Jily | I Can't Love Him

A Sticky Situation

James's boots crunched the frost-covered lawns as he made his way down to the Quidditch Pitch. The stands were barren, the air crisp, and as the sun rose higher in the sky, the frost melted away into the earth. James stepped out onto the pitch, grinning. Resting his broom against the tarp that lined the stands, he moved towards a small, cleverly-concealed door below the teachers' box.

Unlocking it, he pulled out a large wooden crate, tucked it under one arm, and slung a bag of spare Quaffles over his other shoulder. He carried both over to the Gryffindor changing rooms, where his broom was waiting patiently, and changed quickly into his Quidditch robes.

Tryouts were yet to begin, so James mounted his broom and shot into the air, racing across the stretch of grass. A bird shrieked and flapped away as James came streaking past the hoops. Wind whipped his face as he flew up as far as he could, then fell back into a steep dive, faster and faster, pulling up at the last second and then racing back into the cloud-streaked sky.

After a few minutes, muffled chatter reached his ears. A small group of students had gathered on the pitch, a handful settling in the stands.

"Morning," said James as he landed in front of them.

A few waved shyly, and others chirped, "Hello."

"Are you all here for tryouts?"

They all nodded.

The party quickly split, and nervous chatter bounced around as they waited for more to arrive. James pulled the list of those trying out that Madam Hooch had given to him at breakfast out of his robes.

"Many people trying out?" A third-year asked.

James looked up from the parchment. He nodded. "A few."

The third-year gulped.

More Gryffindors trickled onto the pitch, and eventually, a large group stood before the Captain.

"Morning, everyone." He smiled warmly. "There are six positions open today..."

Peter and Sirius appeared at the back of the group, each carrying a stack of toast. With loud shuffling, disgruntled shouts and blithe apologies from Sirius, they burst forth in front of James.

"Sorry," Peter whispered, doing his best to look contrite.

Sirius took a large bite of one of the five pieces of toast in his hand.

James waved them off and cleared his voice. "If you were on the team last year, that does not guarantee you a position. To start, if you could get into groups of ten, each group will do a lap around the pitch so I can get a sense of your flying. After that, I'll call out all the positions individually, and we'll do some drills. The final—"

James's eyes drifted to the stands, where a group of students had erupted in fits of giggles. His gaze was caught by Lily's titian hair. It fell about her shoulders which bounced as she laughed at something Alice, or perhaps Mary, had said. He cleared his throat again, wrenching his eyes to the group of students waiting expectantly.

"—er, the final team will be on the notice board in the common room this evening. Right, any questions?"

"Yes, um, what do we do if we don't have a broomstick?" A small first-year girl asked, her hand raised in the air timidly.

"Does... anyone else not have a broom?" He asked, surprised at the question.

There was rustling then a few younger students and Peter raised their hands.

After sending the group off to get some school brooms from the storage cupboard and answering two more questions, both posed by Sirius, the first group rose into the air.