A/N:
Prompt: AU where James is a professional Quidditch player and he's playing at the World Cup (you can throw Harry into the mix too)
Rating: T
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Shit!' James tripped over a discarded shoe in the middle of the rug, and fell flat on his face with a dull thud and a loud swear word.
From her spot on the bed, flat on her back and with one arm thrown over her face to shield her eyes against daylight, Lily groaned at the sound of an extremely loud curse falling from her husband's lips, because she knew exactly what came next.
Sure enough, a loud keening cry came from the next room, and she moved her arm just enough to glare at James as he rushed frantically around the room, still muttering curses under her breath. Not that it had any effect on him, since he was so thoroughly focused on trying to find his warm-up strip that he barely noticed, though he did allow himself to be distracted from his task long enough to kick the shoe that had tripped him up with a certain amount of venom.
Lily rolled to the edge of the bed and let her feet drop off to make contact with the floor, then she forced herself upright, still bleary eyed from being woken up three times in the night by a fretful Harry; teething was turning out to be far more difficult to deal with than even colic had been.
A seven month old baby was challenging enough at the best of times, and she regularly thanked Merlin for cooling and numbing charms - several times a day, in fact - and occasionally couldn't resist smugly imagining her sister going through the same thing without the aid of magic. Sometimes that alone was enough to perk her up, but it wasn't going to cut it today; not when she was sleep-deprived, starving and in desperate need of a shower. Just a shower would do – make-up, styled hair and co-coordinating clothing were a distant dream.
She grabbed her dressing gown from where it had been thrown haphazardly across the bed at quarter to five, and shuffled towards the bedroom door. She'd only just grabbed the door handle when James' large and calloused hand closed over hers.
'Sorry love. I didn't mean to wake him up.'
Lily looked up into her husband's contrite face, framed by hair that was even wilder than usual. 'It's okay, he'd have woken up soon enough anyway. Besides, he and I can get a nap in before the game this afternoon.'
James' free hand wound its way into her hair, playing with the ends, in a gesture so familiar that she was always surprised that it still felt so sweet. 'I'm so glad that you're coming.'
'To see your debut for England? Of course we're coming.'
James leaned down and touched his lips to hers very briefly. 'He definitely has your lungs you know. I don't think I've ever yelled that loud in my life.'
Lily pulled the door open. 'Last time you got hit by a bludger. That's all I'm saying.'
'My femur was broken in five places!' James shouted after her as she made her way along the landing to their whimpering son.
Grinning to herself, she opened the door to Harry's nursery and approached the other love of her life.
'Hey baby…'
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James adjusted his uniform nervously as they waited in the tunnel. One of his fellow chasers elbowed him, and gave him an encouraging grin.
'Hey, how bad can it be? Not that much bigger than a Championship game right?'
It was Liam Hopkirk's third year playing for England, but his first at the World Cup, and while he wasn't quite as nervous as James, he was still showing much more trepidation than was usual for him; he might have played for a rival team, but James had always admired the man's composure, and seeing him nervous just put James even further on edge.
'Hope not.'
'Anyone here for you, Potter?' Ian Grayson, the third member of their trio of chasers, joined their conversation. 'In the box I mean.'
A stupidly goofy grin spread across his face, and he couldn't even bring himself to feel embarrassed about it. 'Yeah, my wife is coming, with our little boy.'
Hopkirk looked surprised; they'd been practising together for a month or so, and they'd made small talk, but the subject of significant others hadn't come up, probably because other than James only the Keeper, Tomlinson, was attached. 'You have a son? How the hell old are you, Potter?'
'Twenty-one. He's only seven months, so this is his first time at one of my games. Pretty awesome that the first match he's going to see me in is a World Cup. His first ever pro-game.'
Hopkirk shook his head. 'Bloody hell. Twenty-one, and he's more grown up than either of us, Grayson.'
'There are jellyfish more grown up than you, Hopkirk.'
Hopkirk grinned. 'And my boyish charm is why the ladies love me, you know that.'
'You must have been young getting married then, Potter.' Grayson pointedly turned his attention back to James, who grinned bashfully.
'Eighteen. Right out of Hogwarts.'
'Bloody hell.' Hopkirk looked utterly incredulous. 'Eighteen. Really?'
James' grin widened into an outright smirk. 'If you saw my wife, you'd understand.'
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the announcer, and all three men instantly became serious now the game was starting, even if it was just the player call out.
The keeper and beaters went out first, and then the three chasers were all called together.
They flew out of the tunnel and shot straight up into the air, the cheers of the crowd ringing in their ears as they flew around the stadium to wave and nod at the fans. James began to slow up as he passed the player's box, and Hopkirk and Grayson did the same, either simply to keep the formation or possibly so they could satisfy their curiosity about his wife.
And there she was, right in the front of the box, vivid red hair flying around her face. She was wearing an England scarf and was grinning hugely, her eyes fixed only on him, and he felt his heart leap.
Then he saw Harry; Lily was holding him up on her lap, his little feet not quite good enough at supporting him for him to manage it unaided, and he was wearing an exact replica of his father's strip, right down to the insignias, and was waving his chubby little arms furiously, England flag firmly clenched in one pudgy fist, while Lily tried to keep hold of him.
His eyes - bright green, just like Lily's - were alight with curiosity and excitement, and James would swear that he was looking right at his father as he grinned and waved his flag, though he knew it wasn't possible that Harry had any real understanding of what was going on.
Still, he felt his heart swell; his little boy was at a Quidditch match, that he was playing in, and he was having the time of his life, and his mother was laughing and smiling at Harry's antics, but her eyes were only for James.
He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this life, but if he ever found out he'd be sure to do it again. Possibly twice.
He blew his wife a kiss, enjoying the blush that stained her face as the crowd "ooohed" the gesture loudly, and then he flew off to his position, to wait for the start of the game. He was pretty certain that he couldn't lose today; right now, it wouldn't have taken much to convince him that he could fly without the broom.
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