Author's Note: Yes, I'm starting yet another story. It was too tempting. This is an AU; James and Lily don't know each other; James is a professional Quidditch player, Lily a slightly snobby journalist. For once, I decided to take James's side, if you know what I mean ;)
Summary: Lily Evans is a successful journalist for Witch Weekly, James Potter, Quidditch ace and star Seeker for the Montrose Magpies. Needless to say, things get interesting when the two meet for the first time when Lily is told to cover the team's season, despite her certain hatred for the game.
Disclaimer: Posting of this story does not indicate any claim on author's part to steal the wonderful work of J. K. Rowling, nor will it ever.
When Love Met Quidditch
By: Leslie Lalaith
Chapter 1: Meeting James Potter
"-surrounded by cheering crowds of young British witches and wizards, singing sensations the Weird Sisters raised spirits and Galleons at the St. Mungo's Benefit Concert last Thursday, 6th April. While not, by any means, an avowed fan of the increasingly popular rock group of witches, your music and arts reporter found the affair to be an interesting if not expensive experience. Indeed, the second number, entitled, "Don't Throw Your Brooms out the Window," particularly intrigued your reporter, because of its-"
"Lil?"
The petite red-haired witch scribbling furiously at her desk with a pen and parchment, looked up blankly as a tall, pretty brunette poked her head around the partition, a sheaf of papers in hand.
Trying hard not to sigh as she felt her concentration and her train of thought disappearing, Lily Evans leaned back in her chair, holding her right hand, which tended to get sore from all the scribbling. Still, Lily wasn't about to complain; a job at Witch Weekly in the Arts section was no mean feat to earn and she had done it, all before her nineteenth birthday.
A source of jealousy among the other, middle-aged matrons of the section, to say the least.
"What is it, Sarah?" she asked, setting her quill down carefully beside the wet parchment. Her friend and fellow reporter, Sarah Wallace walked in and dropped the papers onto Lily's desk, ignoring her best mate's growls as the ink smeared messily across the parchment.
"Read that," Sarah ordered; she waited, hands on her hips, as her friend scanned the cover sheet. She smiled in satisfaction as, a moment later, her friend's countenance lit up with righteous anger; one could always count on Lily to defend the weak.
Especially in this case. When the weak was her own self.
"How can they do this?" Lily demanded, her green eyes bright with fury. "They can't combine Witch Weekly with Which Broomstick!" Her scathing referral to the latter, a popular Quidditch magazine, showed her opinion of it.
"They can and they are," Sarah said grimly. "And it gets worse. Read on."
Lily scanned the second page, uttered an ejaculation of horror then quickly flipped through the third, fourth and fifth pages of the small bundle of woe. Sarah wisely stepped aside as the packet went flying out the small, cluttered cubicle and hit the opposite wall. A dumpy, ginger-haired witch picked it up and sniffed at Lily, who was known around there for her volatile temperament.
"They-they can't do that," Lily stammered, trying to keep her rage in check. "They can't do that, and I won't do that, either."
Sarah scowled as well. "You haven't got it so bad. If they're going to transfer half our staff to Which Broomstick to make theirs as good a magazine as ours, which, first of all, isn't humanly possible, they could at least make some appropriate changes. I don't know the first thing about the latest models of brooms!"
Lily nodded sympathetically. "But I haven't got it much easier, have I? Assigned to some thick Quidditch team for an entire season? I don't even know the first thing about Quidditch!"
Sarah grinned, taking momentary delight in her friend's predicament; sadly enough, it was true: Lily Evans had never shown the slightest bit of interest in the sport of Quidditch; it was doubtful if she even knew what the positions were. If only she could have gotten that job…but it was useless to question Willis's decisions: he never changed them. If she had to learn how many different models of broom a company came out with, she would have to learn.
Still, it would be fun to match Lily's temper and hatred of Quidditch with her avid desire to become an editor of Witch Weekly and continue her literary pursuits.
"Which team have you got?"
"Montrose Magpies. Whatever they are. If they're anything like real magpies, I'm guessing they're not pleasant."
"Don't be so silly, Lil," Sarah scolded. "They're the best team in England and Ireland combined. And they've got that ace Seeker, James Potter. He's as devilishly cute as he is brilliant. The first game they played with him, they won by a hundred and forty points! And he's only 21!"
"Sarah."
"Honestly, I don't know why you're complaining; you get to be with Potter day and night for six months. If anybody's got the rough side, it's me."
"Sarah."
"What?"
"I do not care how cute or brilliant James Potter is, because I will never meet him. I am not going to take this job and that's that." She picked up her ruined parchment and started to fix it, pointedly ignoring Sarah, who sighed, wondered what made her still stay friends with Lily, and headed out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A week later, Lily Evans found herself on a deserted street corner of a small town in the South of England; in her hand, she held her wand, a small light glowing at the tip; in her pocket, was her trunk, shrunk to a pocket-able size. She peered around the gloomy place and shivered: although the street held storefronts and what she could only assume were houses, there was not a soul in sight and the entire place had a haunted look to it.
Lily hated haunted houses.
She scowled and tapped her foot as she waited for whoever was supposed to pick her up; they were already half an hour late and Lily had, by no means, arrived early; punctuality was not one of her virtues.
She still couldn't believe she was here. Wherever here was. Still, Lily would never have expected the last week to have been so out-of-her-control. And Lily liked to have a firm grip on everything in her life. But when Willis had flatly told her to either take the new job or pack up and move on out, she had had no choice. Lily felt she should have expected that. So here she was, waiting at a street corner in the middle of a lonely street somewhere in England, wrapped tightly in a black and green cloak, clutching a satchel with half a dozen Quidditch books in it.
Lily supposed that covering a Quidditch team's season would require her knowledge of at least the basics.
So, for the first half an hour, she had perused Quidditch Through the Ages, and found that Quidditch was, in fact, more widely common than she had thought and also, slightly more interesting. After reading, however, with increasing horror, about the games the early witches and wizards had played, Lily had nearly turned around and Apparated back home; Quidditch was clearly a violent sport that had no room in it for 158 cm. witches.
Taking a deep breath and reminding herself of the sort of welcome she would receive if she showed up at the doorstep of Witch Weekly, Lily had continued to read, this time, full of amusement at the poor standards of writing the Saxons had had.
Still, when Lily had read about the hunting of the Golden Snidget, she had to stop because she couldn't see for rage. How dare those crackpot old fools hunt innocent little birds for sport? Lily had been ready to curse the bloody idiot that was late to pick her up the moment he arrived, but upon contemplation, decided that it would be better to go back docilely with him, and curse the entire team.
She had just been about to pick up the book again when with a loud Pop!, a tall, dark-haired man Apparated next to her. Lily scowled as his feet landed in the dirty streets and splashed mud onto her clean robes but, for once, said nothing.
"Hello. I'm James Potter. You must be the reporter from Which Broomstick. Sorry to have kept you waiting," the man said, a little breathlessly, holding out a hand to her even while he straightened out his robes and ran a hand through a headful of untidy black hair.
Lily scrutinized him but did not shake his hand. After a second, he shrugged and fixed his silver-rimmed glasses before glancing around the deserted street.
"This way, then," he said before heading off briskly towards the forest that grew right up to the edge of the ghost town. He turned to look at her as she hurried to keep up, impatiently hoisting her satchel over her shoulder. After a second, he wordlessly held out a hand for it; Lily looked up, surprised, and handed it over before she could think about it.
"Suppose we start over then," the man, James Potter, said genially. "I understand you were annoyed at having to wait and I apologize for that. I'm James Potter. And you, charming lady, must be our reporter from Which Broomstick…"
"Lily Evans."
"Ah. Lily Evans. Lily. May I call you Lily? May we call you Lily?" He smiled at her and Lily found herself smiling back against her will; James Potter sure had a contagious grin.
"You may," Lily said, permitting herself another smile.
"Right. So Lily, let me tell you right off that we Magpies are immense fans of Which Broomstick. You must be proud, to write for them, at such a young age."
Instantly, Lily stiffened and the traces of her smile that had lingered around the corners of her mouth vanished.
"It is not a matter of pride to me," she informed him curtly, and refused to meet his eyes when he shot her a confused glance.
"Alright, then. This is our stop." He smiled at her before stepping off the dirt path and into the forest, stopping a few feet in to rummage into the bushes; he emerged with a Snitch so old its wings no longer fluttered; as James held it, it flapped feebly a few times in his strong grip.
Got a way with Snitches, Lily thought with a slight smile, before she remembered Quidditch Through the Ages.
Lily wasn't sufficiently mesmerized by his strong and supple hand to forget the poor Snidgets. She thawed up again.
This time, James didn't even try and ask what he had done. Holding out the walnut-sized ball to her, he smiled as he said cheerfully, "I'm afraid you'll have to touch my hand now, miss. The Portkey's only so small, you see."
Lily flushed with embarrassment and with a toss of her head to show that she really couldn't care less, placed her hand on his, ignoring the jolt that went through her body at the touch of his callused and powerful hand. James grinned again (Does he ever stop smiling, Lily thought, a trifle exasperatedly) and muttered a few words under his breath. Lily felt the familiar jerk as her feet were lifted off the floor; she felt herself crashing into James Potter as the old Portkey shudderingly transported them; even through the dizzying sensation that accompanied transport by Portkey, she couldn't help noticing that James had a very firm, well-sculpted body (likely from Quidditch, she thought before she realized it and stopped herself, appalled).
Lily stumbled into James as they finally landed on firm ground again; he put out an arm to steady her and Lily jumped away from the muscled appendage as though it were a snake; for some reason, she did not want to touch James Potter.
James, apparently, hadn't noticed. "So, this is it," he said cheerfully, taking in the lush green surroundings in the middle of a wilderness somewhere in Southern England. "Welcome home."