Chapter 11: Trials and Tribulations

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For Harry, the strangest part of having his parents around was how quickly the situation came to feel normal. Of course, the experience never stopped being strange; their every interaction, however mundane, was underpinned by a sense of wonder, an urge to pinch himself, and an inability to take this for granted. Harry suspected, however, that this would be their normal – for how could he ever take for granted something he had yearned for his whole life?

What could be said, as the days blurred into a week and a week into two, was that Lily and James Potter fit themselves into life at Grimmauld Place like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

'The Potters', as the three were soon affectionately termed, quickly fell into their own easy routine.

In the mornings, they joined Molly and the other teenagers in the rigorous cleansing of various rooms, happy for the chance to feel useful and for the distraction of manual labour. The work passed quickly to the stream of tales told by the teenagers. Harry, for instance, told cheerfully of their first-year misadventures with Norbert the dragon, whilst Ron had the room in fits of laughter at the destruction of the Dursley's living room the previous summer.

Over lunch, Lily, James and Sirius would share stories of their own, from school and the few years beyond. Harry quickly deemed this his favourite time of day, basking in the carefree ease with which the old friends laughed and bickered.

It was at lunch on the third day that the topic of Quidditch was first broached. Sirius was sharing a particularly exciting match from their fourth year in which one of the Slytherin chasers had grabbed the tail of James's broom, holding tight all the way to goalpost.

"We had a match like that!" Harry had interrupted suddenly. "Malfoy pulled my broom. We still won 230-20 though."

James nearly fell off his stool in his haste to face his son.

"Do you play quidditch?" he breathed, eyes alight.

"Does he play quidditch?" echoed the twins incredulously, before Harry could respond. "He made the team in his first year!"

James' eyes were saucer wide.

"No!" he exclaimed, slapping the table in glee. "I was scared to even ask! You're really that good?"

Harry hesitated only briefly, before deciding modesty was pointless. He nodded smugly.

"I've seen him play, mate" Sirius offered, clapping Harry on the back. "He might even be better than you".

"Hogwarts' youngest seeker in a century" chimed Hermione, unexpectedly.

"And probably the only ever to have caught the snitch with his mouth," added Ron.

James shook his head, unable to help himself.

"Actually," he corrected, "Hansen did it for Puddlemere in '73".

"You always were a total swat when it came to quidditch," Sirius grunted fondly. "A bigger nerd than Remus."

James slapped him away and ruffled Harry's hair. "And look what's come of it". The pride in his face set Harry's heart soaring.

Breakfast the following morning brought two pieces of post for the Potters. The first was the anticipated court summons, which announced that Harry's hearing had been set for a date one week hence. The second, more remarkable, piece was a heavy brown package, flown carefully down to the kitchen by the majestic, fire-plumed Fawkes. It was addressed to the Potters in Dumbledore's elegant script, and opened to reveal the professor's large, ornate pensieve.

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