get your head in the game || James & Davey
    It was one of the rare sunny days in January when James found himself wandering alone across the grounds toward the Quidditch field. One might have assumed he was upset, since James didnât spend much time alone -- if one of the other Marauders werenât around, he was usually ensconced in Quidditch players, or walking hand-in-hand with Lily. That afternoon, however, he just hadnât been able to sit still any longer while everyone else was wading through the massive essay Slughorn had assigned as a âwelcome backâ present after the holidays. His fidgeting and constant tapping or shifting had gotten him several glares, and finally, James had just excused himself before one of his friends became genuinely pissed at him.Â
   The Hufflepuff team was out practicing, their broomsticks whizzing around the boundaries of the pitch, and the familiar sounds Quidditch drew James in before he even realized where he was headed. He ducked as the Seeker flew a particularly low dive, and grinned up at them with a careless wave. Technically, he probably shouldnât be invading the pitch while another team was practicing, but James didnât worry too much. Hufflepuff wasnât Slytherin, after all. He wouldnât be tempted to use anything he saw against them in their next match.Â
  As he climbed the stairs up into the bleachers, James caught sight of Davey Gudgeon, sitting, watching his teammates as they dove and passed high above them. What was that about? The last James had heard, Gudgeon was cleared to fly again -- heâd assumed that meant he would be rejoining the team immediately. The love of the game was something he thought Davey had shared with him, and James couldnât imagine sitting on the sidelines during practice when he wasnât medically forced to do so. He wouldâve jumped back on his broom the moment the healer gave the go-ahead. (And probably sometime before that, if he was honest with himself, but James was smart enough to know that wasnât good advice.)
  âOi, Gudgeon!â James called with a friendly grin, jogging the remainder of the way up the stairs and over to the other blokeâs position. âDâyou forget your broomstick or something? Because Iâve heard itâs hard to practice from the bleachers!â He shook his head, mock-despairing. âYou better not talk to any of my players -- I donât want them thinking they can get away with slacking off.â After years of school together, James was fairly sure Davey knew him well enough to know that he was taking the piss, but just in case, he bumped their shoulders together gently as he sat down and raised an eyebrow in question. âSeriously, mate. I thought you were allowed to fly, now? Whyâre you sitting here watching?â
@savingdavey
















