It's been a full two weeks since being kidnapped by Black and James finally has the conversation with his parents about going back to Hogwarts even though they're both quite pointedly not bringing it up.

"It's OWLS year," James insists, flopped over the couch arm to paw at Euphemia's book with the hopes of annoying her into throwing him out. "I am not repeating a year."

Euphemia, unable to read from James batting at the pages, is still pretending to read anyway.

Fleamont is playing a game of chess with Harry, sitting on the three seater couch opposite James, both of them staying out of it.

"Mum," James says. "Ma. Muuuuum."

Euphemia snaps the book shut, almost catching James' fingers in it. "Isn't the quidditch final being played in two days?" Euphemia narrows her eyes. "You want to go back just so you can play, completely ignoring the fact that you were kidnapped from the property -after a first attempt- and the Dark Lord is still watching you. What, none of that matters?"

"I got kidnapped because Black cheated," James whines. "I won't fall for that again – and you know Hogwarts has wards to keep Voldemort out-"

Harry chokes on an inhale and starts coughing.

"-so really he's not a problem," James continues, louder now over Harry. "And Remus will protect me anyway."

"Just because he's a werewolf doesn't mean he can take on everyone you piss off," Euphemia criticises because yes, James tells his parents everything about his life, including being an unregistered animagus to play tag with Moony.

"But then what's the point in being a werewolf?" James says like that's a good argument.

"There is no point in – that's not how it-" Euphemia sighs.

James switches tracks, turning to Harry. "Have you finished Hogwarts? You should come to school with me!"

"I didn't finish seventh year," Harry admits.

James gasps, flailing his hands in delight. "We can do quidditch together! Oh, and pranks and-and we can-!" James gets himself so excited he can't talk properly.

Harry gets such a warm, intense feeling in his chest it actually hurts. "Yes! Yeah, we can…" Harry trails off and grimaces. "Ah, actually I have something I should do. I'll be super fast though – I know where they all are."

James blinks. "Okay? Need any help?"

"I've done it once, shouldn't be too hard," Harry reassures him.

James switched back. "Mum-"

"Ask your father."

"Dad-"

"Ask your mother," Fleamont says, throwing it straight back.

"Mum-"

"Ask Harry."

James sits up, satisfied.

Harry stares very intently at the chess set and says nothing.

"Harry?" James asks. "Where's my enthusiastic hell yes?" He pauses, with mounting horror. "You're on their side!"

"I just think, that with Voldemort," Harry begins.

"Haaarry," James wheedles, flopping over the other side of the couch to get closer. "Come on, you can't honestly expect me to just skip the quidditch finals. I worked so hard, I really want to get captain."

"Quidditch or Voldemort," Harry says and lifts both hands, measuring them up like weight scales.

"Quidditch!" James cries and shoves the quidditch hand down.

"Okay, maybe I'm being unfair and slightly hypocritical," Harry allows. "But I think, because Voldemort has killed you once before, that he's perhaps more of a threat."

"He didn't kill me, he killed other me," James tries. "Harry, don't you love me?"

Harry takes a blow straight to the heart.

"Stay strong, darling," Euphemia whispers. "It gets worse."

James pouts and blinks his big chocolate eyes, crocodile tears forming.

So James floos back to Hogwarts in time for the quidditch game – along with his parents and Harry as guards to satisfy them even if it is just for the day. James sprints up to Gryffindor tower to get his stuff and pauses, realising there's a bed missing.

They removed Peter's bed.

Sirius bursts through the door, panting. "James, I - I didn't know you were coming back, I would have…warned you."

James stares at the empty space for a long moment and then turns to Sirius with a smile. "It's okay."

James rolls hard, a bludger sailing over his head, and swerves to the side at the last possible minute, hooking the quaffle around the keeper's outstretched hand.

He dives over another Gryffindor chaser, just in time to screen the Ravenclaw beater and ducks right as Sirius smashes a bludger over his head and into the other beater. James hi-fives Sirius with a mad laugh as they pass by each other and shoots off straight back into it.

Sirius turns to watch him go, a frown on his face because James looks…manic.

James is fine. James is perfectly in control, precisely aware of his very quickly deteriorating mental state, doesn't give a fuck because he's been through so much shit that he needs this. He needs a win.

Three nice days with Harry, pretending everything is okay, isn't enough. Black is still running around and who know what he's going to do with Harry here now, fucking Voldemort wants to play house, and they moved Peter's bed. James needs to have something good otherwise he's just going to fucking lie down and never get up again.

James scores again, and again, and again and he has both Ravenclaw beaters on him at all times now with the chasers trying to crowd him out.

James gets hit by a bludger straight in the ribs and topples off his broom with a scream of rage, freefalling for only a brief second until he lands with a mess of limbs and scrambling hands into Sirius' lap. James' broom stalls up above and then slowly picks up speed going down.

James snarls and shoves himself off Sirius when his broom passes, diving and grabbing it in one hand only to pull up sharply enough to cut off a Ravenclaw pass. James streaks through the air and throws the quaffle so hard the keeper's hand is blown back when she tries to catch it and James scores.

And he doesn't stop.

Not once, not when the teams switch out for reserve players because the front bench just can't keep going, not when Gryffindor gets 150 points ahead of Ravenclaw only to streak straight past.

James only stops, mid-game with a quaffle under his arm, to watch the Ravenclaw seeker catch the snitch because he's laughing so hard he can't breathe, head thrown back, so exhausted he's lightheaded.

A normal school Quidditch game is forty minutes but this one lasted three whole hours.

Ravenclaw catches the snitch but Gryffindor still wins by 580 points. Of the total 930 points, James scores 780 of them. James alone could have won the game and everyone here fucking knows it.

James hurls the quaffle down, throws out his arms, roars into the stands and they scream back, damn near hysterical, gripping the edge of the stands and surging back and forth, the seating towers are swaying from the force, they're chanting his name, screaming it, so loud the people still in the castle can hear it.

James sits up on his throne, twenty meters in the air, basking in the roar of a worshipping crowd. Even the Ravenclaws are cheering for him because they can't stop themselves.

Fuck Black and fuck Voldemort, this is James' castle. These are his people, screaming his name because he fucking deserves it, shaking apart the stands in their manic energy.

And James wants more. He demands more. He is owed it.

"Come on!" James yells, his voice hoarse, not that any one can possibly hear over the cheering. "Show me how much you love me!"

Margaret, the Gryffindor captain, coasts over and leans in close to be heard over the screaming, a grin splitting her face. "I was going to wait but fuck it - congratulations on making team captain for next year!"

And James almost laughs himself off his broom.