- Text Size +
The 1973-74 Gryffindor Quidditch Team


November’s cold air brought icy frost along the window sills. Peter was relieved everyday to find himself human when he woke up and James sat about each night with his antlers sprouted up on his head, reading the Zoobook that Charlus had sent him. Remus’s wheelchair was replaced by a couple of crutches, which were, in many ways, more irksome and slower than the chair. Sirius walked carefully down each and every step on the staircase, making sure none of the tricky ones caught Rey by surprise on his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, even if it meant missing it himself. Missing breakfast was much less of a big deal than it sounded, though, because days they missed it, Peter and James would meet them at their first class with a stack of toast covered in marmalade that he’d snuck out of the Great Hall and they’d sneak bites when the professors weren’t looking.

Along with the cold and Remus’s mobility, November also brought something else - Quidditch. The try-outs were, as promised by Andy Woodhouse, that weekend and James was excited and nervously pacing about the dormitory the day of as the other three got ready. Once again, Peter and Remus were going to watch from the stands as Sirius and James tried out. Remus magicked his and Peter’s shirts to say GO JAMES AND SIRIUS! in blinking gold letters. The pitch was crowded with eager onlookers as they made their way down and Sirius waved to Remus and Peter as James pulled him along into the locker rooms.

Andy Woodhouse and the others that were trying out had gathered about in there, getting changed into try out robes and prepping their broomsticks. Sirius clutched the broom that Charlus and Dora Potter had given him, his fingers tight ‘round the handle. He had taken meticulous care of the broom, polished it’s handle and trimmed it’s twigs every week since he’d pulled the wrap off it. It meant the world to him, that broom.

They clambered onto the pitch and Andy organized them up into groups. “Which position are you trying out for, Potter?” he asked, “Seeker or Chaser?”

James had been so worked up over animagi and centaurs and prophecies and sneaky professors and hitting on pretty girls in Divination class that he’d completely forgotten his great struggle of choosing a position to play. Put on the spot, he’d hoped he would have found his voice saying one or the other on instinct, and instead what came out was a long and guttural, “uuuhhhh…”

Seeker had always been his dream - it’s been what he had claimed he would one day be since he was an ickle wee thing and Charlus had first begun embedding the love of quidditch into him. He used to play about on a toy broomstick in the living room, long before he could really fly, and chase after Charlus, who would shout he was the golden snitch and laugh as baby James zipped about after him ‘round the couch. He’d grown up chasing after tiny muggle golf balls painted gold… Charlus would throw the ball as hard as he could and James would fly across the field behind the Potter house as fast as possible to catch it. That was how he’d become so good at flying, how his love for the game had blossomed - in evenings spent in the twilit field with Charlus Potter. And of course there was the experience of the tournament. The rush in his hair, the gasps of the spectators when he’d put himself into a dive, the anticipation and expectation, their eyes following his every sharp motion, hoping and waiting for him to catch the snitch and win the game...

But then his first real Quidditch memories on the pitch were of being a Chaser, flying alongside Lily Evans and Derek Bell, really involved in the game, thinking on his feet and strategizing. He loved the rush of flying the length of the pitch, clutching the red quaffle, and just knowing in the zing that went up through his arms that he was about to sink that bloody ball right through one of the opposing team’s rings… Seeing that look of knowledge reflected on the Keeper who faced the speed and agility of James Potter was something of an addiction…

He could be great as a Seeker or a Chaser.

“Beater is open too, Potter?” Andy prodded.

“Uuhhhh….” James looked between the cluster of Seekers - which included Meg Johnson and a couple boys in fifth year - and the cluster of Seekers - including Lily Evans - and he made his choice. “Chaser,” he said and he swaggered toward Lily.

A surprised murmur went through the on-lookers in the stadium seating all around the pitch. Only Sirius looked unshocked and he actually started clapping his hands and smiling as James joined the crowd of people volleying for Chaser position.

“Seriously Potter?” Meg Johnson called, her shock a reflection of the reaction of all the people watching, “After the game you played at the tournament?”

James mouth split into a wide grin, “Well you’re lucky I’ve chosen Chaser, aren’t you? Now you’ll have a real go at being Seeker.” He winked at her.

“I had a go anyway,” she snorted, snickering at the phrase.

“Go on thinkin’ that,” he teased.

She winked at him back and turned to listen as Andy called attention and started explaining what would be different between the leadership they were used to with Derek Bell and what they could expect from him instead… then he sent them off into the air with a wave of his hand and the releasing of the four balls from the case, carrying the quaffle up to the action himself.

James would never admit it, but he was sort of relieved not to be chasing after the bloody little golden ball, which had proven a bit hard to see with his glasses. Meg was quick and she did very well capturing the golden ball multiple times about the pitch over the next hour of playing pick-up style. James grinned as he watched her just barely manage to pull up from a long and spectacular dive. He raised his eyebrow, “Hey, good one Johnson,” he called as she went back past again.

Meg smirked, “Just thought I’d give it a go after seeing how well it worked last year for certain other Seekers,” she replied.

James smiled as she turned the bend just before Sirius, armed with a beater’s bat, soared by. He beat a bludger away from James and James caught hold of the quaffle and flew quickly down the end of the pitch, dodging and ducking ‘round other players with the same fancy flight he’d used as Seeker the term before, then sank the ball past Andy Woodhouse, Keeper and Captain.

When Andy had seen enough of their collective play, he blew a whistle ‘round his neck and had various participants shoot goals though the rings or hit a particularly aggressive bludger that just would keep returning over and over and over with a bat. He watched and he took notes and he would hum and look over the clipboard he carried until finally, at long last, Andy announced he had the team decided. He waved for everyone to gather ‘round and used sonorous so that the onlookers in the seats ‘round the pitch could hear him.

“Going to call your name and position. If your name’s not called, I apologize, but there’s a lot of you and only seven spots. The 1973-74 Gryffindor Quidditch team is as follows… me, your Captain and Keeper, Andy Woodhouse.” A couple people clapped politely from up in the stands, followed by a whooping shriek from a fourth year girl named Carly Shaw, which made Andy’s face turn quite red. He cleared his throat, a smirking grin on his face and kept his eyes steadily upon his clipboard.

The other students on the pitch waited as Andy continued, “Chasers… James Potter, Lily Evans, and Alice Prewitt.”

“YES!” shrieked Lily hearing the third name and she turned to look to Ali for a high-five, but she’d already turned to Frank Longbottom with a squeal and a leap at the boy’s neck. Lily grinned and turned away, letting them have their moment. She could feel James’s excitement radiating beside her, but she was trying desperately not to turn to him, afraid he might expect a hug ‘round the neck like the one Frank Longbottom was currently getting, too, and there was no way she was hugging Potter.

Andy called out, “Beaters… Frank Longbottom and Sirius Black.”

Now James and Lily both turned about, shouting as Sirius stared on, wide eyed, at Andy Woodhouse, unable to believe -- “Me? Really me?!” he asked, as James jumped at Sirius and Lily’s hopped about, gleeful at both Frank and Sirius’s addition to the team. Ali was squeezing the stuffing out of Frank, too, in her glee.

“Seeker, Meg Johnson.”

“MEG! GET IN HERE!” Sirius shouted from beneath the absolute mess of a excitement their little cluster had become. Meg grinned and happily rushed forward, joining in the hugging and shouting and jumping party with glee, and she was soon followed by Andy Woodhouse who, having completed the task of naming off the team, tossed his clipboard onto the grass and joined them all in celebratory shouting.

“It’s going to be a great year,” Woodhouse announced, “A great team and a great year! Gryffindor has a real chance at the House Cup!”




James and Sirius were both ecstatic the rest of the evening and couldn’t possibly be swayed from talking about a single thing aside from Quidditch that evening at Dinner or anytime in between. They sat about in the common room, drinking bottles of butterbeer, and talked Quidditch with the other team members while Remus and Peter studied at the desk they usually sat at with Lily, going over notes from History of Magic and Potions as the rest of the Gryffindors celebrated the naming of the team and speculated on what a grand season they were destined to have. Andy bragged loudly that his team could win the whole season without a problem - and they all discussed Isaac Horan and the Slytherins and whether they thought Horan had a good crew in Slytherin house to choose from for his team.

“They’re a load of beaters,” Andy said hotly, “They’re all large and clunky, they don’t really have anyone that’s small like Prewitt and Evans or with the agility that Potter’s got! And a Quidditch team made up of nothing but beater-built folks does not a good team make!”

“Here, here!” Shouted Frank, holding his butterbeer aloft.

“But you’re a beater,” said Ali, who was sitting on Frank’s lap - the first time they’d openly sat together in the common room after the display of hugs that she’d given him on the pitch, though, everyone now knew the Frank-and-Ali secret. She giggled.

“I’m not beater-built, either,” Frank pointed out with a chuckle, “I’m an exception.”

“Nor am I,” Sirius pointed out.

“You’ve got a bit of muscle going in your arms, though,” Lily said, poking Sirius’s biceps, which weren’t really that much larger than Frank’s but Sirius grinned quite large just the same.

“Oh? Did you notice?” Sirius asked.

James’s eyes narrowed.

Sirius looked over at James and caught the expression on his face. “You hear that, Potter, I’ve got muscles.”

“Little ones,” Lily amended, getting the feeling Sirius wasn’t going to shut up about it. She poked again, then added, “And it might just be baby fat in there, I can’t tell. It’s awfully squashy.”

Sirius’s face fell, “It’s because I’m not flexing them right now.”

“So flex them,” Lily said.

Sirius made a face, “Eh… I don’t feel like it… and really my muscles have nothing to prove.”

Lily laughed.

James said, “They have nothing there to prove,” he teased. Sirius smirked and threw his butterbeer cap at James, who dodged it and it pinged off the fireplace floo and went under the table. James stuck out his tongue.

“At least I’m not an ugly tosser like you,” Sirius joked and James laughed.

Annalee McKinnon spoke up, “James isn’t ugly!”

Sirius guffawed, “You agree he’s a tosser, though?”

Annalee blushed.

Lily laughed, “Who could deny it! Of course he is.”

“Careful what you say, Evans,” James said, a twinkle to his eye.

The lot of them went on with the banter and the laughter into the wee hours of the morning, long after those not in the group - including Remus and Peter - had gone to bed. At some point, Andy Woodhouse and Carly Shaw had snuck away and begun snogging under a ficus in the corner and Frank, Ali, and Lily started making plans to hang out during the holiday. Sirius, James, Meg, and Annalee were left in a small cluster, still talking Quidditch. Annalee, it seemed, didn’t know a whole lot about the game and James was patiently trying to explain it to her while Meg would put in a comment here or there, clarifying something or adding to it if James forgot a detail. Sirius, who was next to Meg on the couch, fake-yawned and put his arms up on the back of the couch from beside her so that his arm was up over her shoulders.

Meg looked over at him, “What’re you doing, Black?”

“Stretching,” he said.

“Uh huh.” She eyed him a moment, then shrugged and leaned back into the arm he’d put over her shoulder and a grin crossed his face as he clapped his hand on her shoulder.

James wondered why things like that came so easily to Sirius and whether there was some way his mate could give him lessons in being charming and getting the girls to just go with it like he did. James could really use some of Sirius Black’s luck with women with Lily Evans!

Annalee meanwhile had taken Sirius’s moves as a greenlight to make her own and James looked down as her palm touched his knee and he wiggled a way a little bit with a nervous laugh, but she kept her hand there and wiggled with him, so he reached for her wrist and moved her hand back to her own leg. “Anyway it’s rather late, isn’t it?” he announced suddenly, “I better uh -- goodnight.” He hurriedly stood up, knocking over several empty butterbeer bottles so they clinked and clattered to the floor, drawing everyone in the room’s attention - aside from Andy and Carly, that is. “Sorry. Just - sleepy. Going to bed. Goodnight.” He stumbled away and ran up the stairs.

Annalee looked ready to cry and took up the bottles from the floor. “I’m going to bed, too,” she said weepily and hurried away.

“Well that was awkward,” Sirius muttered.

“Yes it was,” Meg answered. She paused, then looked at Sirius in the eyes a moment… before quickly fixing him with a kiss.




Sirius was whistling when he came up to the dormitory a good twenty minutes later, the party in the common room having finally dispersed. It was a happy little tune he was whistling and James glowered at his back as Sirius locked the dormitory door and danced his way to his trunk to get out his pyjamas. James was hugging a pillow to his chest, sitting on his bed. “Did you get a good snogging, then?” he asked.

Sirius looked up, grinning, “I’ve told you before - a man never snogs and tells.”

“Dog,” James said.

“Deer.”

They laughed.

Sirius got into his pyjamas and climbed across the bed, flopping onto his stomach. “You should’ve stayed. Annalee would’ve snogged you. She’s not bad looking, that Annalee. You could certainly do worse.”

“I don’t want to snog Annalee,” James replied.

“Well you gotta snog somebody,” Sirius said, “And Lily’s not going to snog you.”

James sighed, “One day she might and I’m willing to wait for it.”

Sirius laughed, “But James, you’ll waste your whole life if you wait for it! There’s plenty of girls who will snog you right now if you let them.”

“I dunno about a plenty,” James answered.

“They’ll be lining up down the corridor past Lucas the Lucid’s portrait for a chance if you set up a booth,” Sirius teased.

“They’d be lined up down the whole bloody staircase and out the front doors of the castle if you’d done!” James said.

Sirius shrugged, “I mean… I’m me, what can I say, it’s a gift. Maybe it’s my muscles.”

“The ones Evans called baby fat?”

“I have no baby fat,” Sirius argued. “Evans is incorrect.” He took a deep breath and stretched out as far as he could so that his legs draped off the edge of the bed and his arms slid under the pillow his head was smashed against. He yawned. A bright grin then crossed his face. “Hey… Potter.”

“Yeah?” James looked over.

“We’re on the Quidditch team together. Just like we said in first year on the Hogwarts Express when we first met, remember?”

James smiled, “Yeah.”

“We’re bloody invincible.”