When Love Met Quidditch

Leslie Lalaith

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Lily & James
Book: Lily & James, Books 1 - 5
Published: 17/05/2004
Last Updated: 20/05/2004
Status: in_progress

AU Meet Lily Evans, volatile journalist for Witch Weekly. Sparks fly when she is sent to cover the season of James Potter's Quidditch team...even though she knows next to nothing about Quidditch. Old flames, new crushes and love triangles galore!

Chapters

1. Meeting James Potter

2. Meeting the Lads

1. Meeting James Potter

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.”

2. Meeting the Lads

A/N: Sorry if updates are kind of slow, I have exams and a headache and my sister is my typist…I sit in study lab and write the chapters…makes me feel like a real writer…;)

Also, I know I mentioned James as Chaser in the first chapter but I changed it to Seeker.

Chapter 2: Meeting the Lads

After a good night’s rest in a comfortable room slightly separated from the rest of the team’s, Lily woke up, feeling refreshed enough to tackle the entire team.

There was a knock on her door as she finished showering and dressing; Lily hurried to open it and found the same man from yesterday, James Potter, was it?, standing there, grinning down at her.

“All set?” he asked brightly. Lily nodded and hurriedly grabbed her magical camera, notebook, bag, and Quick Quotes Quill; she followed James through the maze of corridors, nodding with growing confusion as James pointed out the lounge, team rooms, coach’s room, trainer’s room, physician’s room …

“Don’t they all come out to the pitch?” Lily asked desperately.

James turned around and grinned. “Of course,” he said, flashing an amused smile at her anxiety. “I trust you can find THAT.”

Lily nodded; it was impossible to miss the large black and white stadium, with a huge statue of a magpie perched on top. James, she noticed, was already in his Quidditch robes, black and white with a magpie on the front and his mane on the back. (A/N: Too lazy to check if that’s right; some kind soul check Quidditch Through the Ages and help me out.)

“What first? When do you start practice?”

Lily peered into one of the rooms as James whisked her along and caught an eyeful of fluttering Golden Snitches; they weren’t real, Lily noted grimly.

James caught her and smiled. “That’s my kingdom. I call it the Snitch Room. As Seeker, I’m the best at handling those little buggers.”

Lily deftly flipped open her notebook and sucked her Quick Quotes Quill as she rushed; she set it down a moment later and repeated, “That’s my kingdom. I call it the Snitch Room. As Seeker, I’m the best at handling those buggers,”; she smiled as her words flowed in a curvy handwriting over the parchment then scowled.

The pen was now scribbling, “The ace reporter, Lily Evans, obviously takes pride in her skill with Snitches, a rather odd sentiment coming from –“

“Not Lily Evans, damn it!” Lily shouted at it. “JAMES POTTER.”

“-said Lily Evans also has quite a temper,” continued the quill, unperturbed. “Angered by the insolence of this wonderful invention of Rita Skeeter, copyrighted 1973, Lily Evans proceeds to vent out her anger in a childish tantrum-“

Lily pulled the quill off the parchment and threw it as far away from her as she could, then tore off the ruined parchment, crumpled it and tossed it as well.

“Not a bad arm, Miss Evans,” a voice came from next to her. Lily jumped and turned to find James smirking at her and blushed.

“Damn thing never listens to me, anyway,” she muttered, pointedly pulling out a regular muggle pen; James looked at it curiously. “Muggle invention. Saves my neck all too often.” She sighed and gestured for James to continue.

The team was already at breakfast when James and Lily walked into the small dining hall. Lily scribbled away with her pen as she took in the not-so-posh surroundings, only pausing to look up when the pair was greeted by wolf whistles and calls of, “Where’d you pick up the doll, Potter?”

“Lucky bloke, how the hell did he even get OUT if THIS hellhole?” an insolent voice drawled, somehow managing to be heard above the din though the actual tones were lightly uttered.

Lily started at the sound of the hauntingly familiar voice; she looked up at the speaker in surprise and trepidation and encountered a pair of well-known coal black eyes matched with thick inky hair and tanned olive skin. Glancing back at her notebook she wrote, “hellhole,” her hand shaking slightly.

James had put his hand on her shoulder to lead her to the team; his keen eyes spotted the word, neatly scrawled and he scowled. “You can’t write that!” he said angrily, trying to take her notebook. Lily’s, for once, quick reflexes helped her resist the quick grab.

“I can and I will,” she said coldly before walking over to introduce herself to the tall, graying man at the end who she assumed was the coach.

“Hello, I’m Lily Evans, reporter from-“ she shuddered, “-Which Broomstick.”

The team’s faces lit up and there was appreciative applause. Lily rolled her eyes.

“So we’re finally good enough to get covered by Which Broomstick, eh?” a tall man with long dark hair and eloquent blue-gray eyes asked, a smile lighting up his handsome face. Without waiting for her answer, he held out a hand and added, “I’m Sirius Black… Beater.” (A/N: Had to get him in there and of course, had to give him the best opening ;))

The coach rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s Sirius. Barking mad but we take what we can get,” he quipped, and the whole team erupted in laughter, Sirius loudest of all.

“Anyhow, I’m the coach, Ian Brigham. I’ve coached the Magpies for 20 years, ever since I stopped playing for them. We can’t tell you what an honor it is for Which Broomstick to cover us like this. We’ll play extra good for you, won’t we, lads?” he asked the team; they roared in approval.

Men, Lily thought as she smiled and shook hands as the team stood up to introduce themselves to her, complete loonies, all of them.

In addition to James, Sirius and…him, there were twelve other young men (Lily’s eyes glinted as she realized there were no women other than herself present); she shook hands and smiled politely at Henry, Patrick, Brian, Alex, Joe, Stan, Max, Curt, Jason, Sean, Dan and – Lily stopped in front of the last man, the one who had first caught her attention; she drew in a sharp breath as she met the same fierce black eyes and a feral smile, and did not offer her hand.

“Sanders,” she said coolly, not taking her eyes off him.

A flash of brilliant white teeth was her only response; he had never been very vocal.

They stared at each other for another few seconds until the man, who, from the looks of it, had been trying to stare Lily down, gave a short mirthless laugh as he finally stretched out a hand with a lazy grace.

“Was a time when you would have called me by my given name, Miss Evans,” he drawled, his hand still outstretched.

Lily scowled and turned away, not even bothering to reply, pointedly ignoring the lean yet dangerous arm extended towards her.

James Potter watched the whole exchange, mystified.