bedknobs & broomsticks (benjy & james)
@deerlyjames
november 5, 1976, 5pm
The sky was colouring, early evening splashing its colours along the horizon, a subtle melody of soft pinks and pale oranges brushing the bottoms of the thin streaks of white cloud. Late enough to be too late for a quidditch team to start a practice with winter shortened days, but enough light remained for their purposes.
The followers and spectators that sometimes accompanied teams and players practicing was absent, the pitch empty; relief loosens his shoulders, escapes on a sigh. It's not that he was incapable of making a fool of himself in front of people - he'd certainly done it before - but it was hardly a thought he'd relished.
Of course, there was always James, admired and golden, to be foolish in front of. But James would only laugh, not humiliate, wouldn't conflate failure with breeding.
He could have asked Sturgis or Amelia instead; either of his closest friends would have been more than willing to help him. But he took a certain childish glee at the thought of surprising them with the result. Muggleborn and not having joined a quidditch team, and thus without his own broom, he'd had little opportunity for flying at all since first year lessons.
Contagious, a broad grin lights his features as he comes up next to James, excitement vibrating through him as he clutches one of the school brooms. "Is this broom okay? I didn't know which ones were okay so I just borrowed the first one that didn't have too many twigs sticking out."
