cigarette daydream || james potter

"i can see it clear as day,"

A much younger, smaller Estella Lupin nervously ran both of her gloved hands through her unruly chestnut hair, trying to tame the wild strands that the biting wind kept whipping across her face. She kept her head down, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird as she carefully snuck down the winding, frosted cobblestone path that led away from the safety of the castle walls and toward the towering, imposing structure of the Quidditch pitch. Ever since her first year at Hogwarts, when she had sat frozen in the roaring, flag-waving stands and watched her very first live match, a fierce, burning obsession had taken root in her chest. All she had ever wanted from that breathless moment onward was to don the scarlet-and-gold robes and earn a rightful spot on the Gryffindor house team.

However, a massive, seemingly insurmountable obstacle stood squarely in the way of her grand athletic ambitions. Although she had spent weeks pleading, begging, and practically writing novellas to her father about the absolute necessity of a broom, the heartbreaking reality was that their family simply could not afford such a luxury. High-end racing brooms cost a small fortune in Galleons, a stark reality that had crushed her spirits every time she looked at her empty corner of the dormitory. But Estella, entirely unyielding and far too stubborn to let a lack of gold dictate her destiny, had concocted a desperate, daring plan. She didn't need to own a broom permanently—not yet, at least. All she wanted, all she craved down to her absolute core, was to feel the exhilarating rush of being on a broom for just a few precious, fleeting moments.

The harsh Scottish winter had firmly gripped the highlands, turning the vast grounds of the castle into an icy wasteland. Because of the bitter, bone-chilling air that seemed to pierce right through heavy wool, the vast majority of the student body had wisely chosen to remain indoors, huddled close to the roaring hearths of their respective common rooms with cups of hot firewhisky or tea. Estella, utterly unbothered by the elements, pulled her thick knit wool hat down tighter over her ears and adjusted her mismatched gloves as she cautiously approached the weather-beaten wooden broom cupboard nestled against the edge of the abandoned, desolate pitch. The silence of the area was deafening, broken only by the crunch of her boots on the frozen earth.

"Alohomora," she whispered into the frosty air, her small hand trembling slightly as she drew her wand and pointed the tip directly at the heavy iron padlock securing the double doors. A sharp, mechanical *click* echoed through the quiet space as the internal mechanisms gave way. The lock popped open, and the heavy wooden door swung inward with a low, rusty groan. Estella let out a breathless, triumphant small laugh, shaking her head at the sheer absurdity of the fact that it was truly that easy to break into school property.

Stepping into the dark, dusty interior, which smelled overwhelmingly of aged wood, twig polish, and dried leather, she eagerly began to scan the rows of school brooms. She knew every single make, model, and year by heart; the closest she had ever gotten to possessing a broom of her own was a heavily thumbed-through, dog-eared Quality Quidditch Supplies catalog that she kept hidden beneath her mattress. Her eyes darted past the splintering, ancient Comets until they landed on the absolute best make available in the school's modest arsenal. Snatching the polished wooden handle, Estella gripped it tightly and hurried back out onto the expansive pitch, casting frantic glances over her shoulder to ensure no wandering prefect or caretaker had caught sight of her illicit activity.

The sprawling grass of the pitch had collected a thick, delicate layer of morning frost, transforming the usually vibrant green field into a glittering, pristine white canvas that crunched satisfyingly beneath her feet. But just as she adjusted her grip and prepared to mount the broom, her eyes caught sight of something else resting near the muddy team benches—the heavy, brass-bound wooden box used to store the different enchanted Quidditch balls. Her curiosity flaring, she hurried toward it, dropping her knees into the frost and pulling at the stubborn metal latches with all the strength her small fingers could muster.