September thirtieth, the day Gryffindor held its Quidditch trials, started out foggy and cool, with a little rain drizzling down from the skies. James's friends followed him out to the pitch; he was wearing their House colors in an attempt to show as much team spirit as possible, and he'd even tied a red-and-gold ribbon around the end of his newly-polished broom.

James hardly ever got nervous—he hadn't broken a sweat over exams last year when everyone else was scrambling to study, and he'd never once been scared to sneak around the school after hours. But he was scared for this. "I really, really want to do well," he told his friends.

Sirius ruffled his hair affectionately. "You've told us a hundred times, mate. You're gonna do great."

"Not if my glasses keep getting wet and fogging up," James muttered, wiping them with the hem of his shirt.

Remus held out a hand. "I can fix that," he assured him. James cautiously handed him his glasses, and Remus tapped the lenses gently and muttered "Impervius."

When James put the glasses back on, he was delighted to find that they repelled the rain and fog, giving him a clear line of vision. Relieved, he couldn't help but give Remus a hug, at which the other boy laughed and leaned back into him. "Thank you so much, Re. You're a lifesaver."

"It's not a big deal," Remus said with a blush. "It's one of the charms in our textbook this year." Looking into Remus's face, James's eyes unconsciously traced the long scar running down across his eye. When Remus had shown up one day in the middle of Transfiguration class with it, avoiding the other boys when they demanded to know how he'd gotten it, Sirius had immediately added the scar to his Weird Remus Things list. James wanted to know what was going on with Remus as much as ever—but today was all about Quidditch. He couldn't let himself become distracted by anything else.

When they reached the pitch, Sirius, Remus and Peter said their goodbyes to James and wished him luck before heading up into one of the stands to watch the tryouts. James watched them go, wishing that they could have stayed with him even though he knew that was stupid. He had to do this by himself.

Ramsey King, Gryffindor's Seeker and new team captain, walked out to the middle of the pitch and gestured for everyone to meet him there. James followed the crowd of broom-wielding Gryffindors over to him, pushing forward through the huddle they formed to get as close as he could to Ramsey.

Ramsey opened the trunk set on the ground in front of him to reveal a full set of Quidditch balls inside, Beater bats included. "All right, Gryffindors," he began; "here's how we're going to do this. Everyone has to try out for a spot on the team, regardless of whether or not they were on it last year. We have to give the new guys a chance, after all."

As he spoke, James realized the girl straining to see over his shoulder was Mary Macdonald, Lily Evans's friend. "You're trying out?" he hissed at her, surprised.

She glared back at him. "What, you don't think I can play?" She hoisted her broomstick over her shoulder. "I'll have you know, Potter, I've been on a broom since I was old enough to walk."

James gawked. "What? I thought your parents were Muggles."

"They're Squibs," she snapped. "Big difference. They know as much about Quidditch as anyone."

"Okay, sorry," said James, holding up his hands defensively. "What're you going out for?"

"Chaser," Mary told him. "There's two openings, and it's my best position."

Great. More competition. "I'm going for Chaser, too."

Mary smirked. "Well, I probably shouldn't wish you good luck, then."

"Ditto."

Ramsey clapped his hands, finishing his spiel. "Okay, Beaters. You're up first."

Beater tryouts were quick and simple, with last year's Beaters Gavin Macmillan and Alyssa Greenleaf easily coming out on top. Then it was the Keepers' turn; not surprisingly, fourth year Frank Longbottom defended his spot on the team against the two second years who dared to try to oust him. And, finally, only the Chaser candidates were left on the field.

By now James was so nervous he was sweating; there were still eleven Gryffindors on the pitch, including Alice Wren, who'd been a Chaser on the team for the past two years. Eight of them would be going home empty-handed.

Ramsey flew down and landed neatly on the grass, juggling the Quaffle between his hands. "I want to see how you work together in something like a real-game setting," he explained. "So I'm going to put you into groups of three and have you face off against each other, with a Beater each on your team and either myself or Frank playing Keeper. After everyone goes through a few rotations, I'll pick out the best three Chasers for the team. Understand?" James nodded with the rest of the crowd, his hand tightening around his broom.

James was teamed up with Mary and a third year boy named Theo Flint, with Gavin as their team Beater and Ramsey as their Keeper. The three Chaser candidates examined each other warily; they might be meant to work together, but today they knew they were really playing only for themselves.

"On my whistle," Ramsey said when they were all set to go. Crouching over their broomsticks, James, Mary and Theo lined up on one side of him, with three other Chasers, Alice included, on the other. They stared determinedly into each other's eyes for one long, tense moment; then Ramsey blew his whistle and threw the Quaffle high into the air.

James shot up into the sky after it, feeling the soggy morning wind lick at his ears. The other Chasers were right at his heels, angling their brooms up more and more to gain altitude as quickly as possible. As the Quaffle began to arc downwards, James leaned forward and caught the ball squarely between his two forearms, pulling it into his chest and speeding off towards the goalposts. Distantly he heard a cheer rising up from one of the stands—no doubt it was his friends watching through the binoculars he'd bought them over the summer. He smiled, imagining the stands filled with cheering fans watching his every move in the sky on game day.

And then Alice Wren was swooping down on him, snatching the Quaffle clean out of his hands. James dove after her, angry that he'd let himself get distracted so easily.

Alice sped off and threw the Quaffle through the middle goal, easily scoring against the Keeper Ramsey, who was more interested in watching their scrimmage than participating. "Ten points for Gryffindor!" someone yelled from the stands; Alice smiled.

Mary Macdonald took possession of the Quaffle next, James following her across the pitch about five yards to her left. A Bludger flew right over his shoulder, nearly knocking him off his broom—he recovered quickly, though, and made it over to the goalposts just in time for Mary to toss him the ball as Alice made another dive for it. James caught it gracefully and threw it towards the left goalpost, only for Frank to fly in and kick it out of the way just before it made it through. And then Alice's team took possession again, and the game continued on.

By the time the round was over, James had scored three times, and Mary had scored four. Alice, on the other hand, had made nine goals while barely breaking a sweat. James returned to the ground feeling pretty badly about his chances. Of course Alice scored more, he tried to tell himself. She was going against Ramsey as Keeper, not Frank.

He sat on the grass and watched as a new batch of Chaser candidates took to the sky, but he quickly realized that none of them were any good. One girl, a ditzy curly-haired ginger, fumbled a catch so badly that the Quaffle dropped ten yards before it was recovered.

They went through four more rotations, with James getting the chance to play alongside Alice (and help her score quite a few times) in the final one, before Ramsey blew his whistle and ordered everyone out of the sky. The eleven Chaser candidates formed a line in front of him, waiting for him to announce who had made the cut. Please, please, please, James thought, squeezing shut his eyes as Ramsey paced back and forth. He'd done well, but had it been well enough?

"Okay," Ramsey said finally, "I've reached my decision. This year's Chasers will be Alice Wren, Mary Macdonald, and James Potter."

He kept speaking, but the fireworks going off in James's head drowned out the rest of his words. After years and years of dreaming about it, catching Quaffles in his backyard with his father and poring over books on the world's best players, James was on a Quidditch team.

Ramsey took the chosen team aside and told them to meet him on the pitch the next morning for practice; James nodded eagerly until he dismissed them, then spun on his heels and sprinted over to the tiny figures of his friends waiting for him on the edge of the pitch.

James collapsed into Sirius's arms as soon as he reached them, exhausted and dizzy with excitement. Sirius pulled him back up and shook him roughly by the shoulders. "So?" he demanded. "Did you make it?"

"Yeah," James told him, his voice shaky. "I made it, Sirius. I'm on the team."

And James thought that those were probably some of the best words ever to come out of his mouth.