Brooms, Ties, and A Nearly Spoiled Surprise
30 October 1975
Somewhere in Scotland, next to a soaring stone castle overlooking a calm black loch—well, not so calm today—Quidditch practice is taking place in a torrential downpour for the third time this week.
James Potter squints as streams of rainwater run down his glasses, flying assuredly nonetheless with one arm braced before him on his broom, the other cradling the Quaffle to his chest. He doesn’t need to see—he knows exactly where he is. And there, right on cue, is the whooshing sound as Marlene’s drenched form emerges from the fog on James’s left, her blonde ponytail sopping wet and plastered to the back of her neck. She takes one hand off of her broom handle to accept the pass, and as she approaches James sees that the tips of her fingers are tinged blue.
He launches the Quaffle toward Marlene’s outstretched hand as she zooms past him. She snatches it easily out of the air and then arcs gracefully up through the sheets of rain, disappearing from view into another bank of thick highland fog.
James shakes his head, trying to rid himself both of water and of thoughts concerning the Quidditch team captainship next year, when Roger Chang will have left school.
Just then, he hears the tinny sound of a whistle from somewhere far below. He changes course, moving down and northwest, until he begins to see the blurry shapes of his teammates as they all converge on the centre of the pitch.
All seven soaked teenagers land in a sort of wonky circle, several sliding a bit in the muddy grass as they come to a halt.
“Damn weather!” roars Chang from James’ right, kicking the ground in frustration and causing a splash of brown water to spray over half the team, whose affronted yelps are drowned by a particularly loud thunderclap.
Dina Figg, a third year and the team’s new chaser (who James privately thinks is a mediocre player at best), gestures feebly towards the door to the locker rooms, her overly large sleeves dangling wetly. James doesn’t delay in squelching across the pitch after her as she scampers off. The rest of the team follows, Chang trailing behind glaring up at the flickering clouds.
* * *
“At least he’s left off verbally abusing the sky,” Sirius mutters, leaning back on the block of lockers with his kit bag slung over his shoulder, jiggling impatiently as James does up the buttons of his school shirt. “Finally realised it rains in Scotland, has he? In his seventh year? Smart fellow.”
James scoffs, raising an eyebrow at his friend as he roots around in his bag for his tie with one hand while doing up the last button with the other. “Don’t be such a twat, Pads.”
Sirius kicks forward off of the lockers to snatch James’ bag away. “I’m only being a twat because you’re depriving me of breakfast.”
James lets him take the bag, raising his hands in surrender. “Are we against ties now?”
“What’s the point? You know Moony will redo them the second we sit down anyway.” Sirius is bouncing from one foot to the other, a bag on each arm as he begins to slowly edge backward toward the door. He shakes his long dark hair, still wet from the rain and the shower, and James snickers as Frank Longbottom, getting dressed a few lockers down, recoils with a shout, his bare back pelted with droplets.
“Merin’s balls, Black,” screeches Frank, shivering as he stoops down to pick up his discarded towel, which he throws on like a cape. “Are you a wizard or not?” One hand pokes out of the towel to grab his wand from the bench, which he then points at Sirius.
While Sirius begins to freeze, a nervous expression seeping onto his face, Frank mutters an incantation and James can feel the blast of warm air that emits from the wand.
Sirius relaxes immediately, leaning down so that his hair is in the middle of the blast, and begins combing through it leisurely, loudly humming what James eventually recognizes to be the guitar solo from David Bowie’s “Suffragette City”. James tries to hum along but quickly breaks down into laughter when he messes up and Sirius looks at him quizzically, nearly dry hair flapping around his aristocratic features like a model in a Muggle shampoo advert.
Frank shouts over the sound of the drying charm, “You’ll want to be nicer to your Head Boy!” James sees the corner of his mouth twitch, though the rest of Frank’s face remains impassive, and the Head Boy in question flicks his wand to end the spell, continuing to address Sirius at a regular volume. “I’ll have you know McGonagall’s really cracking down on illicit gatherings this term.”
Sirius’ eyes widen and he claps a hand to his forehead in mock horror. “Oh no,” he moans. “But I already overpaid a seventh year to purchase copious amounts of alcohol for tomorrow night! Ah, the consequences of my own actions.”
Frank moves closer, leaning in conspiratorially, grin spreading wider as he mutters, “It’s all ready to go. We’ll bring it down once the party’s going and the kiddies are all in bed. And, you should know, Alice is going all out with our costumes.”
“Oh, just you wait. McDonald’s taught me this charm that turns anything into a—”
“Come on,” James strides forward, bumping Sirius playfully with his shoulder and shutting him up. “Costumes are supposed to be a surprise this year, remember? Don’t spoil it for us, mate. Anyway, weren’t you hungry or something?”
“Moral of the story is, Mary’s a fucking genius. Cheers for the bevvies; it’s gonna be a rager.” Sirius finishes before turning away and setting off in step with James, who exchanges a friendly wave with Frank.
* * *
“I’m seriously worried that all those Muggle magazines are addling your brain, Pads,” James muses as he follows Sirius down the Great Hall between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, nodding and smiling in greeting as he passes by various friends and acquaintances already tucking into the decadent breakfast spread. “You’re starting to sound all—I dunno…”
“I think the word you’re looking for is cool, James.” Sirius tosses his hair, grinning at a gaggle of fourth year Hufflepuff girls who immediately cease their hushed conversation, turn beet red, and dissolve into giggles.
James rolls his eyes. “Look, there they are.” He gestures just ahead, where a head of neatly combed, light brown hair is sticking up over its neighbours, across from a head of tousled blonde which is nearly parallel with the table as the boy attached to it shovels eggs into his mouth.
“I bet Moony’s just dying to do your tie for you; don’t keep him waiting,” James mocks, prodding Sirius forward.
“Shuddup,” Sirius mutters as they approach their friends.
"They’re here,” James hears Remus say to Peter, who looks up from his plate, a slightly dazed expression on his face.
“Hiya Moony, Pete,” Sirius says casually, sliding onto the bench next to Remus and promptly stealing a quarter of toast from his plate despite the visibly exhausted boy’s protests.
James looks surreptitiously around before squeezing in between Remus and Sirius, sliding underneath the table, and pulling himself awkwardly up onto the bench on the other side next to Peter.
“Morning James,” says Peter, stifling a yawn with one hand as he reaches across James’ empty plate, straining to get to a glass pitcher of cloudy orange pumpkin juice. “How was practice then?” He stands up to get better purchase and quickly eyes James up and down as he does. “Wet?”
James quickly reaches up to support the heavy pitcher as it wobbles in Peter’s grasp. “Careful, man.”
“Here,” says Peter, filling his own goblet and then James’ before setting the pitcher down gently.
James takes a long drink, smacking his lips appreciatively. “It was shit, Pete, thanks for asking. Couldn’t see a thing. Chang was close to tears by the end.” He grabs a small bowl of yoghurt from the three tiered silver platter in front of them, sprinkling nuts and drizzling honey over the top.
Peter shrugs. “Maybe the Ravenclaw chaser will get struck by lightning next week, and you’ll win by default.”
“That’s sick, Wormy.” Sirius interjects from across the table, looking up from his carefully crafted pile of eggs and black pudding. “Have a little faith. Personally, I think we’ll win even if the entire rest of the Gryffindor team gets struck by lightning, as long as James is still in the air.”
James flashes a brief smile, shaking his head and busying himself with his yoghurt.
Sometimes, he thinks Sirius has too much faith in him. It’s not that he feels pressured by his best friend to do well; he knows that Sirius will always be there for him after a loss. It’s just that…
“Boo,” someone whispers behind him, so close that he feels the air hit the back of his neck.
James starts, whirling around to see Marlene already straightening up, her ponytail neat and dry and a mischievous smirk on her face.
“Did I scare you, Potter?”
Sirius barks with laughter and James aims a kick at him under the table.
“Ow!” Remus glares at him, amber eyes flashing momentarily. “That was me, you idiot.”
“Sorry, Moony.” says James. “Don’t sit so close to him if he’s going to be a prat.”
Sirius laughs again, this time looking at James in delight.
James turns away from the pair, who immediately start bickering, and returns his attention to the tall girl waiting behind him. “You got me this time, McKinnon. What’s happening then?”
Marlene’s grin fades slightly as she bites her lip, and James sees her shoot a glance a bit further down the table, where Lily Evans and Mary McDonald appear to be deep in conversation behind a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Of course, he had marked Lily’s red hair from all the way across the hall the moment they’d stepped in, as he always does. She has it pinned back on one side with a small pink bow this morning, and James resists the urge to sigh dreamily as he sits up straighter, raising an eyebrow at his teammate.
“So, the party tomorrow. It’s costumes, yeah?”
“Oh, er—yeah. In fact I should probably warn you and the girls; Sirius seems to be planning something unsavoury. But no, do it up.” He clears his throat, trying to appear nonchalant. “Is, er, Evans coming?”
“Well, yes. Lily and Mary and I are coming as a group,” says Marlene, narrowing her eyes at him. “But listen, Potter. Lily wants to dance, and she wants to get pissed, and she doesn’t want you breathing down her neck the whole time. Alright?”
James’ eyes widen. “Is this—I mean, did she tell you to tell me that?” He turns, craning his neck to try and get a look at Lily, but all he can see from his seated position is the newspaper and Mary’s afro sticking up from behind it.
“Hey,” Marlene snaps her fingers in his face before putting her hands on her hips in a way that, even in her Hogwarts robes, reminds James uncannily of his mother. She looks at him for a moment with her lips pursed before sighing and dropping her hands. “You know, maybe you’d have a better chance if you give her a little space to…you know…” She’s looking at him almost pityingly, which James thinks is entirely undeserved. “See who you are when you’re not being such a little creep.”
This time it’s Remus who lets out a surprisingly robust laugh, and James savagely hopes that the glare he throws across the table is as sobering as this morning has been for him.
Sirius, who is incidentally now wearing a tie, clears his throat loudly before refilling James’ glass to the brim with juice. “You should kick me this time, Prongs. It’s only fair.”
James does.