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September 25, 1976 — 15:00 hours.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
For two open positions, there certainly seems to be a great many Gryffindors from Second Year onwards trying out. In fact, James thinks (as he quickly skims through the list of hopefuls), this may very well be nearly every single Gryffindor between the ages of 12 to 17.
He readjusts his glasses and steps out onto the pitch. He is dressed in his Quidditch uniform, shiny Captain's badge fastened securely on his chest to look the part.
"Right," he starts, facing the crowd, "so you all know why you're here today. There's an opening for a new Beater and Keeper this year since Arlet and Quentin graduated. The way we'll go about this is I'll call you up, then we'll see what you've got — play with the team a bit, things like that. Sounds good?"
There's a symphony of the affirmative.
James waves a hand to the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, all of whom have kept their positions as is. Cliona Byrne, Raquel Clayworth, Aurelius Lomax and Eugene Shacklebolt step onto the pitch and ready their broomsticks.
"All right. First up, Patrick Ailsbury for — Beater, is it?"
Patrick, a Third Year James has never actually seen about the school before steps up. He's got a slightly lanky frame and a piebald complexion.
"That's right," says Patrick.
James waves him on. "Let's see what you've got."
He stands to the side with a decent view of the pitch so he can oversee the way the boy plays, but at the sight of Ailsbury having a bit of difficulty mounting his broomstick, James can already tell this isn't going to be particularly promising.
His predictions turn out to be right.
First of all, he can hardly swing his Beater's bat. And when he does, he manages to miss just about every target, even when Aurelius purposely puts himself in the way as the most obvious target possible.
James shakes his head, crossing out Ailsbury's name.
"Next, please," he says, when Patrick has landed.
It goes on for two, three, maybe even four hours. From time to time, James looks up into the stands, counting down the number of Gryffindors eager to snag the two spots on the team. There seem to be a fair number of students who are simply there to watch the tryouts.
He can't help but notice that Lily Evans is one of them.
And so are a number of girls, sitting in the front row. When they catch his eye, a couple of them start to wave enthusiastically. One of them winks at him.
James smiles politely, then looks away.
He carefully doesn't look in Evans' direction again.
"Er — Millicent Frisbey. Keeper, then?"
"Yeah," says Millicent. She approaches the pitch, broomstick in hand. She's in Fifth Year, a stout girl with wild curly blonde hair and a vaguely intimidating look on her face. In other words, she looks the part for a decent Keeper.
And she does seem to play quite decently.
The only problem, James learns, is that she doesn't seem to be getting on with the rest of the team. She's a bit bossy, actually.
"Oy — Shacklebolt, is it? You ought to go 'round that way. It'll be easier to get a shot in from there," she's yelling.
James slowly crosses Millicent's name off.
The next player is a bloke called Daniel Bungard, trying out for Keeper. He's a Fourth Year with a mop of messy sand-coloured hair and spritely features. A bit short and small in stature, he looks more like a Second Year than anything.
When James calls him up, Bungard moves forward and mounts his broom before zipping off towards the goal posts.
"All right, let's see what you can do, Bungard," says James. He blows the whistle and the team set off.
After a few minutes of watching, James concludes that Bungard, surprisingly, appears to be quick and agile, making up for his lack of bulk. Each time Cliona or Shacklebolt attempts to score a goal, Bungard is right there blocking it. Small though he may be, he's got accurate technique.
James looks down at his list, finds Bungard's name, and draws a small star next to it.
By the end of the tryouts, the sun has nearly disappeared off the horizon and the brisk evening air has settled on to the pitch. He and the rest of his teammates start to gather the equipment up. James folds the try-outs list into small squares and tucks it into his pocket.
When the pitch has cleared out, Raquel Clayworth approaches him.
"Captain?" she starts.
James turns to glance over his shoulder, having just closed the trunk for the Quidditch balls. It occurs to him that he really likes the title. "Clayworth. Hullo — had a good summer, then?"
"Yeah. It was brilliant," she says. "I just wanted to congratulate you, really, on getting the role of Captain. And that I promise I won't let you down this year."
James straightens and gets to his feet.
She looks so earnest that James finds it hard to come up with the right words to say for a moment. He has a feeling he knows what this is about.
Last year, he hadn't exactly shown great leadership qualities when he stormed off the pitch after losing to Slytherin. He hadn't put the blame on anyone, least of all Raquel Clayworth, but he could see why she might get the idea that he would. She was Seeker, after all.
"I know you won't," he says kindly. "You're brilliant, Clayworth. We'll beat Slytherin this year."
Raquel's serious expression lightens.
"Yeah," she says. Then she notices the trunk for the Quidditch balls. "Well — d'you want some help with the equipment?"
"That'd be great, actually," says James.
Moments later, James is back in his usual clothing, on his way up to the Gryffindor Tower.
He's got about ten names with stars drawn next to them. Ten fair players to choose from; eight names he's got to eliminate for a new Beater and a new Keeper.
There are a couple of promising talents, but James has to admit that no one plays as well as Arlet and Quentin did — though it's not terribly surprising he'd think that way, having played with them since he was in his Second Year.
But — a decision's got to be made.
His first as the new Captain for the new year.
Hogwarts, Scotland
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch
For two open positions, there certainly seems to be a great many Gryffindors from Second Year onwards trying out. In fact, James thinks (as he quickly skims through the list of hopefuls), this may very well be nearly every single Gryffindor between the ages of 12 to 17.
He readjusts his glasses and steps out onto the pitch. He is dressed in his Quidditch uniform, shiny Captain's badge fastened securely on his chest to look the part.
"Right," he starts, facing the crowd, "so you all know why you're here today. There's an opening for a new Beater and Keeper this year since Arlet and Quentin graduated. The way we'll go about this is I'll call you up, then we'll see what you've got — play with the team a bit, things like that. Sounds good?"
There's a symphony of the affirmative.
James waves a hand to the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, all of whom have kept their positions as is. Cliona Byrne, Raquel Clayworth, Aurelius Lomax and Eugene Shacklebolt step onto the pitch and ready their broomsticks.
"All right. First up, Patrick Ailsbury for — Beater, is it?"
Patrick, a Third Year James has never actually seen about the school before steps up. He's got a slightly lanky frame and a piebald complexion.
"That's right," says Patrick.
James waves him on. "Let's see what you've got."
He stands to the side with a decent view of the pitch so he can oversee the way the boy plays, but at the sight of Ailsbury having a bit of difficulty mounting his broomstick, James can already tell this isn't going to be particularly promising.
His predictions turn out to be right.
First of all, he can hardly swing his Beater's bat. And when he does, he manages to miss just about every target, even when Aurelius purposely puts himself in the way as the most obvious target possible.
James shakes his head, crossing out Ailsbury's name.
"Next, please," he says, when Patrick has landed.
It goes on for two, three, maybe even four hours. From time to time, James looks up into the stands, counting down the number of Gryffindors eager to snag the two spots on the team. There seem to be a fair number of students who are simply there to watch the tryouts.
He can't help but notice that Lily Evans is one of them.
And so are a number of girls, sitting in the front row. When they catch his eye, a couple of them start to wave enthusiastically. One of them winks at him.
James smiles politely, then looks away.
He carefully doesn't look in Evans' direction again.
"Er — Millicent Frisbey. Keeper, then?"
"Yeah," says Millicent. She approaches the pitch, broomstick in hand. She's in Fifth Year, a stout girl with wild curly blonde hair and a vaguely intimidating look on her face. In other words, she looks the part for a decent Keeper.
And she does seem to play quite decently.
The only problem, James learns, is that she doesn't seem to be getting on with the rest of the team. She's a bit bossy, actually.
"Oy — Shacklebolt, is it? You ought to go 'round that way. It'll be easier to get a shot in from there," she's yelling.
James slowly crosses Millicent's name off.
The next player is a bloke called Daniel Bungard, trying out for Keeper. He's a Fourth Year with a mop of messy sand-coloured hair and spritely features. A bit short and small in stature, he looks more like a Second Year than anything.
When James calls him up, Bungard moves forward and mounts his broom before zipping off towards the goal posts.
"All right, let's see what you can do, Bungard," says James. He blows the whistle and the team set off.
After a few minutes of watching, James concludes that Bungard, surprisingly, appears to be quick and agile, making up for his lack of bulk. Each time Cliona or Shacklebolt attempts to score a goal, Bungard is right there blocking it. Small though he may be, he's got accurate technique.
James looks down at his list, finds Bungard's name, and draws a small star next to it.
By the end of the tryouts, the sun has nearly disappeared off the horizon and the brisk evening air has settled on to the pitch. He and the rest of his teammates start to gather the equipment up. James folds the try-outs list into small squares and tucks it into his pocket.
When the pitch has cleared out, Raquel Clayworth approaches him.
"Captain?" she starts.
James turns to glance over his shoulder, having just closed the trunk for the Quidditch balls. It occurs to him that he really likes the title. "Clayworth. Hullo — had a good summer, then?"
"Yeah. It was brilliant," she says. "I just wanted to congratulate you, really, on getting the role of Captain. And that I promise I won't let you down this year."
James straightens and gets to his feet.
She looks so earnest that James finds it hard to come up with the right words to say for a moment. He has a feeling he knows what this is about.
Last year, he hadn't exactly shown great leadership qualities when he stormed off the pitch after losing to Slytherin. He hadn't put the blame on anyone, least of all Raquel Clayworth, but he could see why she might get the idea that he would. She was Seeker, after all.
"I know you won't," he says kindly. "You're brilliant, Clayworth. We'll beat Slytherin this year."
Raquel's serious expression lightens.
"Yeah," she says. Then she notices the trunk for the Quidditch balls. "Well — d'you want some help with the equipment?"
"That'd be great, actually," says James.
Moments later, James is back in his usual clothing, on his way up to the Gryffindor Tower.
He's got about ten names with stars drawn next to them. Ten fair players to choose from; eight names he's got to eliminate for a new Beater and a new Keeper.
There are a couple of promising talents, but James has to admit that no one plays as well as Arlet and Quentin did — though it's not terribly surprising he'd think that way, having played with them since he was in his Second Year.
But — a decision's got to be made.
His first as the new Captain for the new year.
