"I'd kill for a Quidditch court out here," James admits, stretching his upper arms as he looks out over the pond again. He'd thumbed through the articles, sure, but mostly in just a vague, bored sort of way; he was the son of Harry Potter, and as vain as it sounded, he wasn't often given to jealousy of other wizarding families.

A Quidditch pitch, though. That sounded fantastic.

"Sounds useless for the most part, though. Not like you're ever around to use any of it, are you?"