October 2, 1993
Dear Remus,
I just found out Harry's on the Gryffindor Quidditch team! I overheard professor McGonagall talking about it when she went into the village to get some extra quills. I don't know why I'm surprised, of course Harry plays for his house. Of course he's the youngest Seeker in a century. He's James's son, after all.
I wonder what it looks like when he's playing. He must be good, if he got in the team that young.
(Merlin, of course he's good, Sirius, he's James's son! You should know that by now!)
Do you remember James's first match? Our second year. The three of us all tried out for the team – Peter was too scared, he never liked flying. You and I were pretty good, but James! He was the star of the team. He was good then – big dives, a looping, fast as heck and never lost a ball, with a great aim – but by the time we graduated, he was probably the best player in the whole school. But he didn't know any of that. All of his bravado, his confidence, all of it had completely disappeared the morning of the match. Gryffindor-Slytherin, always the first match of the year. Who thought that was a good idea? Like all the little kids who just got in the team can deal with all of the Slytherins' dirty pranks. It's way too much. But anyway, it had gotten to James's head, too. He didn't eat anything at breakfast, even though he was usually the one who had to tell us to suck it up and eat something. And even with that empty stomach, he managed to puke all over the floor in the boys' bathroom. We promised not to tell anyone it was him, so I hope nobody finds this letter.
I snuck in the Gryffindor locker room, to support him. I gave him a pep talk while he got changed, then the team captain chased me away so they could talk strategy. I gave James a thumbs-up and joined you and Peter in the stands.
We cheered so loudly when they entered the field, I'm pretty sure everyone around us was temporarily deaf. That might explain why I didn't hear madame Hooch or Dickens, who did the commentary at the time; I could only see James, who shot up in the air and grabbed the Quaffle. And from that moment, all of his fears and nerves seemed to have disappeared. The Quidditch field always gave him back his strength, and when he played, it was like nothing else mattered. When James played Quidditch, there was no war, no crazy family, no angry teachers, no scary future, no death lurking around the corner. There was only James, his broom, the Quaffle and the goal hoop.
We won, of course. I never cheered so much in my life; my voice was completely hoarse after. Although it got even worse in the last few years, when you did the commentary, so I had to cheer twice as hard to compensate for that. Well, I didn't have to, but I kind of did.
Four matches a year, two to four training sessions a week, and countless games in holidays, even the winter, when he dragged us to the field behind his house so he wouldn't magically unlearn everything he knew in those two weeks. But the look on his face when he kicked off never got old. It was always the exact same look, full of excitement and wonder, like anything was possible in that moment. I always looked forward to that, even when it was freezing.
I wonder if Harry has the same look on his face.
Love, Sirius