Beneath a sky dimming from azure to purple, a stiff breeze buffeted the grass of the pitch, which was already filling with students.
Like James, most carried their brooms slung over their shoulders, while others bobbed on them low over the grass, congregating in excited airborne knots. The house grandstands were filling with observers, some hooting and calling cheerfully to each other. In the Gryffindor grandstand, James saw Professor McGonagall sidling into a seat next to Neville Longbottom, who saw James’ look and nodded at him encouragingly.
With a practiced flip, James dropped his broom forward, allowing it to dip and bob up next to him. He caught it, threw a leg over it, and kicked upwards, letting it carry him into the cool air.
Spying Graham Warton and the Gryffindor group gathering in the shadow of the burgundy grandstand, James piloted over to join them, making a long lazy arc around the goal rings.
“First-years,” Graham called out, raising a hand to his mouth.
“Here’s your chance. Grab a broom, get it in the air, and let’s see if you can lap the pitch.”
The first-years tryout, James knew, was mostly just tradition, ever since his own dad had earned a spot on the team at the age of eleven. In truth, it was extremely unlikely that any of the youngest students would earn a place on the team, unless they were almost supernaturally talented.
Sanjay Yadev was among the few first-years who made the attempt, and the look of stubborn determination on his face was both inspiring and a little comical. The boy kicked off and succeeded in completing a single, swift lap about the pitch, easily overshadowing the other three.
“Not bad,” Graham called with a nod. “Now let’s see you dodge a Bludger.”
One of the leather balls was trapped under Graham’s foot, straining and wriggling frantically to get loose. Graham raised his foot and the ball squirted into the air. Graham used the bat in his hand to give the Bludger a directing whallop, aiming it for Sanjay where he slewed to a halt in mid-air, suddenly wide-eyed.
The Bludger angled up at the boy, emitting a low whistle as it spun.
Flustered, Sanjay seemed to attempt both a left and right feint at the same time, yelped in sudden terror, and then turned away, throwing both arms up around his head. The Bludger struck the tail of his broom, sending the boy into a spin. Secretly, James gave Sanjay credit for not being thrown from his broom entirely.
The gathered Gryffindors broke into laughing applause as Sanjay recovered and drifted down to the pitch, his cheeks burning in embarrassment.
“Next year, Yadev,” Graham called encouragingly. “You’ve got the control. Now you just need to get bruised a little. Have your sisters pelt you with apples all next summer. Get used to things flying at your head at deadly speed. You do that and maybe we’ll have a spot for you.”
James felt his chest tighten, knowing that his turn was now up.
He glanced around and noticed that, apart from him, almost everyone waiting had been on last year’s team. Lily swooped alongside him on her trusty old Shuriken and gave him a sideways smile.
“You’re here, at least,” she commented with mock surprise.
“That’s a victory, whether you make the team or not.”
“Thanks,” James muttered, tightening his grip on his broom.
“Don’t worry about it, big brother,” she said, lowering her voice.
“You’ll do fine. I’ll let you have a free goal if you like?”
James was tempted for a moment, but shook his head. “No. I need to own this. Don’t do me any favours.”
Lily nodded and leaned forward, propelling up toward the goals so fast that her cloak snapped behind her like a flag.
James sucked in a deep breath, held it, and launched upwards as well, joining the swirl of players overhead and doing his best to tune out the observers from the stands and the confusion of the other teams as they conducted their own tryouts all around.
As the ground fell away and the evening wind buffeted through his hair, the tension in James’ chest was slowly replaced by a sort of eager serenity. He knew what he was doing, after all. Lily was right: he had made it to the pitch. Strangely enough, the most difficult challenge was already over. All he had to do now was show what he knew. And despite a late affinity to broom-riding (it was no skrim, after all), he now knew quite a lot.
As the evening sky compressed from azure to deep indigo, James performed his laps, each one faster than the other, flashing past the goal rings as Lily applauded and cheered him on. He dodged and feinted as Graham swatted Bludgers at him, and much to James’ surprise and relief not a single one made contact. He took three shots at goal as Deirdre tossed Quaffles up to him. One missed, another bounced off Lily’s broom handle as she spun to swat it away, and the third sailed through clean, neatly threading between her outstretched hands.
Finally, since James was trying out for Seeker, Graham released a Snitch, letting it swoop and circle up into the night sky, darting like a golden dragonfly in the dying light. James chased it, knowing that he had bare seconds before the tiny winged ball was lost amongst the rest of the swirling players from all four teams. He ducked and slalomed through Slytherins and Ravenclaws, who called out in annoyance at his passage. He barely avoided colliding mid-air with Julien Jackson, dropping beneath her like a stone before rocketing up again, swooping to meet the snitch as it streaked past her shoulder.
Dimly, James realized that someone was tracking alongside him, mirroring him like a shadow.
“Should I let you have this?” a familiar voice called, straining to keep pace but teasingly jovial. “Or do I take it now and save you from future embarrassments?”
James could think of no response as his brother careened along next to him, nearly shoulder to shoulder, also tracking the Snitch.
The golden ball dipped and angled downward like a missile.
James dove, driving his broom straight down after it, committed to catching it even if it meant cratering himself in the pitch below. Albus whooped and lunged to follow.
James reached, straining, nearly climbing off the end of his broom, and felt the wings of the Snitch beating against his fingers. Next to him, Albus broke off the chase as the ground swam dreadfully up beneath.
At the last possible second, James snapped his fist closed on the Snitch and threw himself backwards on his broom, yanking it upright with all his strength. The force of the arrested motion made him feel as heavy as a boulder. His legs unhinged beneath him and his shoes nearly sprang from his feet before the unforgiving ground of the pitch flung up to meet them, smacking them back onto his feet. His heels thudded down, but rather than crashing, James’ feet skated along the earth, kicking up rooster-tails of dirt and torn grass, before swooping back into the air, slowing as gravity reluctantly gave him up.