Chapter Text
Chapter One: A Good Day
It was going to be rather a good day.
Not a brilliant one, or an awful one.
Just a good day.
For one thing, it was a Sunday, which weighed heavily in its favour- the days of the week certainly played a role in how things were going to pan out. All homework had been completed on Saturday, partially to ensure the good-day-ness. They’d done the first week back after Christmas, but he’d never minded the cold that much. Snuggling under his duvet was rather pleasant, especially when the house elves had lit their bedroom fire, which meant it was warm enough that it didn’t sting to get up. And he still had plenty of energy.
Although when had that been a problem?
James sat up, feeling generally very good about what today would bring. Sunday. Quidditch practice, a good lunch and then trials in the afternoon to replace one of his fellow chasers, who’d been sacked before the holidays. His spot wasn’t up for debate, and it would be nice to show his stuff to the crowd. Trials over by four, no detentions clogging up the afternoon, then some time with the others in the common room.
Really, “just a good day” was an understatement. Things couldn’t get much better.
‘You awake?’ he aimed a gentle punch into the hangings around Sirius’ bed as he walked past and heard a familiar grunt.
No reply.
‘Si-ri-us.’ James sang, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch. ‘Do I have to come in and give you a morning cuddle?’
‘Get lost.’
James grinned. ‘Morning, Sirius. Coming for breakfast? You promised you’d practice with me last night, don’t think I’ll let you off.’
‘I think we all know you a bit too well to even think that’s a possibility, Prongs,’ said Remus, yawning. He was lying on his bed, the curtains open. A book was in his hand. Some Muggle book- he’d been really into them lately. His mum’s collection.
‘You’ll come?’
‘Won’t pass up a chance to read in the sun. Nice winter day. And someone needs to stop you doing anything too daft.’
‘Where’s Peter?’ James said, suddenly noticing the fourth member of the group was missing. ‘Don’t tell me he’s the first one moving on a Sunday morning.’
‘Library. He tried to finish that essay last night after you two went to bed, but it wasn’t working. I was falling asleep fifteen minutes in so told him to just sort it this morning, then we’d have Sunday off.’
‘Has he managed to get to the point of what he’s writing yet?’ James asked, wryly. Wormtail’s writing style was beginning to become a sore point with most of the professors, their hope that some ability to cut to the chase would emerge before the OWLS themselves did was starting to become a very distant memory.
‘It had been mentioned.’ Remus’ eyes twinkled. He wasn’t derogatory towards Peter in the ways that his friends could be sometimes, but he didn’t mind the odd joke, if Peter wasn’t there.
‘In the title?’
‘In the title.’
‘Oh, well. Least his hand’s getting some exercise.’
‘You could do with the handwriting practice.’
‘Shove off. And anyway, you’re our resident cartographer. If I had great handwriting amongst all of my other talents, you’d be out of a job.’
‘Ah. Of course.’
Sirius’ head poked out of the curtains, and he scowled. ‘I shouldn’t have eaten that scorpion lollipop. It’s had after-effects.’
‘Was that what that sound was?’ James said, innocently. ‘I thought perhaps it was a furball.’
A shoe flew towards James, who squawked and jumped out of the way. That made Sirius snort with laughter, at least. ‘Give me ten minutes to shower. Do me a favour and find my quidditch robes, will you?’
Although James was the only one on the team, Gryffindor’s quidditch practices, chances and admin were as much f a part of everyday life for them all as parchment and detentions. Remus didn’t enjoy flying very much, although he was surprisingly agile. Every year, James spent a full two weeks trying to convince him to try out, as Remus patiently explained the multiple, very valid reasons that it was an impossible idea. Peter’s admiration seemed to be enough commitment for James, and Sirius was willing to tear around the pitch and play for fun, although he didn’t fancy having to take things too seriously with a full-time role. Besides, playing on the Gryffindor quidditch team would almost certainly result in Walburga and Orion Black making sure his broomstick was no longer ridable.
Exactly ten minutes later, the trio were heading down for breakfast. James felt a bubble of excitement in his stomach. They’d kept their captain- Meredith Thwaite, from last year, and she was brilliant. A real stickler for doing things properly- hence their need for a new chaser, and not much fun off the pitch, but she was bloody good on a broomstick, had the voice of a loudhailer, and thought he was very good- so every box that mattered had a nice big tick.
James looked around the great hall, as he liberally served himself a bowl of porridge. That was his favourite to pre-empt a long day zooming about on the pitch. Peter must have still been in the library. The tables seemed quite full for a Sunday morning, surprisingly. A handful of the younger years were already wearing clothing that indicated they’d be trying out, and some were eyeing him nervously.
Thwaite came over and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. ‘You’re coming this afternoon? I’ll need to see how you and Beck work with any potentials. You two weren’t bad when we had Mulgrew on the team, but I always thought you could have had a better dynamic between the three of you.’
‘Course I am. I’m going to go and have a play around after this. Sirius’ll help me. Any ideas who’s trying out?’’
A nod of approval from Thwaite. ‘That’s the spirit. There’s a few I’m keeping my eye on, apparently Tom Jenks from third year’s not a bad flyer. His sister, Imogen, was my captain when I got on in my second year. Whoever we get, there’s less than three weeks until the next match now, and Ravenclaw have been jolly good this year so far. The more you and Beck can do between you, the better. I’ve not seen him yet. Might get someone to go and chase him out and you can practice together.’
James didn’t mind that. If he had to do the work of all three chasers by himself, it wouldn’t be a problem. He always had liked a challenge, anyway.
‘Sounds good to me.’
Thwaite walked away, clearly on a mission. Poor Beck wasn’t going to get the Sunday lie-in he’d imagined, after all. James caught the eye of Eliana Day, their seeker, across the table, and both grinned. Meredith Thwaite was perhaps the only rival to James for the title of Gryffindor’s top quidditch obsessive.
Outside, the air was crisp and clean. It was a typical early-January morning in the Highlands, and James was loving it. You couldn’t see as far into the distance as you sometimes could, from up where the hoops were, but there was still a fairly good view, and the fog was pretty all on its own. The sky was white, waiting to snow. He could almost feel the clouds twitching with anticipation, ready to turn the landscape into a picture perfect scene. His mum had found him a special scarf that muggles used and given it to him for Christmas with some clever charms thoughtfully added. He was able to pull it over his mouth and nose easily, making the air feel warmer as he breathed. That, plus the energy from breakfast, contributed to him feeling invincible.
James sent his broom high, held on tightly and let himself roll over, his head hanging down. God, this felt great. He rolled again and again, loving the feeling of freedom, the way his broomstick and body worked against gravity seamlessly. He and the other boys had seen a family of otters on the banks of the Black Lake a few summers ago. The way they lolloped and rolled was very reminiscent of how he felt.
Easily letting himself speed down before pulling up, although not bothering with a Wronski Feint (Remus was never that impressed by them anyway, and Sirius was facing the other way), James landed gracefully, then caught his breath. He’d warmed up beautifully. The quaffle was sat temptingly in the trunk, almost shouting out his name. It gleamed very pleasantly in the sun.
Sirius was flying over, just low enough to let his feet skim the ground. James could just about make out the spray of the dew and frost as Sirius’ feet ploughed through it. He pulled down his scarf, grinning at his best mate. The quaffle seemed to be as excited as James was himself.
‘Catches?’ Sirius puffed out his cheeks. ‘You looked like a maniac up there, by the way.’
‘Thanks. A talented maniac, I hope.’
‘Obviously.’ Sirius grinned back at James, and grabbed the ball firmly. ‘Right. I’m not going to go easy on you, Potter. Who knows? Maybe there’ll be two brilliant little firsties who try out, and Thwaite’ll have to replace you? We can’t risk that.’
Laughing, James kicked up, soaring and lazily rolling again. Sirius rose off as well, and threw the ball. A rush of excitement and joy swelled in James’ stomach as he dove to grab it. It landed with a satisfying smack against the leather of his quidditch gloves, and he threw it hard back to Sirius, his trajectory exactly as he’d wanted it.
Yes.
Today was going to be a good one.