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batsutousaiTitle: Nose to the Wind
Series: Like a Ghost in My Town
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Potter
Warnings: AU, violence, universe hopping/rebirth, Dark!Harry, werewolf!Harry, underage relationship (ish)
Summary: While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?
A/N: This chapter has a fair lot of telling instead of showing, whoops? Also, I'mma apologise in advance, but I tend to avoid actually showing quidditch games, due to my own general disinterest in sports. (Coupled with a general dislike of writing scenes which involve a lot of moving parts, such as battles and sports games.) So, while Harry will be playing quidditch in this fic, I won't be writing any of the games or practises he takes part in unless they're somehow important to the plot.
Sideways related: I've got a table of all of the players – mostly OCs, although a couple are pulled from the wikia – on the various teams. If people really want it, I can post a chart or something to tumblr with the players on the team Harry ends up joining. (Though, tbh, they aren't going to play a huge part in what's left of the story. ^^; )
For ages at the start of this chapter, very little time has passed, so Harry remains 15. (Hermione is 16, Will is 14, and Chris is 12.)
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Give Yourself a Try
-0-
Somehow, Lily managed to find out about the altercation before Hogwarts let out the following week, and Harry couldn't decide if it was more likely that the Weasleys had told their parents and she'd heard from Molly, or that the Slytherins had written home and one of their parents had caught Lily at work. Either way, Lily told off James for starting the whole mess, but she seemed to be of the same mind as Severus, that since Harry hadn't killed anyone or broken any of their wands, he wouldn't have to suffer a grounding.
Harry half suspected it was a sort of attempt to reward him for moderation, but he didn't bother questioning the reason for his good fortune, just accepted it with silent gratitude.
The welcome home party was especially overdone that summer, as Sirius and James apparently decided to use it as an excuse for all of them to celebrate Hogwarts winning the TriWizard Tournament. Honestly, Harry was rather relieved that, when they happened to spot the Diggorys at the station, the pair of loons resisted the urge to do more than loudly congratulate Cedric. (Judging by the helpless sort of smile Cedric wore when he glanced at Will, he'd a pretty good idea of where he had got his particular brand of over-the-top exuberance.)
They'd scheduled a day for the Hogwarts students to unpack their trunks, then they were off to Gibraltar for a week and a half. Lily absolutely got her beaches, and they all had the chance to pick up a bit of muggle history and wander around the local sites. They ended up taking a day trip to Tangier near the end of the holiday, because Hermione and Remus had conspired to track down information about the ferry and sites to see across the strait, apparently attracted to the less-European architecture and the chance to see a bit of a new foreign country.
All told, it was a nice holiday with its own particular charm, but Harry was kind of glad to return to England. If only because he could visit the dark lord again. (Which he absolutely didn't do their first night back, no way.)
Once they were back in England, James set about dragging Harry – and Sirius, Will, and Chris, who had actually invited themselves along, usually with Peter or Remus to act as a third for apprating – around to watch various quidditch practices. Because he'd apparently decided that Harry wasn't going to continue his muggle education, since he was so set on a job in the magical world. (For his part, Harry was a bit torn about his future education, and had pretty much decided to wait until his GCSE results came in to settle on a course. Which he'd told both of his parents, and the tiredly amused look Lily offered him each time James declared they were going to watch a practice said that she, at least, remembered that conversation. Not that either of them made any attempts to get James to slow down.)
Unsurprisingly, James and Sirius – and Will and Chris, though they were less vocal, by far – were pushing for him to focus his efforts on Puddlemere United, and that was the team they went to see the first three visits. Ron, when he got wind of events – Harry blamed Will – was quick to insist Harry join the Chudley Cannons, while the twins wasted almost three hours on a loud row about which team would be the best option, eventually settling on the Holyhead Harpies. (Harry was convinced the whole thing was staged just to annoy everyone else, especially since the Holyhead Harpies was a women-only team. When Ginny had pointed that out, Fred had very seriously brought up a sex reassignment, at which point Harry had made a tactical retreat for the sake of his limited sanity.)
Harry didn't actually have a preference for which team he joined, other than it not being the Cannons, and he spent a lot of time rolling his eyes at everyone else. He'd almost resorted to getting Lily to talk to James about letting him look at other teams, but he ended up not having to, as the Puddlemere manager, Philbert Deverill, approached them during their third practice, two days before Harry's birthday.
"We usually scout new players through Hogwarts teams," Deverill said after James had introduced them and explained that Harry was looking at a possible career in quidditch, "which is something you're going to find true for most of the league teams, though you wouldn't be the first hopeful who either didn't attend Hogwarts, or never made it onto their house team. We'll usually run a little mock practice for those sorts at the end of the summer, see how they do on a broom and working with a team, and I'm happy to set something up for you, but we don't actually have any open slots on either the main team or the reserves, so it's very unlikely anything will come of it. I'm sorry."
James looked pretty close to heartbroken – Harry suspected his brothers and Sirius wouldn't look much better, if he turned to where they were eavesdropping from – and Harry rolled his eyes before saying, "I understand. Are any of the other league teams looking to fill open positions, do you know?"
Deverill cast him a sly look. "No team loyalty, is it?"
Harry shrugged and admitted, "I don't really prefer any one league team over the others, no, though it's true that most of my family's a bit mad about Puddlemere." He shot a sideways glance at his father when James huffed. "I just want to play quidditch; the uniform I'm in doesn't really matter to me."
Deverill raised his eyebrows. "You might look into amateur teams, in that case, get your quidditch fix that way."
Harry tilted his head to the side slightly, considering the man. James had been clear upfront that Harry was looking to turn quidditch into a career, not just play as a hobby, and he knew Deverill had caught that, because he'd straightened and given Harry a more careful look-over when James had said it. But now he was suggesting Harry join one of the amateur teams, the ones that tended to play pick-up games once every other week in someone's back garden?
He understood team pride, and that there wasn't any point in playing the game if you didn't go into it intending to win, but he wasn't sure why his lack of attachment to any one specific team meant he shouldn't play professionally. Did Deverill think that, because he hadn't spent half his life wearing their colours in a show of support, he wouldn't do his best to kick their opponents' arses?
"Maybe I will," he said in a slightly careless tone.
Something that looked like victory flashed in Deverill's eyes, and it was a struggle to keep from narrowing his own eyes as the manager offered, "Come back in a couple years if you've still got the itch; Jocelind might actually stop talking about retiring and actually do it, by then."
Harry glanced up at where Jocelind Wadcock, who was well into her eighties, was passing a quaffle back and forth with Diana Booth and John Campbell, the other two chasers on the main team. Her form was pretty much perfect, and Harry hadn't seen her fumble the quaffle once during the three practices they'd attended; he seriously doubted she would be retiring any time soon. "Maybe," he agreed absently, before turning his focus back on Deverill and offering him a smile that felt a little too false. "That you for your time, Mr Deverill."
"Messrs Potter," Deverill replied politely and inclined his head before moving away to talk with some other fans.
"So," Sirius said from behind Harry and James, "I guess Puddlemere doesn't like picking up players who aren't diehard fans."
"Mr Deverill certainly doesn't," James replied, a hint of anger in his voice.
Harry shrugged. "It doesn't really matter, since they don't have room on their team, anyway." He turned to look at his dad. "Since it's clear Puddlemere isn't happening, can we start going to the practises of other teams?"
"More quidditch visits?" Will called, sounding delighted.
James cast a brief glance towards Harry's brothers, an amused twist to his mouth, before focussing on Harry. "Let me see if the league has any record of which teams aren't full-up on players."
"Fair enough," Harry agreed, and they settled in to finish watching the practice, because they were a bunch of quidditch nuts, and there was really no getting around that.
(Still. Harry was maybe a little bit relieved that he wouldn't end up playing for his family's team, if only because that eased some of the pressure.)
Given that they'd never actually discussed any special plans for his birthday – other than Harry admitting he was probably best waking up at his home, since his family preferred to do presents and cake in the morning – Harry wasn't particularly surprised when there was a knock on the door while he was on his way down from putting his gifts away, the dark lord's familiar scent obvious before Harry got the door open. "Hi!" he called, grinning widely. Because, half expected or not, he was always happy to see his partner. (Also, Tom was wearing some of the clothing Harry'd bullied him into buying on the dark lord's birthday, and seeing him in not-a-suit was a treat.)
Tom's mouth twisted with his fond smile and he offered, "Happy birthday, Scythe," as Harry stepped back to let him in. Once the door was closed, he caught an arm around Harry's waist and pulled him into a kiss that Harry was all-too-happy to take part in.
"I presume you'll be forcing me to suffer your mother's cake again," Tom said, but he was still smiling.
Harry rolled his eyes. "If you're not careful, I'm gonna get Mum to bake a cake for your birthday one of these years," he threatened, even as he caught Tom's hand and led him towards the kitchen.
"Resist the urge," was Tom's unimpressed reply.
"Whoa," Will said when Harry and Tom entered the dining room, staring at the dark lord. And he was fairly clearly not the only one surprised by the change in Tom's appearance from the last time he'd visited on Harry's birthday – James, Lily, and Hermione were the only ones who'd seen him since the attack – but he was the most obvious about it.
Tom sighed, while Harry quickly said, "The attack last summer took a few years off, I know."
James choked on his drink, while Sirius said, "Really," in the driest, most obviously disbelieving tone Harry had probably ever heard from him.
Remus sighed, then rather pointedly said, "We're not asking."
Sirius made a show of rolling his eyes and replied in a stage whisper, "Like either of them would actually fill us in."
Harry caught the dark lord's raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye and shrugged; Tom really couldn't have expected he'd share the truth of his horcruxes with his family, not when he wasn't even willing to share the truth of his past with them. (Or, well, not all of them. Not that Tom knew he'd told his parents who he'd been during his past lives.)
"So," James said, with a hint of discomfort, after Harry had been sung to and the cake pieces were being floated around to everyone, "what are your plans for today?"
"We hadn't actually discussed anything," Harry admitted with a shrug, glancing over at his partner.
Tom shrugged. "Scy–Harry insisted he was here for the morning. I made dinner reservations for the two of us, but they can be changed," he finished, raising one eyebrow at Harry.
"Dinner sounds great," Harry insisted, because no way he would refuse dinner with his partner. "We can just play it by ear, after. And I can send word home if we get caught up with something until late."
"Caught up with something," Sirius repeated in a whisper, then grunted when Remus elbowed him, which got snickers from Will and Chris.
James sighed and rubbed at his eyes, leaving it to Lily to say, as she returned to the table with her own slice of cake, "That sounds fine. Do try to be back early tomorrow, though. Unless you want to explain to Molly why you're late."
"Not particularly," Harry admitted, even as he reached around Hermione to shove Will's shoulder in a useless attempt to get him to stop snickering.
"You can stay until lunch, then," Lily insisted. "That should give Harry time to enjoy his gifts."
Harry narrowed his eyes at his mum, because he hadn't got anything so exciting that he'd want to spend a couple of hours playing with it. "Voldemort," he said, "tell me you haven't been conspiring with my parents."
"There was no conspiring," Tom said in a tone of voice that was ever so slightly insulted.
James and Lily both sighed and shook their heads at Harry when he looked at them.
So, no conspiring, but his parents definitely knew what the dark lord had got him. Interesting.
Hermione cleared her throat and, before anyone could start asking any leading questions about the mystery gift, asked, "Sir, you wouldn't happen to know when the OWL results are coming, would you?"
Tom frowned. "They haven't been released yet?"
Everyone shook their heads, because while Hermione was the only one expecting results, they'd all been a bit tensely awaiting their arrival. (Harry's own GCSE results, he knew from upperclassmen, shouldn't be expected until after his birthday, but they'd all expected the OWLs to come out sooner.)
"I'll look into it tomorrow," Tom decided, before turning to Harry. "Let me know if they don't arrive Friday morning."
"Sure," Harry agreed. Honestly, if they didn't arrive the morning after the dark lord started asking some probing questions, the exam team deserved the curses his partner would start throwing around.
"The back yard, I think," Tom decided once both he and Harry had finished their serving of cake.
"This should be good," Sirius muttered as everyone got up nearly as one; clearly, Harry wasn't the only one interested in seeing what his partner had got him.
Out in the yard, James and Lily broke away to activate the ward stones, and Harry didn't need to see the shape of the miniature package Tom pulled out of his pocket to guess what was going on. "You got me a broom," he guessed.
Tom raised an eyebrow at him, even as Will and Chris both moved forward, clearly interested. "I did," he said, then tapped the package to resize it and held it out to him. "You're welcome to return it, if you really don't want it," he added with a smirk.
Harry narrowed his eyes and accepted the gift; the Potter family had six Nimbus 2000s in the broom shed, one for each of them and Hermione, in case of an emergency. And while they weren't the absolute best brooms on the market, they served their purpose, and Harry had been plenty comfortable using his for practices and games – assuming whichever team he joined didn't insist he needed the newest model. Since his parents were aware about what Tom had got him, it was almost certainly better than the 2000, and given who the gifter was...
Harry tore the paper on the handle and was actually kind of unsurprised to find polished ebony, familiar to him even after decades of not having held one. "You got me a Firebolt," he heard himself say from a bit of a distance.
"No way!" Will shouted, sounding way too excited.
Harry quickly finished unwrapping it, if only to keep his brothers from 'helping', and then he stopped and stared at the familiar shape for a long moment, swallowing hard against some sort of emotion he couldn't quite define.
A hand brushed along his cheek, and Harry looked up into Tom's red eyes, which were warm in a way that Harry hadn't expected him to show in even so limited a public space. "Did you honestly believe," Tom murmured, "that I would let you play that accursed game on anything other than the best broom on the market?"
Harry laughed, because that was just the sort of slightly convoluted reasoning that would make sense to his partner. "Your trust in my flying skills is touching," he retorted.
Tom snorted as he drew his hand away. "What would I know about your flying skills?"
"Good point," Harry said, then turned to his family, all of whom had given them a polite distance, though his brothers, Sirius, and James all looked like they wanted to get their hands on his new broom. "Mock game?"
"You against all the rest of us?" Sirius suggested with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"Are you really that scared of my new broom?" Harry had to ask.
"We could do the younger generation against the older generation?" Peter suggested before Sirius and Harry could really get into it.
"Pretty sure that still puts Harry in his own team," James said, just loud enough to carry.
Harry raised his eyebrows at his brothers, both of whom immediately nodded. "We'll crush you," Will promised the adults.
"Oh, it is on," Sirius replied.
Remus refused to play – given the moon had been the night before, no one could blame him – but Lily let herself be talked into joining Sirius, James, and Peter, who were insistent that they needed a fourth to balance Harry's new broom. And while Lily was far from a quidditch fan, she lived with a bunch of them, and she'd mastered flying during the war, so she was capable of holding her own.
Harry started off playing chaser, putting his new broom through all of the stops just because he could, but he eventually fell back to guard the goal, the position slightly more comfortable after spending so many years playing the position while playing at being mute. It wasn't a position that let him make much use of his new broom, but having a better broom than his brothers made it a little hard, in terms of teamwork. Potentially less of an issue with a professional team – the Firebolt had been out for three years, which was long enough for those teams who wanted it to look into getting a deal with Randolph Spudmore, or else a sponsorship with a company or individual that had enough money to buy the main team the best broom on the market – but it was definitely something to keep in mind.
Lily eventually called a stop to the game so they could have lunch, which left them with Harry and his brothers as the winners. (Despite Sirius' whining about Harry's new broom being a cheat, it had been fairly obvious, at least to Harry, that it was more his own skills in blocking balls and Will and Chris' familiarity that had led to their win.)
"Acceptable?" Tom asked when Harry flew down to where he was standing slightly apart from Remus and Hermione.
Harry grinned at him and leant forward on his new broom, easily keeping his balance after having spent over an hour reacclimating himself to the broom. "It's brilliant," he insisted. "I'd suggest you try, but I'm pretty sure I know what your answer will be."
"I do know how to fly," Tom informed him a bit stiffly.
"I know you do," Harry said, because while he'd never actually seen any version of the dark lord on a broom, he'd seen the Voldemort of his first reality flying via what had likely been a spell, and he knew enough of Tom to assume he'd ensured he knew how to use a broom as soon as one was given to him. "You just prefer to trust your own magic, rather than the spellwork of someone else."
Tom hummed, something almost considering about the look he was giving Harry. "Something like that," he agreed, before reaching out and tapping the handle of Harry's new broom with one long finger. "Put that away so we can have lunch."
Harry, because he could, leant forward a bit more, directing the broom to move forward, and stole a kiss, then swung around and flew over to the broom cupboard.
He spent way too much of lunch working out a schedule for everyone trying out the Firebolt after lunch, and while Tom let out a few irritated huffs, he didn't actually attempt to drag Harry away from his family until everyone had got their ten minute ride. (Even Hermione, who had only given it a shot because James was insistent that everyone in the family was familiar with all of their brooms. She'd admitted that she felt a bit more secure on it, but she really wasn't fond of how quickly it sped up.)
Tom's 'reservation' for dinner ended up actually being with his own house-elves in the suspiciously empty manor.
"Pick one meal you'd really like to have," Tom told him once Harry had mostly stopped laughing.
Harry went for one of his favourite meals during his last life – it was far bloodier than he suspected Lily would be comfortable making, so he'd never tried requesting it – though he did suggest a more well done version for Tom.
While the food was being prepared, Tom gave him a proper tour of the manor, eventually admitting, "I sent everyone home so no one would chance seeing you."
"I figured as much," Harry admitted with a shrug. "I know people will have to find out about me eventually, but it's kind of nice only being notable as the eldest Potter boy."
"You don't have any interest in being a dark lord again?" Tom asked.
Harry couldn't sense any judgement in his partner's voice, but he still felt like he was stepping across a minefield as he said, "I never wanted to be the man I turned into, the specifics of my title aside. That's part of why I became a hermit, I think."
"Because you hated what you'd become?" Tom said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"Not really," Harry admitted, because he could never truly regret the future he'd made for the non-humans of his last reality, not when they'd fought and suffered so long for it. "More...I hated what it cost me. Who it cost me."
Tom was very, very still for a moment, and then he swallowed and caught Harry's nearer hand, pulling him close. "I'd rather avoid the competition, I think," he announced.
Harry couldn't quite stop a laugh. "Yes, well, I work better in the shadows, anyway; less chance of getting grounded that way."
Tom snorted, then leant in and kissed Harry until he'd started to forget what they'd been talking about.
Dinner was delicious – Harry hadn't really expected otherwise – and then Tom led him to the room he'd received Harry and his family in so many years ago, for the amnesty, the one Harry had been nearly certain had been meant as a ballroom.
"There will come a day," Tom said as he led the way to the throne at the far end of the room, "when you'll have a place in here. Because you may prefer to fight from the shadows, but I have no intention of sneaking you around forever; that path leads to far too much danger, both to your own person, and to whomever thinks you an easy target."
Harry snorted. "I think we both know someone's still going to try something."
Tom hissed some rather uncomplimentary things under his breath, then decided, "On their own heads be it."
Harry laughed outright at that. "Are you giving me permission to kill your Death Eaters if they start something?"
Tom turned an unimpressed stare on him. "I think taking away their magic for a week would be sufficient."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Ruin my fun, then."
"If, however, they're not marked, you're welcome to do whatever strikes your fancy."
"I'm going to hold you to that. And hide behind you if Mum ever finds out."
Tom let out a long, almost helpless sigh. "Scythe," he said a bit tiredly.
Harry grinned, then stepped in close and went up on his toes to hopefully kiss the dark lord's exasperation away.
Kissing led to dancing, Tom magicking up some soft music for them to dance to and then proceeding to spin Harry around the huge space until they were both dizzy, whereupon they settled for swaying in close.
"Am I staying the night?" Harry asked once he no longer felt like the room was spinning, because they hadn't actually discussed one way or the other, and it was coming up on the time when he'd need to either let his parents know he wouldn't be coming home, or just head home.
Tom was silent for a moment that seemed to go on forever, his eyes shadowed under the fall of his hair, then he said, "It's your choice. But, if you do, it will be the same as the last time."
Harry smiled at that, not really surprised that the dark lord still wasn't up for sex. "Okay," he said.
"Okay?" Tom repeated, uncertainty barely there in his voice.
Harry shrugged. "I'm hardly going to hold not wanting to have sex with someone who looks like a teenager against you. And, like I said last time, I'm happy to just sleep next to you."
Tom snorted and leant in until their foreheads were touching. "Such innocence, Scythe."
Harry snorted himself. "Please. There's nothing wrong with taking things slow, and Merlin knows my father probably appreciates it."
"Assuming he doesn't suspect you're lying every time you insist otherwise," Tom muttered.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Honestly, if they don't take everything I say with at least a grain of disbelief, they're a little bit foolish." Tom chuckled, warm and close, and Harry flashed him a quick grin before sobering. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad they still trust me, even a little bit, but I think we all know there are some things I can't or won't tell them."
Tom hummed and stepped back to take them through a couple of slightly complicated steps, matching them to the music so perfectly, Harry was a little impressed.
Harry sort of forgot the conversation had even happened until they were lying together in Tom's bed, Harry comfortably pressed against the unfamiliar warmth of the dark lord. He was just starting to drift off when Tom said, so very quietly, "One day, my Scythe, I will prove you can trust me with all the things you won't your family."
Harry couldn't say if he actually did or not, but he very seriously considered saying, "You already have."
Hermione's OWL scores did indeed reach them Friday morning. To the surprise of absolutely no one – except, by her expression, Hermione herself – she passed all nine of the exams she took, receiving Os in everything except dark arts and their defence, which she got an E in.
"These are fantastic," Lily insisted, moving around the table and pulling Hermione into a hug. "Well done, Hermione."
"Thanks," Hermione whispered, still looking a bit shell-shocked.
"Pity that being the brightest witch in your year doesn't seem to mean much to the rest of the idiots taking up class space," Harry commented.
"Harry," Lily said, clearly disapproving, but it was rather ruined by both of his brothers and James breaking out into snickers.
"What? It's true, you know," he added to Hermione, who looked a bit like she was trying not to smile. "It's really not fair that everyone else our age can't see how awesome you are."
"I think I hate you, just a bit," Hermione insisted, probably because she was blushing, but she was also smiling, so Harry knew she didn't really mean that.
James snorted, then said, "Well, I think those scores deserve a celebratory dinner out. We'll have to see what evenings your parents are free."
Hermione lit up. "Really?" she asked.
"Of course! It can't be a proper celebration without them. Am I right?" James asked, looking at Lily.
Lily laughed and squeezed Hermione's shoulders. "I'll see if I can't catch one of the two during my lunch break, schedule something for all of us this weekend."
Harry shook his head, eternally amused by how his parents refused to keep with Voldemort's idea to keep Hermione away from her muggle roots. (Though, really, given Harry had his own muggle roots, by necessity, it was a bit hard to expect she would have the complete and utter separation the dark lord had been hoping for.)
They ended up having dinner with the Grangers that very night, eating out all together at a rather posh restaurant in muggle London, which the Grangers insisted on paying for. When James tried to argue that they could split the cheque, Monica shook her head and insisted, "You've done so much with housing Hermione and helping her to grow into a beautiful, successful young woman. Really, James, the least we can do is pay for dinner."
"Mum," Hermione complained.
"Let them have this one," Lily suggested quietly, patting James' arm.
"What?" Monica asked Hermione, wearing a smile that said she knew exactly why her daughter was complaining. "You have turned quite beautiful, and your grades certainly promise success in future; I'm sure you'll have to spend the next couple of years beating back your schoolmates."
"Yeah, right," Hermione muttered, quiet enough that everyone could politely pretend not to have heard.
"Your mum's right," Harry insisted, unable to help a grin at the betrayed look Hermione shot him. "What? It's not your fault so many of the guys in your year are immature morons."
"Well, all of them save Harry," Wendell said as he held out the folder with his payment for their server.
Harry and Hermione both immediately shook their heads, while Lily and James traded grimaces. Will was the one who, a bit thoughtlessly, said, "Nah, Harry's already got a boyfriend."
"Partner," Chris corrected him.
"What? It's not my fault boyfriend is clearer," Will complained.
Harry just sighed, and Hermione reached over and patted his back, while telling her parents, "Harry and I are better suited to being friends."
"If you say so," Wendell said, sounding like he wasn't completely convinced that Harry and Hermione weren't made for each other, or whatever.
"Anyway," Hermione said with a hint of mischief in her voice, "Harry's already promised he'll throw anyone who breaks my heart off the top of Big Ben."
Lily sighed, while James coughed into one hand.
"I thought you told me I wasn't allowed to throw people off the top of Big Ben for you," Harry had to point out. "Honestly, it'll probably be easier for me to drag them to the top of the Astronomy Tower, at least so long as you're at Hogwarts."
"Big Ben is growing on me, a bit," Hermione explained, "but I suppose I can accept the Astronomy Tower for the next couple of years."
"Gracious, thank you."
"...right," Wendell said, looking a little like he couldn't decide if he should laugh or be horrified. Which was fair, because Harry was quite serious about throwing people off the top of high places if they hurt Hermione.
"Please don't kill any students," James muttered.
"I'll let them keep their wands," Harry promised. "If they can't save themselves, it's their own fault."
"I may need you to obliviate me when we get home," James told Lily, who snorted and shook her head.
Harry glanced over at Hermione and, upon finding her grinning at him, grinned right back.
Wendell and Monica, at least, seemed to take some comfort from their grins, but Harry was fairly certain his parents didn't. They didn't ground him for it, at least, though he suspected James might have actually had Lily obliviate him after everyone else had gone to bed.
James did indeed find out which quidditch teams had openings, which Sirius clearly knew, because he was over bright and early Saturday morning, asking, "So, was there a team Harry wanted to look at this morning?"
Harry sighed, leaving it to Will to explain, "The Chudley Cannons are the only ones practising today, and no one sane wants to play for them."
"I wouldn't go that far," Sirius was quick to argue, and James snorted. "Hey! The right player can turn anything around."
"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted, "because the only position the Cannons have open is beater, and I don't want to play that position."
Sirius huffed and rolled his eyes, but didn't try arguing about how using his wereborn strength or senses was totally not a cheat when it came to kicking the other team's behind. "Fine, so which teams actually have positions that you're willing to fill?"
"The Kenmare Kestrels have a keeper position open," James offered, "and rumour is Dowling is thinking to retire soon, so Harry wouldn't be stuck on the reserves long. The Ballycastle Bats have a chaser position open, and they've got a practice scheduled tomorrow morning, so we'll probably check with them first."
"Going Irish on us, I see," Sirius complained good-naturedly.
Harry made a show of rolling his eyes. "Not my fault none of the English or Scottish teams have openings I'd prefer, and the only Welsh team with one won't take me."
"The Harpies are looking for a couple chasers," James explained, and Will and Chris both started snickering, while Harry just shook his head at all of them; their father hadn't been there for Fred and George's little row, but he'd heard about it and had checked into the Harpies just for the laugh.
"I mean–" Sirius started, before laughing when Harry pulled out his wand to point at him.
James leant across the table and gently pushed down on Harry's wand. "The Bats' practice starts at six, if you want to meet us at their stadium," he told Sirius as Harry put his wand away.
"Sure. I can always get up for quidditch."
"We usually prefer to accept Irish nationals," the Bats' manager, Amelia Moore, said when James and Harry approached her at the start of the practice, while the players were doing warm-ups, "but both Thomas, our main keeper, and Logan, our reserve, are Scottish, and it's not like we didn't all go to Hogwarts."
"I didn't," Harry commented. "I'm a squib."
Next to him, James sighed.
Moore looked him up and down with sharp, intelligent eyes. "You've got one of them wands, though," she said, nodding to the sheath on his wrist.
"Dad's an auror," Harry said by way of explanation, and James shrugged and nodded, because while that was hardly the reason Harry'd got his wand, it was the easiest explanation they'd settled on, especially since Harry's wand was a custom design.
Moore quirked a smile at them. "Fair enough." She glanced at the team as the captain, Sorley O'Ryan, called for them to all gather together, then turned back to Harry. "I assume you've played some pick-up games before?"
Harry shrugged. "Sure. We don't usually do a proper game – not enough people – but I used to play keeper all the time, and I've done chaser a fair bit."
"Hm. What's your broom?"
"I grew up with the Nimbuses, but I got a Firebolt for my birthday," Harry admitted.
Moore raised an impressed eyebrow at that and whistled.
"A family friend got it for him," James explained, and Harry was a little impressed that he didn't make a face or trip over the 'friend'.
"Millie, what've we got?" O'Ryan asked as he flew up next to them.
Moore motioned towards Harry. "Kid's looking to join a team. Hasn't played any proper games, but he's got the best broom on the market."
O'Ryan looked Harry over. "What position?"
Harry shrugged. "Chaser."
O'Ryan hummed. "You bring your broom?"
Harry blinked, a little thrown, then turned to his father; after their experience with Puddlemere, they'd expected they'd put his name on the tryouts list and maybe watch a couple of games, see how the team did together.
"Uncle Sirius or I can pop home to pick it up," James offered.
O'Ryan cleared his throat. "How old are you, kid?"
Harry sighed. "Sixteen, but I'm also a squib," he explained, assuming the captain had asked because of the implication that Harry couldn't apparate home himself. "Muggle schooling's a bit looser, in terms of the last two years, and I'm looking to stay in the magical world, anyway. I figure, depending on my grades, I'll either take a couple of college-level classes while finding a place for myself here, or just give up muggle schooling entirely."
O'Ryan grunted. "Millie, lend him one of the spare brooms and some pads. Let's see how you play when you aren't flying top of the market," he said to Harry as Moore turned to collect the required objects.
"Seriously?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
James, though, clapped him on the back and said, "Give 'em hell, pup," before turning to return to the stands.
O'Ryan laughed and turned his broom to join the rest of his team, calling out ahead of himself that they were going to run a test for a chaser hopeful.
Moore held out the pads to Harry with a tired sort of smile. "Sorley pulls this all the time, kid. Thinks that, if you came looking to play quidditch, you best be ready right that moment."
"On second thought," Harry muttered as he quickly strapped on the pads, "maybe I should have stuck with Puddlemere."
Moore snorted. "Those stuck-up pricks? You'd have better luck with the Harpies."
Harry coughed and accepted the Nimbus 2000 she held out to him. "Yeah, that's pretty much the conclusion a couple of my friends came to, too. Thanks," he added, then mounted the broom and flew up to the gathered team.
Colla Donald and Niamh Davies were the two reserve chasers, and they had just about enough time to introduce themselves and get Harry's name, and then O'Ryan declared the quaffle was in play and zipped between them with a wide grin.
It had been a long time since Harry had played a proper game of quidditch, and he'd never played a professional one, but he'd seen plenty of professional games and practices, so he wasn't surprised by how seriously everyone took it.
It was actually kind of refreshing to be playing with professional players, though, because he didn't have to play nice, not like he did with his brothers and the Weasleys. Everyone there was playing with the knowledge that they could be knocked off their broom or take a bludger somewhere unfortunate at any moment, and while Harry was still a little too aware of his own strength, he found himself elbowing and ramming the three frontline chasers the same way they were doing him and the two reserves.
O'Ryan called a halt after the fifth score – the main team were leading, forty to ten – and motioned for Harry to head down to Moore, while the main team and the reserves circled around him.
Harry handed over his borrowed broom and accepted the water Moore traded for it with a grateful, "Thank you."
O'Ryan joined them as Harry was removing the borrowed pads, an odd expression on his face. "Kid, be straight with me, are you were-folk?"
Harry couldn't keep from stiffening, and he hated that tell. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "I should have clarified before getting in the air, sorry; I'm a wereborn werewolf."
O'Ryan and Moore, to both of their credit, didn't react negatively. "So you've got complete control of your change," O'Ryan said, watching him with sharp, intelligent eyes. "No concerns about having to miss a game because of a full moon?"
Harry shook his head. "I've been known to show signs when my emotions are high – claws, teeth, my eyes going gold – but I only have to change when I want to. And I don't suffer the moon madness when I do change."
"Handy, that."
Harry shrugged. "Maybe."
O'Ryan considered that, then jerked his head up towards where the four chasers were tossing a quaffle around above them. "The Doyle siblings," he said, meaning the other two front line chasers, Morgan and Patrick, "have a cousin who got bit. He wanted to play quidditch, same as them, but he's too unpredictable, especially around the full moon."
"Shit, yeah," Harry whispered, because he'd spent enough time around werewolves over the course of his three lifetimes to know how the moon affected them; the cousin was probably quick to anger and too strong the week before the moon, and exhausted and sore for a couple of days after it. "I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry for him."
O'Ryan nodded. "It's a rough hand all around; you're a squib because of being wereborn, right?"
"Unfortunately," Harry agreed.
O'Ryan nodded again, then took a deep breath, and Harry prepared to be told he couldn't join their team. "Look, kid. You're an excellent flyer, and you're not afraid to get rough, I guess because you're a were?"
Harry shrugged. "I've also got two brothers and I've spent a lot of time with the Weasleys."
O'Ryan snorted. "Oh, I've heard about the terror those twins are in the air."
"They're not much nicer on the ground," Harry promised. Though, honestly, Fred and George were only really a problem on the ground when they had pranks to hand.
O'Ryan shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I'll believe it," he muttered, before letting out a sigh and focussing on Harry again. "It's a long time since I saw a hopeful manage to work with the reserve well enough to score a goal; you're exactly the sort of player I'd bring on in a heartbeat."
"But," Harry said quietly.
"But you're young," O'Ryan said, "younger than anyone's ever been let into a league team."
"Wait," Harry heard himself say, "that's what the problem is? My age?"
O'Ryan gave him a wry smile. "Yeah, that's it. I haven't got anything against you being a were, not if it doesn't affect you different based on the moon, and since you can't use magic on the pitch anyway, I don't care if you're a squib. I just can't let an underage player on the team.
"So, here's what we're gonna do. You give your information and all to Millie, here, and you're welcome to practices and games, but until you turn seventeen, I won't be adding you to any rosters, and one of your parents has to be here if you want to be let up in the air. You do your muggle schooling for a year, see how you feel about it, and we'll talk again next summer."
Harry couldn't help but stare at him for a long moment, not completely certain he'd heard him right. He wouldn't have to fight to be allowed on a team? He wasn't being talked down to?
He could play quidditch. Professionally. He just had to wait a year.
"Thank you, sir," he whispered.
O'Ryan snorted. "It's Sorley or Captain, kid."
Harry couldn't quite stop a grin at that. "Sorry, Captain."
O'Ryan nodded to Moore. "Get what you need from him and his... That was your old man?"
"Yeah."
"And he called you 'pup'?"
Harry blinked. "Sure. That's what young wolves are called."
O'Ryan and Moore both laughed, O'Ryan jumping on his broom and returning to the rest of the team without stopping.
"What's so funny about that?" Harry asked Moore.
She shook her head and motioned that they should walk towards where his family was watching from the stands. "Young bats are also called pups."
Harry laughed himself; it seemed as though he really had found the perfect team.
The whole family was excited about the offer to join the Bats in a year, and Harry suffered a celebratory dinner, even though he wasn't, officially, a member of the team.
(Not that that stopped him from sneaking out that night and telling the dark lord all about it. Tom had done a fair bit of rolling his eyes and eventually threatened to hit him with a silencing charm if he didn't shut up. But he'd also sounded honest when he congratulated Harry right before he left to return home, so Harry knew he actually was happy for him.)
James and Sirius, of course, still insisted on going to see the Kestrels' practice during the week. And while they seemed like a pretty okay team, and Dowling was definitely looking like he wanted to retire soon, their manager, Sean O'Kelly, turned them down upfront when he found out Harry was underage, saying, "Come back to tryouts next year, if you really want to join up."
"I guess," James said as they returned to Sirius, Peter, Will, and Chris, "they're a bit more serious about things, since anyone they bring in for the reserve has a pretty good chance of being the full-time keeper sooner, rather than later."
"Or, you know, O'Ryan is just that insane," Sirius pointed out. "Not that it's a bad sort of insane..."
Harry rolled his eyes and settled in to watch the practice.
The Hogwarts booklists and Harry's GCSE scores came on the same day, though the booklists came in the morning, and the scores came with the afternoon post, which wasn't collected until James got home from work that evening.
James wasn't particularly interested in Harry's scores – if he'd had his way, really, Harry would have had as much of a magical education as possible and nothing muggle – but Lily, Hermione, Will, and Chris all crowded around as Harry opened the envelope and pulled out the paper inside.
"As are good, right?" Will asked while Harry stared at the line of mostly As or A*s a bit disbelievingly; he'd been fairly certain he'd done well, but he'd honestly expected to get more than one B, and probably actually a C in religious studies, because he'd made up about half of his answers on that exam.
"As are excellent," Lily insisted, hugging Harry around the shoulders.
"They're as good as Os," Hermione agreed before nudging Harry. "Are you still going to only focus on a couple of subjects for A-Levels?"
"Yeah, especially since I've got a team I can join next year. Figure I'll do as much as I can this year, hopefully sort it so I'm juggling less next year."
"Oh, I suppose."
Harry rolled his eyes at her and she smiled; she'd already announced that she was planning to continue everything except history and astronomy, because she was an overachiever.
"What are you going to continue with?" Chris asked. "Not the religion, right? You hated that class."
Harry grimaced, because it hadn't been a secret that he hadn't enjoyed religious studies, but their local secondary had required it, so he hadn't had a choice. "Definitely not, and not German, either."
"You were cheating with that, anyway," Hermione muttered.
Harry shrugged. "I suppose I could keep up with philosophy and ethics," he said, pointing at the A* next to that class; it had been one of his favourites, despite the disbelieving noises everyone had made when he'd mentioned it. (Something about his shoddy ethical code meaning he shouldn't have liked it any more than he'd liked religious studies.)
Hermione scoffed, while both Will and Chris snickered. "Why don't you ask your partner what he thinks of you keeping on with that one," Hermione suggested drily, and Lily laughed.
Harry snorted, because Tom felt about the same as James when it came to Harry continuing his muggle education. Which was to say, he didn't actually see the point, but had allowed that it was Harry's life and he could waste his free time in whatever way he preferred. "Honestly," he said, "I think I'll just keep on with business studies, economics, and chemistry."
"Not a bad idea, if you're planning to fall back on owning a potions shop," Lily agreed.
"You'll be the most educated shopkeep in the magical world," Hermione muttered, but then she grinned at him.
Harry shook his head. "That just means I'll make more money than the rest of them. Which can only help; plenty of people'll refuse to do business with me, either because I'm a werewolf or a squib."
"Or because of who your partner is," Chris pointed out.
Harry shrugged and nodded. "True enough, once that gets out."
"Yeah, but, by the time you have a shop, you'll have been a quidditch player, so everyone will love you!" Will insisted.
"Well, unless one of you had suddenly developed the Sight," Lily interrupted, "we'll have to wait to see what the future holds. For now, Harry, think about where you want your celebratory dinner to be. And send Uncle Remus a message about your scores, because you know he'll want to know."
"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed, and got up to find his writing supplies.
"Are you going to tell your partner?" Hermione asked as she followed him from the dining room.
Harry shrugged. "I'll tell him I did well, but he probably won't care about the specifics."
"Because it's muggle schooling?"
"Pretty much."
"Well, that's dumb."
Harry snorted and tugged her into a hug. "Yeah, well, that's why I've got you and Mum and Will and Chris and Remus."
"So what's he for?" she asked, sounding a little like she wasn't certain she wanted to know the answer.
"Moral ambiguity."
"I– That doesn't even make any sense!"
Harry laughed and dodged her swat, escaping to his room to write the letter to Remus.
Stand Against the Moon Chapters:
Pro | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12
Nose to the Wind Chapters:
1 - Death Once Again || 2 - Bring Out All the Good Inside Me || 3 - Death and Living Reconciled
4 - Orphan Man || 5 - Using Gentle Words to Shelter Me || 6 - Living on Your Breath
7 - You Just Might Get it All || 8 - Never Want to Come Down || 9 - Only the Silence Remains
10 - Love is a Doing Word || 11 - Nothing Sacred || 12 - The Heart Yearns
13 - Mirrored in Your Stare || 14 - Camouflage Denial || 15 - Precious and Fragile Things
16 - Perfectly Reckless || 17 - Your Arms Feel Like Home || 18 - The Sun Will Set For You
19 - Your Love Has Always Been Enough || 20 - Keep Up This Charade || 21 - Truth Like a Blazing Fire
25 - Summer's Scent Still Lingers || 26 - Burn Out the Stain || 27 - Final Masquerade
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