Disclaimer: The characters are the property of the amazingly talented J.K Rowling. I'm only borrowing the characters and world that she has so brilliantly created.

A/N: "The Name of the Game" is the sequel to "Game On", my Next Generation James/OC story that revolves around Quidditch and the relationship between Eva Wood and James Potter. I highly recommend reading that story before delving into this.

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Chapter One: And the Game Begins

For all of the loyal readers of Game On who wanted to read more of Eva's story.

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I gazed out over the pitch of the Puddlemere United stadium and forced myself to breathe deeply. Calm, Eva, be calm. I had stood here many times before, but it had been because of my dad, Oliver Wood, and the fact that he had played for Puddlemere and coached the team.

And now…now I was finally standing here on my own merit to try out for the Puddlemere United reserve team. I gripped my broom even more tightly in my hand.

"You're going to cut off your circulation."

I glanced at James and wrinkled my nose, but eased my grip all the same.

"I haven't been this nervous since we tried out for the Gryffindor team in our second year," I admitted softly.

When my dad had asked that morning over breakfast how I was feeling, I had told him that I was fine. That had been a complete and utter lie. He had known I wasn't being completely truthful, but he hadn't talked down to me by being falsely chipper. He had simply told me to play my best, work hard, and had given me a brief hug. I hadn't wanted to arrive to reserve tryouts with the coach, so James and I had arranged to meet at his parents' house and then Apparate together.

My nerves had begun the evening before and kept me awake half the night. My stomach had been squirming all morning, so I hadn't eaten much at breakfast. Now that apple felt as though it was rolling around in my stomach and threatening to come back up.

"Same," James replied, his brown eyes fixed on the huddle of trainers and coaches standing several yards away.

James did look a bit peaky. It was odd to see him so nervous. However he felt on the inside, James usually projected an air of confidence and ease. Now, however, he looked ready to vomit.

"Remember how you sicked up on the pitch before the first match we ever played in?" I asked him, with a faint smile.

James Potter throwing up on Sean O'Mara's trainers before our first ever Hogwarts match was one of my favorite memories. The look on O'Mara's face had been priceless. And considering that he had turned out to be the biggest git in Britain, I didn't even feel sorry for him.

James groaned and the hand that wasn't gripping his broomstick strayed to his stomach. "Godric, don't remind me. And don't talk about vomit, or I just might."

I nudged James lightly with my shoulder. "You might have sicked up, but you won us that match, James. That incident is part of how you got here, to tryouts at Puddlemere United."

"Ever the captain," James replied with a smirk.

"Old habits die hard, I suppose," I shrugged, but I felt pleased by his compliment.

Behind us stood six other prospective players. There were only two reserve positions open: a Chaser and a Seeker. Five of them looked as nervous as I felt, but one appeared completely nonplussed. He even looked slightly bored.

I had already completed my tryouts for the Falcons and the Magpies. Those had been important, but they were nothing to compare with how important this particular tryout for Puddlemere was for me. This could lead to all of my dreams coming true. This…this was everything.

"All right, welcome to reserve tryouts for Puddlemere United," Dad said as he and the group of team officials approached our cluster of hopefuls.

"If you're standing here on the pitch now, it means that we've recruited you based on careful selection through scouting at Hogwarts or our annual open tryout. If you're standing here, it means that you're an excellent Quidditch player. It means that you have something that others don't. It means that you have potential to be better than you are, to fit in with the rest of our players. Don't prove us wrong."

I nearly gulped. Bloody hell, Dad…

"Now, I want the five of you trying out for our Chaser position to stand over here, and the five of you trying out for out Seeker position to stand over there."

"Good luck," I told James. "Don't vomit on the pitch. Or anyone's shoes."

He smirked, looking a bit more like his usual self. He reached out and tugged gently at my ponytail. "Keep your elbows tucked in."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help smiling a tiny bit. Trust James to bring up my former weakness like that. Granted, I had started it, so now we were even.

A woman I recognized as one of the team trainers, Laranda Day, handed each of the Chasers a number to pin to our Quidditch kit. Mine read C4.

She crossed her arms as she stood back and surveyed us. She had an extremely piercing gaze. Her hazel eyes seemed to bore into me. I found myself wondering if she was capable of Legilimency. I wouldn't put it past her. She was known for being mentally sharp and ridiculously demanding of the players assigned to her for training.

"Right, then. Twenty laps. Begin."

One or two of the others waited a moment as if to make certain that they had heard her correctly. I didn't hesitate for even a split second. The moment that the word "begin" was past her lips, I was in motion. I had to do everything I could to stand out (in a good way, mind you, not in a fall-off-my-broom sort of way) to the people who would be deciding whether or not to offer me a position on the reserves.

The Seekers had obviously been given the same instructions as the Chasers group, because it wasn't long before James fell into stride beside me. All of a sudden it was just as though we were back at Hogwarts and we were attempting to race each other around the pitch or the Great Lake. I hadn't admitted it to him, but at my other try outs, I had helped motivate myself by pretending that James was running next to me, smirking at me to tease me and push me harder.

By the half way mark, I was growing tired. By the time we turned the curve to begin the last lap, I was exhausted. My lungs felt as though they were simultaneously on fire and made of rubber, and the muscles all up and down my legs protested every movement. But I had to keep running. James and I were leading the group of prospects. I could hear footfalls directly behind us, but I hadn't ventured a glance behind me. Whoever they were, I wasn't about to let them pass me now.

Just keeping going, just keeping going, I told myself. I glanced quickly over at James, and saw that he had chosen that exact moment to look at me as well. I raised an eyebrow in his direction and pumped my arms even harder. I pulled ahead just a fraction, but he quickly closed the distance. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a small smirk playing on his lips.

Behind me, I heard the footfalls increase in pace, and it solidified my determination not to let the mysterious runner overtake me. We were at the last turn now. My lungs were positively burning, but I increased my pace. I was pretty much moving mechanically at this point.

James edged past me as we crossed the mark from where we had begun. I mentally swore as he finished a mere fraction ahead of me. I wasn't so exhausted that I didn't care that he had beaten me. I would just have to even the score the next time we ran together.

I gulped in air in short, rapid, inhales and exhales. Then I forced myself to draw more measured breaths, taking in as much air as I was letting out. I held my arms behind my head in attempt to increase my lung capacity. Anything to get more oxygen into my system.

Sweet Merlin, all I wanted to do was fall to the ground in a heap of worn out and unmovable limbs - but I knew that I had to remain standing. If I sat down, I might just pass out on the grass and never get up again. Besides, we still had the flying portion of the tryout next. My legs wobbled a bit, but leaning down for a few quick stretches helped.

"Get a drink of water, stretch for a moment, and then grab your brooms," Dad told us once everyone had crossed the finish line. His voice held absolutely no sympathy.

I probably shouldn't have been thinking of him as Dad, but what else was I supposed to call him? Coach Wood, I suppose. Considering that he had always been Dad, that just seemed plain wonky, but if I were selected for the reserves, maybe I would have to get used to the idea of calling him Coach Wood here on the pitch.

"Your dad's… mental," James panted, still working to catch his breath.

"Good thing…we've been…running…everyday," I replied through my own gasps for air.

This run had, without a doubt, been the most grueling one of my life. In order to prepare for tryouts, James and I had been running every day. We hadn't run the equivalent of twenty laps around a professional stadium, but we had been doing more than half of that distance. Today had been brutal, but not as terrible as it could have been had we not been training properly in advance.

Thankfully, they reserved runs this long for tryouts to eliminate those without stamina, endurance, and the ability to take ridiculous orders. At least I hoped that was the case. They couldn't expect us to run that far at every practice – could they?

"On yer brooms, people," yelled a man with a thick Scottish accent, who I recognized as Alisdair Ferguson, one of the Puddlemere trainers.

Once I was in the air, it was as if my nerves were being brushed away by the wind moving past me. This was where I most comfortable…this was where I belonged. This felt right.

I felt my face slowly break out into a smile at the feeling of sitting here on my broomstick at the Puddlemere pitch.

The Puddlemere pitch.

"You won't be smilin' long, Miss Wood," Ferguson told me, his voice holding a slightly sarcastic edge. "This isn't gonna to be easy."

"I don't expect it to be," I countered.

The prospective Chasers were separated from the Seekers, and the later retreated to the other side of the pitch with Alisdair Ferguson. I knew what that meant. It meant that the Chasers group would be run by Laranda Day.

As far as trainers went, Laranda Day was famous in the world of Quidditch. Or perhaps infamous would have been a term more suited to the rumors of her wickedly sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude. Still, she was one of the best because she got results. No matter how intimidating players found her, they still wanted to train with her because of her reputation.

Last year after his tryouts, Tristan had told me about her. He seemed half frightened of her, yet half in awe. If I was remembering correctly, the term "glare like ice" was used.

Laranda Day hovered on her broom in front of the four Chasers, carefully eyeing us all. No one spoke or so much as coughed. Glare like ice didn't even begin to cover it.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Unless you're a complete idiot and didn't do a bit of research on the side you're currently trying out for, you all know who I am. You will call me Trainer Day. Never Ms. Day and certainly never Laranda. If you break that rule, you go home. Simple as that. I want team members who can follow directions and if you can't follow a direction that simple then you don't belong here."

There was another brief silence as she continued to size us up. Perhaps she was waiting for one of us to crack and say something.

"Right," she told us sharply, "There are four of you, so we'll be continually rotating you in and out of the group of three to see how you do quickly adjusting to different people and their playing styles. We want team players here, not showoffs."

She pointed to me, the lad from before with the bored expression, and a girl with a plait of dark red hair down her back.

"Halfway mark to goal posts. Basic passing drill," were the minimal instructions. "Go."

The bloke handily caught the Quaffle that Trainer Day chucked hard directly at his face and sped off towards the center of the pitch, where he took up a position as lead chaser. As I followed, I frowned a bit. I had been lead Chaser at Hogwarts for the past two years, and it felt a bit wrong and out-of-place to see someone else in that position.

I jerked my head to the left, to indicate to the red-haired girl that I would take that side. She nodded her understanding and made towards the right.

The moment we were in place, we began the drill. The Quaffle was passed to the right first, and I nearly held my breath in anticipation, waiting for it to come to me. Then there it was, hurtling towards me. I caught it deftly in my hands, then bunched up my arm muscles and sent it back, beginning the passing cycle. A feeling of confidence settled in my stomach.

After everyone had rotated in and out and everyone had participated in the basic passing drill twenty times, we did twenty weaving, zigzag, mixed rotation, and reverse passing drills each. Then we flew Hawkshead Attacking formations.

"You're being sloppy," Trainer Day barked as my group flew by in a tight V formation. "I want perfection! Now!"

I might have felt insulted, but she had yelled something similar at everyone else. Trainer Day had found fault in everything. The first time she had yelled at me I had felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, as though I all of my chances at making the reserve team were floating away, but I had reminded myself that she yelled at the others just as much. Only it felt worse when it was directed at you.

After twenty rounds of Hawkshead Attacking Formations, we moved on to the same number of Parkin's Pincer and Porskoff Ploy moves. When we had finished demonstrating our skills running drills and common Chaser strategies, I thought for sure we were going to practice against a Keeper. Unfortunately for me, I thought wrong.

"On the ground, fifty pushups. Now!" was the order.

We all angled our brooms for the ground. I was the first one to land, and I nearly threw myself onto the grass of the pitch in my hurry to begin my pushups.

"I want to hear you count! You there –" she pointed to a lad with short cropped blonde hair. "Back straight. Or I'll straighten it for you and you won't like it. Louder, all of you! I want to hear the pain in your voices."

Seriously, lady? 'The pain in our voices?' I didn't know anything about her Hogwarts Quidditch career, but if she had been allowed to captain it must have been frightening. If I had ever had a coach like her I would have revolted or staged a coup or something. Even my old archrival Lyra Rinaldi probably hadn't been this tough on her Slytherin team. And the fact that I even just thought that meant Trainer Day was one seriously mad bint.

I suddenly saw a pair of very white trainers in front of my face. "I can't hear you!"

"Thirty-five!" I yelled, my arms burning. I lowered myself down then pushed myself back up. Again and again and again.

"Nose to the ground!"

Ouch.

"All of you - backs straighter! Louder! Shore up that arm angle!"

"Fifty!" I cried. I wanted to drop to the pitch in exhaustion, but I made myself calmly pick my body up in a way that made it (sort of) look as though I didn't feel as though I had noodles for arms.

I knew there would be no respite, so it didn't surprise me one bit when we were then instructed to do fifty sit-ups, then mountain climbers and count them aloud.

Finally we were allowed to mount our broomsticks again and face off against a Keeper. I had supposed that we'd be going up against the reserve Keeper since that's who we'd be practicing with if we were chosen for the spot. I was wrong again.

Hovering on a well-polished broomstick at the end of the goalposts was the Puddlemere main team Keeper, Ieuan Rhys.

Ieuan Rhys had been my first crush when I was about thirteen, so the prospect of facing him on the pitch seemed a bit, well…surreal. I wondered if my face was flushing. Though really, my face was red from all of the physical activity, so who could tell?

There was a determined expression on his face as the girl with the plait approached the goalposts, the Quaffle clutched in her hands. She feinted right, then threw towards the left goalpost. Rhys caught it easily. Each Chaser was given five tries to score, but Rhys stopped each and every attempt.

Finally, the Quaffle was handed off to me. I rotated it in my hands, feeling the smooth surface of the red ball and adjusting my grip. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and began to move forwards. I needed to be the one to finally score a goal. All of the other Chasers had tried feinting or otherwise trying to outwit Rhys. But I had been watching him play Keeper for ages; hopefully it was enough to be able to score.

With the Quaffle grasped tightly in my right hand, I acted as though as I was going to feint. I nudged my broom ever-so-slightly to the right, then to the left. Rhys's eyes darted between the Quaffle and my face, attempting to unnerve me and determine my plan.

Then, at the very last second before entering the scoring area, I put on a burst of speed, straightened my aim, and went for a direct shot.

Rhys's fingertips nearly made contact with the Quaffle – nearly, but not quite – and it sailed through the center hoop.

"That was bold," he winked as he threw the Quaffle back to me. "It paid off."

I hoped that I wasn't blushing, but I couldn't guarantee it. Ieuan Rhys – the Ieuan Rhys – had commented on my strategy. He hadn't talked to any of the other Chaser hopefuls, but he had talked to me. And I had the only goal against him.

After the physical portion of the tryouts was finally finished, each person had to undergo an interview with the coach and trainers. We were randomly assigned numbers from a magical hat, and I was unlucky enough to be put in the last slot.

Sitting outside of that conference room waiting as every other person who was trying out went first felt nearly as difficult as the tryout itself. No one in the hallway spoke to one another. Everyone looked as tired as I felt.

Some interviews seemed to take ages while others went by in a shorter amount of time. Finally, at long last it was my turn.

"Wood." Trainer Day stood in the doorway, her voice hard. "This way."

My dad and Trainer Ferguson were sitting around a round table, and Trainer Day took a seat to Dad's left. Trainer Ferguson motioned me to the empty chair on his right, so that I was between him and Trainer Day.

"I saw an interesting picture in Witch Weekly a few weeks ago," Trainer Day said, holding up a section of the picture and accompanying photograph that I knew all too well.

Well, this was possibly the worst start to the interview that I could have imagined.

I wanted to curse Sorcha Patterson to the continent and back for sending that photograph to Witch Weekly. What in the bleeding hell had she been thinking?! Well, she hadn't been; that was her entire problem.

My second thought was that I wanted to melt into the floor out of sheer embarrassment. Laranda Day, renowned Puddlemere trainer, was holding a picture of me snogging my boyfriend on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in the pouring rain. Oh, bugger.

"Are you aware that Puddlemere United discourages relationships between teammates?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes, I am."

I really, really did not like this line of questioning. I had the urge to glance at Dad, but I kept my focus on Trainer Day.

"And are you aware that Puddlemere United discourages relationships between our players and members of other teams?"

I nodded again. Discouraging against dating players from other teams was common in the world of Quidditch. Many times when players tried to go out with members of opposing teams, it seemed to end badly for everyone involved. A few brawls in pubs over accusations of cheating and sabotage came to mind from past news articles. Of course, it wasn't completely unheard of for rival teammates to date and it wasn't outright forbidden. Angharad Morgan, who played for the Harpies, was actually married to Quintus Palgrave, who played for the Wasps.

"If you and Mr. Potter were placed on opposing teams, would you continue your relationship?"

"Yes," I answered without hesitation.

Trainer Day clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I see."

"James isn't a distraction," I said, speaking a bit more forcefully than I had intended.

Alistair Ferguson raised his eyebrows in amused manner while Dad's facial expression remained neutral.

"He isn't a distraction," I repeated, less forcefully, but still firmly. "We played for the Gryffindor team together for five years. For a long time, we couldn't stand each other, but we still respected each other as Quidditch players. We've always challenged each other to do better. We were dating during the second half of our seventh year season, and that never interfered with practice or matches. You can ask anyone who was on that team or even Professor Longbottom, our former Head of House."

Trainer Day regarded me with her nearly unblinking, piercing hazel stare. "Miss Wood, if I had a galleon for every time a prospect told me their significant other wouldn't interfere with their game, I'd be able to buy this stadium."

Sweet Merlin, if I didn't know better, I would say that Trainer Day was related to my old nemesis Lyra Rinaldi (the spiteful cow).

"James and I are equals. Quidditch is important to us and we don't let things interfere with our ability to perform at our very best. We're both dedicated to not being a distraction for each other. We've talked about it. We support each other in our goals of playing professionally."

Trainer Day clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth again.

"I mean no disrespect, Miss Wood," Alisdair Ferguson spoke up, "but your older brother, Tristan was problematic for our team. How can we be certain that you won't leave Puddlemere when a better offer comes along?"

"Because I'm not my brother," I replied, squaring my shoulders slightly. "I know that I'm not ready to play on a main team yet. Being ready for that takes time and a lot of training. I want the experience of starting at the bottom of the professional Quidditch world and working my way up. That's important to me."

Alisdair Ferguson inclined his head to me. Dad's facial expression remained neutral, but I could see his eyes glinting slightly.

Trainer Day didn't seem impressed by my answer. "Miss Wood, all young players say they're content with being a reserve. Your brother said much the same thing when we spoke with him after his tryout. Anything to get a spot on a team."

"I guess you'll have to take me at my word, then."

"Why should we hire you for a place on our reserve team?" This question came from Dad. (Er…Coach Wood?)

Now this question I was ready for. I knew that I would be asked this, and I had given serious consideration to my answer.

"Because I'm talented and I'm dedicated. I will give you my all every single day and I will work as hard as I possibly can to improve as an individual player, and to help the team improve. And because even though after that tryout I feel as though I was trampled by a Hungarian Horntail, I've never been more certain that this – that playing Quidditch for Puddlemere – is what I want more than anything."

I emerged from the conference room where the interview had taken place with the information that I would be notified by owl when they had reached a decision.

James was waiting for me. I wasn't sure how he was still standing up. I asked him as much.

He laughed wryly. "Sheer willpower. You still going to come over for dinner and Quidditch this weekend?" James asked as we both staggered towards the exit.

"I think I'll be dead," I replied drily, wincing as I stretched one of my arms across my chest.

James winced as he stretched his own sore limbs. "On second thought, me too."

But hopefully this had all been worth it. Whatever the decision, I would find out in a few weeks. How I was going to wait that long without going mad, I didn't know.

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If I had thought that I was sore after the Puddlemere tryout, it was nothing to how I felt the next morning. With considerable effort, I dragged myself out of bed and set about doing some stretches in the middle of my bedroom floor. It hurt, but by the time I was done, my muscles felt less tight. A long, warm shower also helped to loosen up the tension in my sore body.

Dad looked up at me from over the latest Quidditch Weekly as I entered the kitchen and slowly lowered myself into a chair.

"Sore?" he asked with a slightly cryptic voice.

I wondered if this was a trick.

"No more than anyone else who was at tryouts," I replied evenly, helping myself to some freshly cut cantaloupe and honeydew melon.

"Toast, dear?" Mum handed me a plate. "Careful, it has a warming charm on it."

"You know I can't take anything said into this house into consideration," Dad told me with a pointed look. "That's against the ethical guidelines of the League."

"Maybe so," I shrugged. "But I'm still not going to complain about it in front of you."

Dad's face broke into a grin. "That's my girl."

"Remind me, when's your next tryout?" Mum asked me. "You just have the two left, yes?"

I nodded as I swallowed some of my fruit. "The Catapults and the Harpies. Monday and Thursday next."

Behind his magazine, Dad snorted derisively.

"I need to have options. I'd like to be employed," I reasoned. Options…that made me think of the conversation I had once had with Tristan. The thought made me uncomfortable.

"The Catapult's manger is a right -"

"That's enough out of you," Mum chided Dad. "I think perhaps until Eva's tryouts are over we should limit the Quidditch talk."

Dad slowly lowered the magazine and stared incredulously at my mum. My mouth was hanging open rather unattractively.

"Don't give me that look," Mum practically rolled her eyes. "I love Quidditch as much as anyone. I just meant that Eva doesn't need either of us negatively influencing her. We can talk more openly about it once her letters come."

Dad sighed but then nodded. "Oh, fine."

"If they come," I bit my lip.

"I can't respond to that," Dad warned me.

"I know," I said quickly, "I didn't mean…I just…it's hard to wait."

"Waiting for my letters was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do," Dad told me. Then he smiled. "Except for convincing your mother to give me a chance and go out to dinner with me."

Mum smiled back at him, affection clearly shining in her eyes. "I did make you work rather hard for that first date, didn't I? Mind you, you were awfully full of yourself."

Grabbing a piece of toast, I slipped out of my chair and made my way from the kitchen. It was a tad awkward to sit there at the table while my parents reminisced about their romantic past.

Wandering outside, I found Richard and Gareth out at our family Quidditch pitch in the large, empty field behind the house.

"What are you two up to?" I asked. "No good, I can only suppose."

"Training," Gareth answered. "I need some experience if I'm going to be a Quidditch trainer someday."

Richard nodded. "And I want to stay in practice over the summer. Maybe get in better shape. I want to be as prepared as I can be, so Gareth and I are going to help each other out."

"Quite the dynamic duo," I noted.

"Next year's going to be hard for Gryffindor without you and James on the team. "

I grinned. "I think the new captain will keep you in good form. I trust them."

"No hints at all?" Gareth asked hopefully.

"None, you nosy parker." I shot him a stern glare. "That's against the rules and you know it."

Gareth held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No need to go all Quidditch captain on me."

"She can't help it," Richard put in. "You're a natural captain."

"I'll have to, won't I?" I smiled wryly. I would have to be able to keep my bossy tendencies on the pitch reigned in if I was going to be playing under a new captain. Hard as it was, it was no longer my place to lead a team.

"You'll be a captain again someday, Eva," Richard assured me. "I know it."

"Want to help out with the training?" Gareth asked eagerly. "We're going to start with stretches. After your description of your tryout yesterday, it sounds like you could use it."

Even though I had already done stretching before breakfast, I found that another round might do me some good and help keep me limber.

"Good thought," I agreed.

Ouch.

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

The next day after lunch found me sitting on my bed rereading the first book in the Infiltrator series when there was a gentle knock on my door. I sighed slightly. I had been in the middle of my favorite scene in the book, when the main character, Isobel, scores her first goal for her Quidditch team.

"Come in," I called, bookmarking my spot.

The door opened slowly and my mum peeked her head in. "Do you have a moment?"

"Er, yeah," I answered.

Mum closed the door behind her, which I took to be a bad sign. The door only closed when I was in trouble or when there was something awkward to talk about.

"Yeees…?" I asked suspiciously as she settled down onto the edge of the bed.

"Eva… I happened to see you and James saying goodbye this morning after your run."

Holy hippogriffs, my mum had caught me snogging my boyfriend.

That morning, James had flooed over and we had gone on a long run in which we naturally attempted to outpace the other. Afterwards, we'd stretched with instructions from Gareth, and then James had gone home. But before that, we had snogged a bit. Or a lot. Apparently those trees in the back garden hadn't provided us as much privacy as I'd thought.

"Oh." I felt my face flush with warmth.

My good old standby in awkward situations: Oh.

"I know that you're almost eighteen and about to be on your own, so I can't tell you what to do or not do, but just...be mindful. You and James aren't ready to be parents. And I'm certainly not ready to be a grandmum."

I glanced at the open window, desperately wanting to throw myself out of it. Oh Merlin, could this be any more embarrassing? Mum and I had already had the talk years ago. Was this really necessary?

Besides, if anyone in the family needed this talk, I was quite sure it was Tristan. Although he might have gotten it too. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing he'd share with me, was it? I certainly wasn't going to tell any of my brothers about this.

"Mum...it's not like that. We're not…I mean, we...no…" I awkwardly trailed off, my face (if physiologically possible) feeling warmer by the second.

Mum nodded, a look of relief passing over her face. "Well, all the same, use good judgment. James is a very good looking lad, and I've seen the way you two look at each other. I remember what it's like to be young and caught up in new and exciting emotions. It's easy to get carried away by those feelings, but you need to be able to handle the consequences."

"Stop talking. Please."

She sighed, yet a smile broke out across her face. "One more thing."

"I'd rather you didn't."

Predictably, Mum ignored my plea. "Whenever you two decide to take that step in your relationship, make sure that there's love involved."

That statement only served to remind me of the fact that James had told me that he was falling in love with me and I hadn't said anything of the sort back to him yet.

"—How do you know if you love someone?" I blurted out without thinking.

Mum smiled softly as she reached out and stroked my hair. "There are a million different answers to that question, darling."

"How was it for you?"

"There wasn't any specific moment where I thought, 'he's the one.' It was a million different moments that finally added up to something." She paused and then asked, "What brought this on?"

"Things," was my not-so-cryptic answer.

"Have you talked about it with Christine?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, whatever advice she gave you, I suggest that you take it," Mum said approvingly. She always did like Christine.

"James told me that he was falling in love with me," I admitted. "And I couldn't say it back yet. But Christine told me to let myself enjoy the feeling of James falling in love with me and that there wasn't any rush about how I felt."

"Oh, Eva," Mum smiled softly.

Er…what?

"It all goes by so fast. It feels as though just yesterday I was holding a tiny bundle wrapped in a yellow blanket. Then I blinked and you're an independent, clever, and talented young woman – everything your father and I hoped you'd be."

Well, this all seemed a bit dramatic. What had brought this on?

"Look at me, being all sentimental," Mum blinked her eyes rapidly and then said briskly, "I was just about put the kettle on. Do you want a cuppa? We can use the blue patterned china I never let you kids near when you were little."

Her face was hopeful. Soon I'd be moving out, to live in a flat with Christine. These were my last few weeks living under my parents' roof.

"I'd love one," I told her.

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

"Wake up!"

"Nngh," was my oh-so-very coherent reply.

In my defense, Richard and Gareth had just woken me up at the crack of dawn the day after my tryout for the Catapults. It hadn't been nearly as grueling as Puddlemere, but it hadn't exactly been a walk in the park. With all of these tryouts, I was starting to forget what it felt like not to be sore.

I peeked open a wary eye.

"Time for some early morning stretches," Gareth grinned down at me.

Ugh.

"You look like you need it."

"Thanks," I replied sarcastically as I pulled the blankets over my head.

"Oh, no you don't," Richard cried, prying the blankets out of my hands and tearing them clean off the bed.

"Hey! Now that's just rude." I scowled at my brothers, giving them my very best captain's glare.

"That's not going to work," Gareth informed me cheekily. "You're not the Gryffindor captain any more. And you were never my captain anyway."

Richard nodded. "Just because it's your birthday doesn't mean you get to skive off."

I narrowed me eyes at them. "Skive off? What kind of nutters are you? I do not skive off when it comes to Quidditch. Last winter, I was outside playing Quidditch on Boxing Day. In a snow storm!"

"Details."

"Couldn't I just lie in fifteen minutes this one day?" I pleaded. "One day out of 365?"

"You're already up," Richard said with a hint of satisfaction lacing his voice. "No point in going back to bed now."

"Brothers," I grumbled as I pulled myself out of bed. "Get out if you want me to get changed."

The door had barely closed behind them when it immediately re-opened and Gareth stuck his head back in.

"Only joking," he told me with a cheeky grin. "We let you sleep an extra half an hour."

I whipped my head around to look at the clock resting on my bedside table. The time read 6:30. Holy hippogriffs.

"You…you…" I started, my brain still a bit foggy from sleep.

"Oh, by the way," Richard's voice floated through from behind Gareth, "James is downstairs waiting to go through your morning routine."

"Happy Birthday!" Gareth called.

I threw a pillow at his head, but he closed the door just in time and it bounced harmlessly off of my vintage Quidditch World Cup 2002 poster.

A few minutes later I walked into the kitchen to find James sitting at the table deep in conversation with my dad concerning the Cleansweep line of broomsticks.

"Happy Birthday, Eva," Dad told me, rising out of his chair to give me a hug. "Eighteen. It seems like just yesterday we were putting you on your first toy broomstick."

"Er…thanks, dad," I replied somewhat awkwardly.

"Wait…it's your birthday?" James asked, pretending to be completely unaware, as though there wasn't a smartly wrapped package sitting in front of him at the table.

I rolled my eyes at him. "You know full well it is. You sent me frog spawn for my birthday before fifth year, remember?"

James burst out laughing at that. "Ha, I'd actually forgotten about that! Classic."

"You would think so."

"Fred would agree with me."

"You two had better have a quick bite to eat and then be off," Mum told us as she bustled into the kitchen. "It's supposed to rain by mid-morning."

We lived in England. Of course it was going to rain. I'd be more shocked if it didn't.

"Do you want your present now or later?" James asked me.

I glanced at my mum and dad. "Later," I decided, hoping that by the time James and I got back, my parents would be at work. I mean, I could hardly thank him properly with them right there.

"All right," Gareth said as he and Richard strode into the room. "The sooner we start your stretching, the sooner you can go run."

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

It was starting to drizzle by the time we had finished our morning run.

"Too bad we couldn't spend some time behind that tree again," James suggested, shooting a meaningful glance my direction as we made our way through the back garden and up to the house.

"Or not," I replied drily, thinking back to my conversation with mum a few days ago. "Apparently my mum can see us snogging there from the house."

James outwardly winced and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Ah. Yeah, probably best not to get caught snogging by your mum."

I held the door open for James as we walked through. Once inside the mudroom, we dried our clothing with spells. Reaching up, I grabbed two towels off a shelf and handed one to James.

"Ta," he said. Then he draped his towel over my head and rubbed vigorously.

"James!" I practically shrieked in surprise as he ruffled my damp hair. "Bloody hell!"

Once the towel was removed and I could see more than my shoes again, I thwacked him across the chest with the one in my hand.

"Prat."

He merely smirked. "You love it."

"I'm not going to respond to that."

"Do you want your present now?"

"Yeah, all right," I said, faking nonchalance. This was my first real gift from James, not counting the anonymous flowers and note he had sent me for Valentine's Day. I was curious (and more than a little bit excited) to see what he had chosen.

My parents had both gone to work while James and I were out running, and I could hear Richard and Gareth discussing strategy down the hall in the front room. An idea popped into my head and I quickly glanced around.

"C'mon." On an impulse I grabbed James's hand and pulled him down the hall. Richard and Gareth barely spared us a passing glance as we walked past the front room and then up the stairway.

"Let me guess," James drawled slightly. "Yours is the one with the Puddlemere poster spello-taped to the door?"

"Right in one," I said, opening the door and letting the pair of us inside.

"I can't believe I haven't seen your room yet," James commented as he peered around. "Looks exactly like I'd expect."

I followed his eyes as he took in the Puddlemere posters on the walls and the navy blue Puddlemere bedspread. A collection of picture frames were scattered among a set of shelves on the wall. There was a photograph of Christine, Kieran, and I, one of my entire family at the Puddlemere stadium, one of my siblings and I playing family Quidditch, one of my Gryffindor team from last year, and one of James and I in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"I've got this same poster. That was a good World Cup," James commented as he examined my 2014 Quidditch World Cup poster. "My whole family went along on holiday while Mum was covering the match. Lily likes animals so she was really upset when Lichtenstein's mascot was stolen by the Americans."

"Hans the Augury," I laughed as I remembered the incident. "I remember I wanted an augury after that."

"Knew I should have gotten you that augury," James joked holding out my present. "I'm not much good with gifts, so I hope you like it."

"Oh come off it, you did just fine for Valentine's Day," I reminded him. "It might have been a little cheesy, but it was still thoughtful."

Not to mention a complete surprise and highly romantic. I wasn't one to swoon, but the memory of that gift just about brought one on.

I took the small box from him and carefully peeled away the gold colored wrapping paper.

"Here," I said, taking the bow off the top of the box and pressing it onto James's head.

"Does that make me your present?" he cheekily asked. "Birthday snogs are traditional for us."

If he wanted to count one snog in the Quidditch locker rooms on his birthday as a tradition.

"Don't flatter yourself," I rolled my eyes. "I just wanted to see if would stick in your ridiculously messy hair."

James huffed. "The general untidiness just sort of happens. You've seen my dad's hair, and Al's. It's genetic."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," I replied loftily. I actually liked his hair very much and he knew it full well.

As I lifted the lid off of the small white box underneath the wrapping paper, I drew in a suprised breath.

"D'you like it?" James asked, slight nerves evident in his voice.

"James, it's beautiful," I gently picked up the necklace by the delicate chain. A small daisy pendant glinted in the light.

I held out the necklace to him and turned around, indicating that he should help me clasp it. Moving closer, James took the pendant in his hands and worked to secure it around my neck.

Turning around, I moved to examine my reflection in the mirror. "And you said you were pants at gifts. This is lovely, thank you."

His ears turned slightly red and he appeared highly pleased by my favorable reaction.

Pushing up on my toes, I wrapped my arms around James's neck and happily kissed him. As our mouths moved together, I moved a hand into his silky hair, making it even untidier than it had previously been. He groaned appreciatively, the sound emboldening me.

I gently moved us backward towards my bed. James quickly took the hint and continued what I had started. As we dropped onto the edge of the bed, the bow that had still been stuck in his hair fell off and onto my face. I brushed it aside with a laugh, but my laughter quickly ceased as James gently pushed me down against the mattress.

We didn't get many moments like this, when our families weren't around. Of course, my brothers were downstairs so it wasn't as though anything was going to happen. Not that it would have anyway, thank you very much.

James mumbled something against my lips and I pulled away slightly. "What was that?"

"I said…you're beautiful," he replied between resumed kisses.

"You're incorrigible."

James lifted his head. "Really? I tell you you're beautiful and you tell me that I'm incorrigible? I'm beginning to think this relationship is rather one sided."

If I thought that he actually thought that, I'd hit him over the head and knock some sense into him. Thankfully, I knew that he was only taking the mickey.

"You're kind of wonderful?" I offered with a teasing smile.

His mouth quirked into a smirk. "With amazing snogging skills?"

"With incredibly amazing snogging skills," I replied.

"I'll take it," he grinned and leaned down to kiss me again, but I stopped him. He looked at me with confusion in his brown eyes.

I bit my lip before saying, "I know I'm rubbish at saying romantic things."

"I realized early on that I was going to have to be the romantic one in this relationship," James grinned, but then said, "but you say plenty of romantic things."

I almost snorted. Like what? All I did was say awkward things. It was rather my forte.

As if reading my mind, James continued. "Remember when we rowed after the Hufflepuff-Slytherin match and you told me you'd fight for me? And all the reasons why you fancied me?"

Oh yeah. I reckoned I had done a fairly good job that day. But I was also afraid he was going to ditch me for acting like a complete prat. It was easy in those moments when everything was tension-filled. But what about every day, normal moments?

"Right," I said, biting my lip again.

"Stop that," James closed his eyes briefly.

Er, what?

"Stop what, exactly?"

James opened his mouth, paused, and then said, "Feeling bad. Don't."

Ha, bloody unlikely. Did this boy know me at all?

"You may not say the traditional romantic things, but you say them other ways," James pointed out. "Like how you tell me I'm incorrigible all the time."

Okay, he might have had a point there. Calling James incorrigible had started out as a way to tease him and had ended up meaning something…a bit more.

"Do you know the definition of incorrigible?" I asked with a teasing smile. "It means not able to be corrected or reformed in habits."

James merely smirked. "Exactly. You wouldn't want me any other way."

I leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to his mouth. "You're right, I wouldn't. Now kiss me you incorrigible prat."

He laughed loudly. "See? Very romantic."

Then he happily obliged my request.

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

Well, this was awkward.

My parents had decided to throw me a small birthday celebration with just family. But for some completely unfathomable reason, Tristan had brought Elena along. My dad hadn't said much, though he hadn't been rude. Richard and Gareth had yet to say much of anything to Tristan, despite a few futile attempts by Mum to start some small talk between them.

"How have your tryouts been, Eva?" Elena asked me.

"Good. I hope. I mean, I think," I replied. "I feel good about all of them so far."

Eloquence is definitely my strong suit.

"Of course they went well," Grandma Elspeth spoke up sharply. "Eva is a marvelous Quidditch player. I thought you said you'd seen her play in that final Hogwarts match?"

"Thanks, Grandma," I said, happy at her quick defense of her only granddaughter.

My dad's mum, my Grandma Elspeth, was in attendance as my sole remaining grandparent. She was a bit of a recluse and tended to be rather blunt at times.

"So I hear the two of you," Grandma pointed to Richard and then me, "are both dating Potters. Curious."

Richard nodded and his cheeks tinged a bit pink. "That's right."

Grandma turned to me. "So which one are you dating? The boys both look a bit alike, don't they? Only one of them looks more like their father."

"James," I answered. This time it was my turn to have a pink face. "I'm dating James. He's the oldest. Al is the one who looks more like Mr. Potter. James looks like more of a combination of Mr. and Mrs. Potter."

"He seems like a grounded young man from everything your parents have said," Grandma plowed on. "And handsome too."

"Er, I happen to think so."

I really, really wanted this conversation to end.

"Although I don't know that you should be kissing like that in public. That picture in Witch Weekly…that was a bit, well, much, dear."

Holy hippogriffs! My grandmother – my eighty-two year old grandmother – had seen the picture of me snogging James in the rain after the final Quidditch match that appeared in Witch Weekly. I needed to throw myself out of a window. Immediately. Seriously, there was no time to lose.

"Your face is so red!" Elena commented, as she pushed some food around on her plate. She hadn't seemed to have taken to mum's cooking. (More for me). "That's so cute. First love and all that."

I glanced over at Tristan, silently imploring him to do something before this conversation went completely off of the rails. I mean, I knew Grandma had started it, but she was an eighty-two year-old woman. She was allowed to be a bit nosy and eccentric.

"Eva's just a bit of an awkward soul," Tristan explained to Elena. "Always has been. She gets embarrassed more easily than anyone else I know, except maybe Richard."

'It's a gift," Gareth chimed in, seeming to sense the attempt at topic diversion.

"I think that's enough teasing your sister," Mum advised. Her voice was light enough, but it contained a slight edge of warning.

"Birthdays are meant to be a time for sharing stories," Grandma said, ignoring Mum.

"How about we share something about someone else?" I suggested.

"Elena and I were thinking about getting a cat," Tristan offered in what I initially thought was going to be the stupidest diversion of all time. And it would have been too, except that Grandma picked up on one important detail.

"Why would you get a cat together?" Grandma asked, her eyes shifting from Tristan to Elena. "Unless you live together?"

Tristan sat up a bit straighter and his chin raised a notch.

Elena laughed – actually laughed – and boldly declared. "No one's cared about that sort of thing for ages."

"I care," Grandma snapped, her eyes daring Elena to respond. Elena's smile vanished.

"Grandma, don't you think you're being a bit old-fashioned?" Tristan asked. "We've lived together for quite a while now."

"Tristan," Grandma informed him, "despite what you may assume about me because of my age, I am not an idiot."

Richard actually snorted into his glass of water, and it was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

"Now, Mother—" Dad started, but Grandma waved him off.

"Oliver, I will say my piece to my eldest grandson." She refocused her gaze firmly on Tristan. "It isn't so much the living together that bothers me, although you certainly rushed into that. It's all this jumping into stages of a relationship that you have no business being in. Living with someone, sharing your life with someone, that's not something you just try on for size and then discard if you hit a few snags. That decision should come with time and commitment."

"Anything else?" Tristan asked tightly.

"Tristan," Dad warned him.

"Yes," Grandma said stubbornly, ignoring the sarcasm. "You'd better think about what would happen to the cat if one of you moved out. Cats are very particular about their owners."

Elena looked like she wanted to say something, but wisely held her tongue.

Grandma set down her fork with a slight clatter. "Now I'm done."

"I made Eva's favorite cake for dessert," Mum hastily interjected. Clearly she'd been waiting for a moment to cut in for quite some time.

Elena stood up. "I think Triss and I need to be going."

Still calling him Triss. Ugh.

"You're going to leave before cake?" Richard spoke up, his voice full of incredulity.

"I'm not feeling well," Elena said, a bit stiffly.

A bit of a smirk crossed Gareth's face. "Really? I'm feeling great. Mum's a brilliant cook, don't you think?"

"What did you do to her food?" Tristan demanded, throwing his serviette down on the table. His eyes flashed and he looked rather menacing.

"Nothing!" the twins claimed at once, a look of outrage on their faces.

"Like hell you didn't!"

"Richard, Gareth, to your room," Mum instructed sternly.

"But cake…."

"To your room. Now. And Tristan and Elena…I think it's time you were heading home."

"Thanks for the picture frame," I told Tristan as he and Elena made their way to the door.

"Happy Birthday, Eva," Tristan told me as he gave me a brief hug. He gave me an extra squeeze just before he let go. "Sorry about that."

"Yeah."

"Well," Grandma Elspeth said once it was only the four of us sitting at the dinner table. "That's the most excitement I've had in ages. Much better than Friday night bingo."

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

I tapped the toe of my shoe against Richard and Gareth's door. "Open up."

Despite the fact that Gareth and Richard could have had their own separate bedrooms, they had always chosen to share. I supposed it was a twin thing. At least they had never been the bunk bed type. That would have just been too stereotypical.

A voice on the other side of the door asked, "Do you have cake with you?"

I rolled my eyes even though they couldn't see me. "What do you think?"

The door opened immediately and Richard took the plate I was holding in my right hand. Gareth came up next to him and took the plate from my left hand.

"Excellent," Gareth said, tucking in right away.

"We didn't put anything in her food, you know," Richard said through a mouth full of cake as I closed the door behind me.

"I know."

I was absolutely certain that Gareth and Richard hadn't done anything more to Elena than plant the seed of an idea in her and Tristan's heads. Tristan had certainly been ready to believe they had tampered with her meal, though.

"Really?"

"Of course," I smiled. "You two get a look about you when you're teasing someone. I've had a few years to pick up on it."

"She's just so…ugh, he's just so…" Richard started. He took another bite of cake when he couldn't think of a way to finish his train of thought.

"A while back Mum asked me to talk to you two about Tristan," I admitted to them. "She doesn't like seeing you not getting on with him."

"Have you forgiven him? We know you met with Tristan in the Three Broomsticks back in May."

"I have," I replied, sighing.

"How?" Richard demanded.

"It doesn't mean I've forgotten what he did or that I'm okay with it in any way. But I guess I'm tired of being cross and fighting with my big brother. Only there's still this awful tension and weirdness…"

"I thought you'd be cross with him forever," Richard admitted, polishing off the last of his cake. That was fast.

"Can I ask…why are you still so upset?" I questioned the pair of them. It was something I had been wondering. I knew why I was still upset; I wondered if they felt the same.

"Because he hurt Mum and Dad. Because he hurt you," was Richard's answer.

"He's changed," Gareth further explained. He set his empty plate down on his bedside table. "Even with the age difference, we used to talk about stuff. All four of us, we were close, and he changed all of that."

I nodded. Things were different now. The four of us had been close, but I had always bonded more with Tristan than I had with Gareth and Richard. The twins were still thick as thieves, but now I felt much closer to them and much farther apart from my older brother.

"In retrospect, I think that that was changing before he left Puddlemere," I admitted, as much to myself as to them. "During my sixth year, there were times when I felt as though we weren't as close, only I didn't want to see it and I ignored it."

"You are pretty good at ignoring things," Garth commented. "But yeah…I felt the same."

I realized for the first time that the three of us had never discussed what had happened with Tristan. I supposed that we had all been so angry and unwilling to accept it that we just…hadn't.

Richard nodded. "I used to look up to him."

"Me too," I echoed. "That's part of why it hurt so much. He threw away everything we ever valued."

"I still look up to you, Eva," Gareth said quietly.

"You…you do?" I asked, feeling incredibly touched. My younger brothers looked up to me?

"Of course," Richard agreed, seeming confused by my confusion.

"I…well, er…"

"Such an awkward soul," Gareth grinned.

Together he and Richard leaned in on either side of me and enveloped me in a group hug.

"Happy Birthday, Eva."

~…~…~…~…~…~…~…

Thank you for all of the lovely reviews, favorites, and story alerts! I appreciate everyone who reads my story and everyone who has let me know how much they enjoy it! And a special thanks to my beta, blue and gold, for the helpful suggestions and fabulous beta abilities.

Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Favorite quotes? I'd love to hear what you thought!

Next chapter: Lunch with Christine, Quidditch with the Potters, and James has some important news.