Chapter 11: Ties that Bind

James felt the swelling of pride in his chest as he saws Harry enter the Great Hall with a broom over his shoulder. His son played Quidditch. That more than surviving any curse was enough to make him want to like the git, though the pain that shot through his jaw when he smiled was enough to dull the pride and bring back the annoyance. It was nearly a week and the bruises still marred his face and side and made him wince when he laughed. Sirius, being the good friend that he was, saw James's pain and went out of his way to make him laugh every chance he got.

"Oi! Potter," James called despite the pain it brought him. Harry walked over, a mixture of annoyance and amusement on his face. His own father was calling him by his surname, like Malfoy.

"What?"

"Is it Quidditch practice?"

"No," Harry said, remembering his father had played for the team, too. "Tryouts." He sat on the bench next to him and set the broom down at the center of the table. James admired it without shame.

"Hagrid's not at the staff table again," Ron pointed out.

"He's been avoiding us in the hall, too," Harry said. "Have you noticed?"

"We've got to explain," Hermione insisted.

Ron slumped in his seat. He was already nervous about Quidditch tryouts. "We've got too much to do right now."

"We'll go after Quidditch," Harry said, then remembered how many names were on the list for tryouts. "Trials might take all morning, though. So many people signed up. I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden."

"Oh, come on, Harry," Hermione said as if he were thick as treacle. "It's not the team. It's you that's popular! Everyone knows you're telling the truth. And now the prophecy… you've never been more interesting or more fanciable."

Ron gagged on a kipper and Sirius suddenly felt a deep dislike for Harry, one that he hadn't felt a second earlier.

Hermione shook her head at Ron's disgusting eating habits and kept talking. "Everyone knows that you've fought Voldemort twice and escaped both times. Now suddenly you're 'the Chosen One'. Everyone's fascinated by you. How can you not see that?"

Harry tugged at his jumper, which was making him very hot and uncomfortable. James had turned his admiring eye from the broom to Harry. His son was 'the Chosen One'? The pain in his jaw was a point of pride now. His son could punch so hard it would leave a bruise that hurt a week later.

As Hermione continued, James grew more amazed and Sirius more irritated. She kept talking about Umbridge and the Ministry and Harry's height. Ron vied for her attention and failed to receive it. Sirius just glared daggers at the ginger and at Harry. She was Harry's friend and shouldn't be mentioning such things. He would never talk about James being fanciable, even if he knew it to be true. It's a friend's job to take the Mickey out of his mates, not make them more self-important. Or maybe they just acted that way because James was a pompous git most of the time.

He was exceedingly pleased when the post arrived and the trio's conversation turned to darker material. The three sixth years who belonged in this time were far better acquainted with the evils going on outside of the school than James or Sirius had been in their time. Voldemort was just gathering to his full strength as they entered their sixth year, but that had meant little to them. They were both from pure-blood families and had little to fear from the Dark Wizard.

These three, however, talked like it was their personal mission to fight the wizard and everything he stood for. Sirius, despite not caring for how fanciable Hermione thought him, was impressed by Harry.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked.

Harry looked at him like it was obvious. "He killed my parents. I know you aren't fond of your mum, but would you care if he killed James's mum and dad?"

Sirius stared at him as if seeing the boy for the first time. He really wasn't anything like James. "Yeah, I'd care."

"Come on, Harry," Ron said. "Tryouts." He pushed away from the table and stood.

"Yeah," Harry muttered.

"You'll do fine," Hermione assured him.

"What position are you trying for?" James asked.

Harry smirked. "I'm not trying for anything. I'm Captain."

"Yes!" James leapt at him and pulled him into a hug. "That's my boy!"

"Gerroff!"

"Yes, sir," James grinned and saluted.

"Git," Harry muttered and grabbed his Firebolt from the table.

"That broom… can I try it?"

"So you like me just fine now that I have a fast broom?" Harry shook his head.

"It's not just the broom, though that is gorgeous. Where'd you get it?"

Harry pointed at Sirius. "It was a gift."

"I have excellent taste," Sirius smiled and slid an arm around Hermione as they walked, "in all matters."

Harry and James led the way to the Quidditch pitch. James grilled Harry on his experience the whole way, demanding to know what position he played, how many times he had caught the snitch, the winning average and common pitfalls of the previous roster. Harry felt surprisingly good as he walked onto the pitch. Talking to James made him realize that he was pretty well-qualified for the job of Captain. Trials still took too long and were a complete fiasco thanks to Harry's fame and fanciability.

"Why doesn't he just dismiss the first years straight away?" James snorted.

"He started on the team in his first year," Hermione told him. "He wouldn't assume any of them aren't good enough."

"In his first year…" James said with quiet wonder as he looked out at Harry, who was yelling at the assembled group of students. "Damn."

"He's shaming you, Prongs."

"No, he's doing his father proud," James corrected.

Hermione just smiled and tried to ignore the rude words coming from Cormac McLaggen sitting just in front of her. She hoped he wasn't any good, because if he made the team he would absolutely murder morale. Everything that came out of him was insulting and, quite frankly, disgusting.

"Think he'll let me play as a stand-in if someone's injured?" James asked.

"Course he won't," Sirius grinned. "You two got into a fist fight."

James waved the comment away. "That was before. This is now."

"What's the difference?" Hermione asked.

"We're blokes," James said as if that were explanation enough. "It's what blokes do."

She just looked at him as if he were missing some of his brain. He was saved Hermione's opinion as Ginny took the pitch.

"Ooh, who is that?" James asked.

"Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister."

The girl tied her long hair back and James noticed the way Harry's eyes stayed on her a bit too long. He grinned and elbowed Sirius. "My boy fancies her."

Sirius didn't care, he had his own girl to fancy, but he couldn't help but watch as Ginny outshined everyone else on a broom, scoring more goals than the rest of the hopefuls put together. "She's better than you, Prongs."

They compared the rest of the chosen team to students in their own time. Hermione was only half listening, as she was waiting for Harry to call the Keepers to trial. It was already late in the morning and he still hadn't called them yet. The stands were growing more crowded as students were coming down from breakfast. Ron was looking greener with each passing minute. He would be last to try out after the large and boastful McLaggen.

The burly idiot took to his broom and blocked the first four Quaffles with ease. If he blocked the last, Ron would lose all hope. She pulled her wand from her sleeve and pointed it at the would-be Keeper. Only one person in the crowd was paying enough attention to her to see it and to hear her cast the spell quietly. McLaggen flew in the wrong direction and let the Quaffle into the unguarded goal.

"Yes!" Hermione cheered.

"I saw that," Sirius commented quietly in her ear.

"No, you didn't." She smiled and watched as Ron took to the air.

"Good luck!" a girl shouted from the stands. Hermione looked over and saw Lavender ducking her face. Some small part of Hermione was very annoyed, but a larger part was too busy noticing that Sirius was pulling her closer and trying to draw her attention away from watching Ron guard the high hoops. That part was very happy and didn't care if Lavender was cheering for the boy she had a crush on for years.

It should have worried her that she was so eager to attach herself to a ghost, but it was so easy to forget that he wasn't real. He was solid, as his arm around her proved. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, his breath on her neck. Surely if a beating heart and working lungs didn't indicate life, then nothing did. By all scientific indicators, he was alive.

The fraction of her brain that still clung to rationality knew that he would have to leave. Dumbledore or Lupin would sort out exactly what had brought these three ghosts back to them; they would find the spell to return them to whatever afterlife they were residing in and Hermione would be left without anyone. Ron would have Lavender, Harry would have Ginny and she would have no one. That thought made her cling to him even more ardently.

Tryouts ended with a successfully filled roster that once again included two Weasleys. The beaters might not be as good as Fred and George, but Harry was positive that, with practice, they would easily do some damage to the other teams.

"Have to visit Hagrid," Hermione said, sounding none too pleased.

"I got the impression you lot were friends with him," James said.

"We are," she said. "That's what's wrong. We're not taking his class this year. He's got to be upset with us."

James just nodded while he tried to figure out what class that giant of a man was qualified to teach. In his day Hagrid was just the gamekeeper who kept odd and dangerous animals in his pumpkin patch and chased idiots like James and his friends away from the forest. Last he checked that was not usually among the skills listed on the CVs of most professors. But if Hermione said he was a professor, then James would believe her. She was clearly the Lupin of her trio.