Author: Sam

Story: A Wizard's Tale: 2 of ?

Series: n/a

Character Note: Alice Caulwell = Neville's mother (last name not released, so I put one in)

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.oocities.org/samwise_baggins/index.html

When the mist starts its pulsing images and sounds again, the shifting scene circles to face the pitch from the side, rather than from behind James. It is clear that James is daydreaming, his eyes watching off-scene and a smile playing over his young face.

The Master at Arms calls out, “Sir Ector, stand ye ready?”

James apparently misses his cue, as he keeps grinning and staring off-scene and the Master at Arms looks confused, concern slowly crossing his features. “Sir, Ector,” he calls even louder, “stand ye ready!” He glances hopefully over at the star performer, only to frown in frustration as James continues to daydream.

Frank finally punches James in the kidney… hard.

James yelps and whirls around, glaring at Frank. A blush suffuses his face, however, as a few muffled sniggers come from the nearby students portraying peasants. He turns a confused, sheepish look on the Master of Arms.

---

Draco snorted, again freezing the images and causing McGonagall to throw up her hands in exasperation. “Not very good, is he?” He grinned malevolently at Harry’s sudden frown, the other Slytherins chuckling and cackling in amusement at the jibe.

Harry chose not to answer, thus the performance resumed.

The Master of Arms continues frowning at James and calls out in a loud, crisp, clear voice, intentionally displaying contempt for the teen who has lost his cue. “Sir Ector, stand ye ready or no?” He turns a steady, disapproving gaze directly on James, not batting an eye when it becomes apparent by their looks that the others note the altered line.

James, still apparently unable to recall his line, merely nods and reaches for his wand, which Frank is holding. Arthur steps forward, trying to help James slip the wand into the awkward holster rigged to the right side of his costume robes.

“Ready?” comes the hurried question from Arthur, the stage whisper making it apparent that the question is a scripted line, not a random comment.

With a grin, feeling back in the swing of the play, James nods at Arthur. “Of course. I have tilted against Sir Ector many times.”

“As his target,” interjects Frank quickly, relief on his face. He is just as pleased that the forgotten cue is smoothed over. “You were never allowed to strike him.”

Regally, James gives his head a brief shake, “Badger me not with details.” His hat slips at his injudicious movement, and he has to take several seconds to pull it back up into place, again rousing a snicker from one of the random watching peasants.

Frank nods decisively. “Landscape, then. Stay on the broom…”

His comment is interrupted by a guffaw from the students. As if James Potter would fall from a broom; the thought is apparently too ludicrous for the students to resist. They are ignored by the chubby teen.

“He needs three spells to beat you so a tossed wand will not win it for him. He must knock you off the broom.”

James’ tone rises louder, sounding annoyed. “I know how to score!” The effect is quite impressive and the Unicorn Knight across the pitch shudders in reaction. With that, Frank and Arthur step back away from James and the temporarily blond teen stares down the pitch at the Unicorn Knight, who in her turn starts determinedly back.

As if on an after thought, James sighs out, “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

Arthur turns, surprise registering in his eyes as he claims incredulously, “You’ve waited your whole life for Sir Ector to shite himself to death?” His expression is eloquent enough.

The entire classroom exploded in giggles and chuckles, instantly freezing the dramatic scene in the center of the room. McGonagall rolled her expressive eyes, reminded yet again why it was they’d finally determined that running dramatics at Hogwarts was a bad idea. It was far too disruptive. She privately questioned Albus’ plans for reinstating the better-off-forgotten activity. After all, if a simple play had this reaction this early into a viewing, imagine their reactions to a musical production.

Finally, McGonagall stepped forward and clapped her hands together loudly. The students turned instantly to watch her, smiles abounding on youthful faces. “Enough. If you wish to watch this production, you must remain in control. I will not allow this kind of disruption.” And by her tone, she meant every derogatory-sounding word. The smiles were gone in a flash.

The fog swirled once more.

With a rush, the Unicorn Knight is off, heading into the sky on her broom. James appears to have a little more trouble as his broom overshoots the intended mark and he has to circle around to get back into place for the staged attack; he is muttering under his breath during the entire maneuver. There are cheers from the watching student-peasants and noble-teachers, and attendants from both sides, Frank and Arthur among them, rush forward cheering and yelling encouragement. Finally, James is heading slowly enough in the proper direction, but seems to be having trouble retrieving his wand from his holster. The Unicorn Knight is bearing down on him quickly, her wand raised in the traditional dueling pose.

Suddenly, the Unicorn Knight seems to worry. She hasn’t cast her spell, and her broom is getting far too close to James’ for safety. Instead of making another circuit as James had done, she flings out her arm, calling a wind-muffled spell that is unintelligible. James screams “Expelliarmus!” and the Unicorn Knight’s wand flies out of her hand and to the ground below.

He raises his wand to use his own spell, but she panics and throws out a fist, hitting James square in the face. With a yelp of pain, the girl whirls her broom too quickly and falls, heading speedily towards the ground. One of the noble-teachers flips out a wand and almost casually calls “Arresto Momentum”, slowing the Unicorn Knight’s rapid fall into a gentle descent and soft landing.

James is still reeling from the shock and pain, blood evident under visor. Apparently his padded hat and visor do not do a good enough job of protecting him from unlooked for physical blows. However, he is listing dangerously on his sharply diving broom, the punch having knocked him semi-unconscious. He is barely awake enough to bring his broom out of the dive as Arthur and Frank run forward to help him. Arthur tries to pull him from the broom, but not until James mutters indistinguishably low does he slip to the ground. It is apparent to many a spectator that the teen had cast a spell on himself to prevent slipping, and it has indeed come in handy.

Cheering and jumping, Arthur slips James to the ground and pulls him enthusiastically to a semi-standing position. As the other teen lists dangerously against his fellow performers, the redhead calls out, “We did it! We won!”

Frank throws a supporting arm around the staggering blond teen, stage-whispering “Are you all right, Will?” Whatever has been scripted to happen certainly has not, but the brunette was gamely continuing with the production.

“I think my face is broken…” comes the muffled reply, and James leans heavily into Frank’s supporting shoulder.

Harry sighed, not loudly enough to disrupt the viewing, though. He wished he knew that spell his father had cast. It would come in handy during a quidditch match, not falling from a broom. It would also be helpful if, say, dementors came onto the pitch again for some ungodly reason… not that he felt Professor Dumbledore would even let dementors on school grounds ever again. He blinked troubled green eyes and forcefully drew his attention back to the scene before him, having missed a bit of action, apparently.

The Knights are lined up in front of the noble-teachers to one side of the pitch. Their servants and varlets are close behind the Knights, and the peasant-students are further behind them. A younger version of Professor Flitwick stands behind a youthful appearing Madame Pomfrey. Both are dressed in rich, velvet robes, Madame Pomfrey holding a golden pillow on which a gold-minted feather lies. The Master at Arms steps forward and calls out, impressively, “Sir Ector!”

James has apparently stopped bleeding and wiped away what had fallen, as the blood is gone, though his visor and hat are still firmly in place. He steps forward.

The Master at Arms frowns at the blond and curtly says, “Remove your helmet, Sir Ector!”

Arthur and Frank exchange dread-filled glances and start edging backwards and Professor Flitwick attempts to look disapproving of the rude knight before him.

With a genuine sounding sigh, James gingerly touches the visor and replies in a muffled voice, “My Lord, I’m afraid the blow of the… err… spell… has bent it to my head.”

With an impressed look, giving evidence that the line was altered for the circumstances, the Master of Arms turns towards the two ducal professors. “My Lord, he says that…”

Professor Flitwick, quite pleased with the progress of the school production, flips a negligent wave. “Yes, I heard him. It’s fine, McGrady, fine.”

The Master at Arms, or McGrady as was now revealed, nodded and called out, “My Lord, I present your champion!”

Relief crosses the faces of Frank and Arthur, and the redhead nudges the brunette happily. Professor Pomfrey holds out the golden pillow, but James blindly grasps and misses. Coming to his rescue, Frank grips the pretend knight’s elbow and guides him to the golden feather, which James clutches and raises high into the air. He turns and raises it again, amid shouts and cheers from the rest of the cast.

The cast start wandering off at that point, mostly heading for the castle, when James, Arthur, and Frank fall into step, moving at a rather slow pace.

Frank gives a hearty laugh and grins at James. “The final blow bent it onto my head. Brilliant, Will!”

James tries to pull the hat and visor off and finally gives up and wails, “It’s the truth! I’m suffocating!”

The other two turn surprised looks onto their compatriot and hurriedly guide him over to a make-shift blacksmith set near the castle entrance. The student standing there, adding finishing touches to some of the props for later scenes looks up in confusion, hissing out, “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be on the way towards Hagrid’s for this scene… I’m in it later.”

Arthur shrugs and Frank shoves James towards the prop anvil, which apparently is a real anvil as the blond grunts in pain when his head slams onto it. They are aware that the recording spell is still centered on them as the leads, so are staying in character as Arthur calls out, “We need to remove his hat, Good Smith.”

The student rolls his eyes in confusion but nods and applies the tip of his wand to the crack at the back of James reinforced hat. Frank turns towards Arthur and sighs out, “I don’t think this is what King Arthur had in mind.”

The mist swirls, signaling a change of scene, finally.