitless.

“Potter’s taken a nasty hit to the head with a Bludger from Slytherin’s Beater, Bertram Aubrey. This does not look well for Gryff — hang on!  He’s coming round.  Potter’s back in the air!”

And sure enough, James felt the rush of wind against his face as his broom returned to the sky.  This commentary was greeted by roars of triumph from Gryffindor.  James could feel his trembling hands slipping off the handle, but he desperately clung on.  The last thing he needed now was to fall forty feet from the air with a mind-shattering migraine.  He winced and shut his eyes again, hoping to ease the pain, but the throbbing only grew worse.  Consciousness was slowly slipping away.

“Potter!” Fabian called, but his word passed right through James’s faltering mind. He opened his eyes just barely to see ahead, but everything was blended together, and the addition of red, gold, silver, green, and blue only did worse.

The more sensible half of him considered returning to the ground safely before he lost his struggling battle to keep awake, but the stubborn and more irrational side told him to keep himself in the game, no matter what the odds were.  The thought of attempting a dive (which might result in him slipping off halfway through and ending up headfirst in the ground) was enough to send another wave of soreness to his throbbing skull.  He therefore listened to his stubborn and more reckless half.

Gideon’s voice loomed in the back of his disorientated mind as he scanned below for any sign of Lily or the three other Marauders, but their red and gold colors merged perfectly within the blurred shades of his House.

He flew forward, blindly listening for a sign of his fellow Chasers.  However, a silver and green streak entered the corner of his vision and he recognized, immediately, the smug expression of the scrawny Slytherin Chaser.  The name escaped him now . . .

James gasped weakly as his rival flew into him, sending him flying to the left, only to collide into another figure, who pushed him back.  He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, trying his best not to scream as another jolting pain swept through him. A double set of mirthless guffaws reached his ears (a little more audible from the right). Slowly turning his head to the left to see his assailant’s accomplice, his clouded, blooded, and watering hazel eyes met the gray, leering ones of the bulk Goyle.

They were closing in on him.

“I sense foul play from the Slytherins!” Prewett bellowed furiously. “They’re ganging up on Potter!  Professor. . .” he added hopefully to McGonagall.  Several seconds later, Madam Hooch was blowing her whistle, but the Slytherins ignored her.

Gryffindors were bellowing relentlessly from the crowd, shouting swear words at their rivals.  Their angered shouts easily outmatched the Slytherin crowd’s.

James blinked several times; he could barely make out one of the towering silver and green stands approaching them.  He tried to turn left, but Goyle shoved him harder than the first time, and then Trent pushed him back.  His head seemed to have jerked ten times more than the rest of his body and he let out an agonized cry.  There was no way out; they had him trapped.  There was no doubt Zanerok and his Beaters, Dolohov and Aubrey, were joining in around them.

A subconscious debate was going through James’s mind: close his eyes and allow sleep to overtake him and wash away the torment, or stay awake and endure the agony with absolutely no way out.  Either way, any choice he made would result in a collision with something hard.

“Bloody snakes!  Five of the seven have got Potter surrounded!  This isn’t a game anymore.  WHERE ARE HIS BLOODY TEAMMATES! Damn!  Prewett’s taken a hit from Aubrey — OI! That’s my brother you’re clobbering you repugnant—”

At that moment, Gideon’s voice was drowned out by the thunderous and aghast groans and shouts from the Gryffindors. James let out a final earsplitting scream as another excruciating blow made contact with his back. He slipped sideways off his broom and tore through the air, gaining immense speed as his back neared the ground.

He could make out the unrepentantly smug looks set about each Slytherin’s face as the distance between them elongated rapidly.  The wind lashed relentlessly against his back, cries of shock echoing from high above.

He cringed as the noise drummed obstinately in his mind, hoping, pleading for his consciousness to slip away before he reached the floor; imploring it to allow him to revert to a painless slumber, but his pleas proved pointless.

And with one final vindictive and agonizing collision, the rush of wind, the terrified cries, the blurred mixture of hazed colors, the sickening pain, and his struggling bit of consciousness were gone.