Intended

[twenty four]

Quidditch team tryouts are held when there is an opening left by a departing seventh year. This year, there is only one opening on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but that does not stop almost every boy (and quite a few girls, too) from second year on from signing up for the tryouts.

James Potter's name is third on the list.

The two boys before him are both in sixth year; Sirius has to keep himself from laughing because they both fly like idiots. Next to him, a second-year girl tuts loudly as one of the boys tries to pull out of a steep dive, only to knock himself headfirst into the ground.

‘Showoff,' she mutters, tucking her long red hair behind her ears, and Sirius chuckles.

‘I take it you're not a Quidditch fan, Evans,' he says.

‘No, not really,' she replies distractedly.

When James walks out onto the pitch, Sirius stands and waves wildly to him even though he knows that James will not wave back. James is as confident as ever; he walks with smooth, measured strides over the grass, indifferent to the alternate cheers and jeers that come his way from the students watching him. He mounts his broom and waits for the whistle to be blown, then he is off, shooting from the ground to the sky and into the thick of the game in progress.

Sirius marvels at the grace with which James flies; he himself is a good flier, but lacks the reflexes for Quidditch or the plain love of the air that James seems to have. The broom seems weightless, his motion nothing more than a blur as he speeds down after a quaffle one of the players has tossed to the ground. As he pulls out of the dive, the quaffle is tucked firmly under his arm and Sirius cheers, his voice rising with the whoops and yells of the other Gryffindor students. James does not stop, though, he simply goes on with the game, weaving in and out of the other players' paths in a dance with the air. He is not bothered by the bludgers that pelt towards him, or aware, it seems, of the players trying to unseat him; he moves in to score, the quaffle soaring through the middle hoop as the Keeper barely misses it by inches.

Sirius sneaks a glance at the girl on his right. She seems to be grudgingly impressed by James's performance, clapping politely with the rest of the crowd but the mild look of disgust on her face returning as James returns to the ground and bows low.

But he couldn't care. He feels incredibly happy and content to just sit and watch the tryouts, replaying James's game in his mind, because he knows that his friend will get on the team. He is proud of James, and it's a wonderful feeling, so different from the pride he has in himself. It is a feeling that is so odd and misplaced, but pleasantly startling…

He has always looked on Regulus with disdain; he has never had a reason to be proud of him. He has never had anyone to feel proud for…

But today, Sirius can feel his heart swell with pride for James; he glows with the same pride he would feel for a brother.

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