Chapter 43: Winner's Circle
The game was a disaster, at least according to James. All his carefully choreographed plays might as well have been left in the changing room loos as emergency toilet paper for all the good they were doing the Gryffindor side. Despite the hour-long shouting James had given him, Sirius was doing everything in his power to stay far, far away from Harry, leaving gaping holes in their defence that the Hufflepuff Chasers easily flew through. By the end of the first hour, Gryffindor was down nearly three hundred points.
The team came together beneath their goalposts for a mid-game strategy meeting.
"We're losing," Fenton commented.
"No thanks to you," Silvia scowled. "You're meant to be guarding the posts!"
"I'm not the one who let a bloody Hufflepuff steal the Quaffle from me – five times!"
"SHUT UP, THE LOT OF YOU!" James shouted. "Fenton, stop letting them throw you. That feint on the left hoop has gotten you every time; watch out for it. Silvia, quit being an arse. You let the Quaffle get away. I know you fancy Kemper, but letting him win isn't going to work. Marsh, Harry, the lot of you are doing fine. Keep at it." He slapped them each on the back and shoved them away until only Sirius was left.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" he hissed and slapped his friend hard on the head. "Are you trying to lose this game single-handedly? Do you have any idea how many times I was nearly knocked off my broom already? How many times Harry's nearly been hit?"
Sirius said nothing, but James could see the boy's jaw work as he ground his teeth together. He didn't know if that meant Sirius was intentionally letting the Bludgers near them or not. If it was on purpose, he was a git. If it was a side-effect of his attempt to distance himself from Harry, he was still a git.
"Get your head together," James ordered.
"It's only a game, Prongs," Sirius replied darkly.
"Not to me. Not when there's a half-wild Bludger sailing at my head, at my son's head," he said in a dangerous whisper. "If you thought I was cross when you wanted to shag him, imagine what I would do to you if you let my kid get killed before he was even born."
Sirius met his eye defiantly but said nothing.
"Get over it. Save it for later. Shag someone else. I don't care," he said, slapping his friend one more time before kicking off the ground and flying up to meet Quatermain mid-pitch for the release.
As Madam Hooch threw the ball high, James easily took control of the Quaffle, slicing through the Hufflepuff defence with the assistance of a Bludger well-aimed by Marsh. It was the easiest ten points they had made all game, and it only got better. Fenton stopped letting the Hufflepuff Chasers trick him on the left hoop; Silvia let Kemper steal the Quaffle once more but she took control of her crush after that. Only Sirius failed to follow orders. He was better but far from his typical form, knocking the hell out of the Bludger and scattering the opposing team's line; he never missed the ball, but his aim was poor and his arm nowhere near as strong as it ought to be. Despite the Beater's deficiencies, they were gaining.
"Are we up enough for me to catch the Snitch now?" Harry shouted to him. "I think we've a strong enough lead on Slytherin."
"Not yet," James hollered back.
"I don't know how many more times I can trick Whyte into following me," he warned.
"Cheeky bugger! How many times have you tricked her?"
Harry shrugged and grinned.
"Give me two more goals," he called.
"What does twenty points matter?"
"I like even numbers!" James retorted with a cheeky grin of his own.
The boy shook his head and laughed as he flew higher. James had no worries on that front, knowing Harry was keeping the Snitch within easy reach. Through two games and countless practices, Harry had proven to be the best Seeker he had ever played with or against. It was a rare day – pouring rain with gale-force wind, when Harry had a head-cold and hadn't slept the previous night – that he ever managed to lose the tiny ball to the opposing team. Damn, if he was not the proudest parent to ever father a child. So what if his son was the exact same age as him? He was still damn proud. It was just a shame Sirius was ruining it for them all. The git.
Much as he wanted to say it was nothing to worry about, he had never seen Sirius act this way. Even when he ran away from home and came pounding on the Potters' door at three o'clock in the morning, he hadn't looked as horrible as he had since learning Harry's secret. He hoped they could sort him out before the final game against Slytherin. If he played as poorly in that vital game as he was playing in this one, the cup was lost.
Harry gave him four more goals before he made a mad dive for the Snitch. Those forty points plus the one hundred and fifty points for catching the miniscule ball gave them a lead of nearly seven hundred points over Slytherin.
The Chaser grinned as he landed on the grass. "That's my boy," he cried and hugged Harry without thought.
The boy froze in his arms. "You know, too?"
"Ah, bugger," James muttered.
"Listen—"
"Don't ruin the bloody moment, you git," he ordered. "I'm damn proud right now and I'll not have you saying something daft to change my mind about you."
Harry laughed, "Yes, sir."
He slapped the boy hard on the back before turning his grin to the rest of the team. "Brilliant! Greatest turn-around in the history of Hogwarts Quidditch! I—"
"Harry!" a jubilant voice called, cutting into what was sure to be a fantastic off-the-cuff post-game speech. James scowled at the intruder. Everyone knew that to interrupt a James Potter pep-talk was to risk being pranked in the most inconvenient and embarrassing manner possible. Sadly the culprit was not someone he was able to prank with impunity. Professor Slughorn was hurrying across the pitch toward them as fast as his girth would permit, his moustache bouncing and hands clapping eagerly. "Harry, my boy, what a brilliant show!"
"Uh, thank you, Professor," he replied uncertainly, glancing at James.
"How many times did you lead that poor girl on? I counted four at least!"
"Well, I, uh."
The man continued talking about the genius of the plays for several minutes, not bothering to note how uncomfortable the boy looked or that he was inching further away with each ecstatic clap of his hands; he barely took note of the rest of the team scattering as the rambling lauding continued. His stream of praise came to a stop so abrupt that James thought he might have been petrified until the man gave a startled cry. "Oh! We must have a party in your honour!"
"That really isn't necess—," Harry began, but paused, his face taking on a decidedly Marauder-ish appearance, eyes narrowed and smile sly. "That would be great, Professor. I've so been looking forward to meeting more members of The Club."
"Wonderful idea, Harry. There are a few who I'm sure would be thrilled to meet a Seeker of your talent."
"I know my sister, Hermione – You remember her, right, Professor? Brilliant at Potions and every other subject. Well, she was so keen to attend one of your dinners. Surely, you wouldn't mind extending her an invitation," he said, his face affecting wide-eyed innocence despite this clearly being a shrewd play on the man's insatiable appetite for new talent.
Slughorn smiled widely. "Capitol idea, my boy."
"Yes, capitol, my boy," James muttered as the man turned and moved swiftly away, making a beeline for the Gryffindor stands and Hermione.
Harry's cunning smile fell. He glanced over his shoulder before turning back to James, speaking in an urgent whisper despite there being no one within earshot. "Will you stop with that 'my boy' stuff?"
"What? You're my boy," he replied.
"Shut up! No one is supposed to know that. Did Sirius tell you?"
"Nah, figured it out before he did," grinned James.
"Well, no one else finds out. Not even Remus," Harry insisted.
"Already knows."
"What?" he groaned. "Oh, Hermione's going to kill me. No one else finds out."
"Well, Wormtail—"
"No one. Not even him," Harry said, his voice growing loud with his command. "This is not your secret to tell, and I will hex you if you tell anyone else."
"Fine way to talk to your father," James sniffed and crossed his arms. He refused to admit that Harry's threat actually scared him. He had seen the boy in Defence Against the Dark Arts and knew he could deliver on such a promise.
"I said stop that," he hissed.
"Spoilsport. So what's the plan, then? Prank Slughorn? You hate those parties."
"Maybe next time," he batted the foolish thought away. "I need information and Slughorn probably has some expert in that club of his who can give it to me."
The Chaser snorted in disbelief. "You're from the f—Johannesburg," he said, altering his words with Harry's hard glare, "anything they know, you've probably learned already at school. The books and lessons are sure to have tonnes of new information in Johannesburg."
"No," Harry said, speaking at an annoyingly slow pace like he was talking to an idiot. "The books in Johannesburg don't have this kind of information. It's very specific and very dark. I need an expert."
"Well, if you got here from Johannesburg, why can't you just go back? Why do you need an expert?"
Harry sighed, his annoyance seeming to melt as he admitted the truth. "We're stuck. Without knowing how we got here, we can't ever go back to Johannesburg. Fun as this is, we need to get home."
"Stuck?" James frowned. He had to admit that since learning the impossible truth, he had not bothered considering Harry or Hermione's reasons for being so far in the past. If he had to put into words the unspoken assumption, he would have said that they had come of their own free will and were just staying for a laugh. That's what he would have done if he had the ability to travel back in time. Go see his old man when he was sixteen and stupid.
"Someone did this to you?" he asked.
Harry nodded, a single solemn shake of his head.
"Who?"
"Can't say."
"Git. Well, what's this dark information you need to find out about?"
He opened his mouth to reply then shook his head. "Later. Do you think you can get Lily to invite you to the party? It would make it easier to find what we're looking for if there are more people asking."
"Easy," James replied confidently. "She loves me. Still turns poorly whenever I mention you, though. Hates herself for nearly snogging her own kid."
Harry's face contorted and his hand flew to his mouth. "Can we please add that to the list of things you never say again?"
James snorted. "Who are you taking to the party, then?"
"Tildy, I guess," he said after a pause, though he did not seem certain. His brows remained knitted together long after he made his decision, as if debating whether it was the best one. James couldn't blame him for questioning the choice; Tildy, while pretty, was often more trouble than she was worth. If Harry had a second choice, he might be better off.
"Have someone else in mind?"
"Not really," Harry muttered, still frowning slightly. "Even if I did, she's not here anyway."
He launched himself at the boy, wrapping him in a hug so tight he had no hope of escaping it. "So you do have a girlfriend! Not that ginger bird you're always on about, is it?"
"No, Ginny's my best mate's sister."
"So who?"
"No one," Harry said dully, like he had been through this discussion countless times. "Why can't everyone just leave it alone?"
"Because you're far too handsome to be flying solo. Who is she?"
"No one," he said again, trying and failing to break free. "Just someone Tildy reminds me of."
"Name!"
"Piss off."
"What sort of name is that? Is she foreign?" he grinned and leapt clear of the boy's grasp, running all the way to Gryffindor Tower with Harry chasing him the entire way