James had spent a lot of his first year practicing so he'd be ready for quidditch this year. And it had paid off--he had made the quidditch team, proving that the hours he'd spent doing practice drills on the pitch last year were not in vain. Not that being on the team now meant he could let up at all--probably even less so now, because he had teammates to make sure he didn't let down. And anyway, James loved flying. He'd probably spend time out on the pitch no matter what, quidditch team or no, just because it was the most convenient place to do a hobby he enjoyed.

He was not the only one on the pitch today as he approached, and he reached the edge of the area in time to see the girl crash. She got up easily enough, so James approached with a sympathetic grimace more than real concern. "Turns take a lot of practice," James said sympathetically. "Don't suppose you want some pointers?"

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