Disclaimer: I don't own any of the following characters, Quidditch or anything like that. They are all the property of JK Rowling.
"Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt."
– William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, 1.4
Our Doubts are Traitors
The stadium was huge. Harry cringed as he saw the various colours of the supporters, separated from each other to show the rivalry between the two teams. The grounds looked even bigger after being in the small changing room, and the stands taller. Oliver Wood and the twins seemed suddenly to grow in size too; looming above him and making him feel so much smaller. He was no way prepared for this – and the fact he was the only first-year on the pitch offered him no comfort. No one else had been through this before, had they?
The first of many doubts began to invade his mind. Surely catching Neville's remembrall had been an incredibly lucky fluke? Yet McGonagall had been convinced it was natural talent, a skill, or something like that. Well, it didn't look that way to Harry.
And somehow McGonagall had convinced Oliver Wood that Harry was talented enough to play for Gryffindor,as the seeker, the only player enabled to end the game. Not only was Harry the youngest person to ever play on a Quidditch team at Hogwarts, the entire outcome of the game rested on his shoulders. No pressure, he thought sarcastically.
He felt movement around him, and suddenly his team members were mounting their brooms. Was it that time already? Harry cursed silently. He was hoping there would be some sort of distraction seconds before the game began, some sort of delay. But no – it seemed everything was in working order.
They emerged one by one onto the pitch, amidst the cheers and jeers from the crowd. Harry felt so vulnerable, despite the heavy Quidditch robes he was wearing. Desperate to catch sight of a familiar face, he scanned the stands for Ron, Neville – even Hermione. He saw Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan in one stand, madly waving a Gryffindor scarf and jumping up and down. Ron would be around there somewhere –
"Come on, Harry!" Fred called as he whizzed past him – or was it George? Harry couldn't tell. He shook his head to rid himself of the nausea, and tried to focus on what was happening in the game. Oliver Wood had just shaken hands with the captain of the other team, and all players were airborne. This was it.
Madam Hooch raised something to her mouth, and it took a while for Harry to register it was a whistle. He nearly laughed out loud – anything to take his mind off his nerves – for the fact she was using a whistle. Something his old games teacher would have used to call a foul in a football match, or a dinner lady might have used to try and break up a fight. But in a wizarding school, a school of wands, magic and goodness-knows-what-else, they were using a whistle to start a game of Quidditch?
Harry knew he was drifting and thinking a load of rubbish, but he couldn't help it. At home with the Dursleys, it had been his natural defence against them to not think about it, try not to let them aggravate him. And here he was, applying the same rules to a terrifying game of Quidditch, and it wasn't working. He was pretty sure he'd seen a glint of gold about the pitch at least twice, but he was too scared to follow it up.
This was not good. Ignoring the problem was not going to help him solve it – what did he have to be scared of anyway?
Just the fact you're the youngest player to ever be on a Hogwarts Quidditch team, said a nagging voice at the back of his mind. Harry tried to push it away. You're the seeker. The whole game is down to you. Shut up, Harry thought. The seeker is usually the player to get the most injured.
"Stop it!" Harry gritted through his teeth, and gripped tighter on his broom. Somehow he'd drifted right over to the hoops during his mental argument, and Oliver was sending worried glances over in his direction.
"You all right, Harry?" He enquired, while constantly watching the quaffle. Harry started – he didn't realize he'd said that out loud.
"Er – yeah, fine." Harry stuttered. He tried to appear calm and completely sure of himself, but judging by the strange looks Oliver was still giving him, he wasn't having much success. Deciding lurking around his team captain and making a fool of himself wasn't really helping anyone, he left and began to search for the snitch.
Five minutes passed, then ten. Where was that darned ball? He could see the other keeper darting around the other players, searching for the snitch, as well. Maybe that was good, Harry thought. He didn't know where it was either. Then again, Harry didn't have a clue about Quidditch tactics – how did he know what was right or wrong? A month ago he'd never even heard of the bloody game, and to think right now he was representing 200 kids at Hogwarts –
Stop thinking like this! Harry saw with horror that another two minutes had passed. He'd never get the snitch if he carried on drifting off like this. If he kept this up, he'd daydream his way through the entire match, and would probably still be wondering whether he should be playing while the other seeker was holding up the snitch in triumph. If, he hastily corrected himself. Think positive, that's what people say you should do, isn't it? That's what all the posters around his previous school screamed out at him, but since when had he done anything that school had told him to do?
Suddenly he saw it – not a flash of gold, not a big hand or arrow pointing towards it, just a quick flash. It could have been someone's watch reflecting the sun for all he knew, but he decided to check it out anyway. That's it, he thought; pretend this is just another practise. That there's a tennis ball, and Oliver's just told you to go and get it. Harry tried to erase all the players from his vision except for Oliver, and took himself back to their practises. There. Easy.
As he got closer, his suspicions were confirmed. That was it! The snitch! Now all he had to do was catch it. Was that all there was to it? It was so easy…
Then Harry realised his mistake in powering towards it the way he did. The other seeker had noticed and was now hot on his tail, having seen the snitch himself. Darn, Harry thought. First I can't do it, then it's too easy, and then I mess up. Why did I have to start doubting anyway?
That was all it came down to in the end. As Harry stood in the middle of the pitch, holding the snitch in utter surprise, he tried to make sense of the last few minutes. So, in the end, he'd caught it. Why? Fluke?
But two flukes in a row – that seemed a bit coincidental. And Oliver had said he was good at the practise. And he had just won his first ever game of Quidditch – in his first year. Surely that had to count for something?
So it did all come down to doubting himself. One thing lead to another, and in the end - In the end they'd won. He'd pushed all other thoughts out of his head and concentrated on the snitch and losing his opponent. And caught it.
OK, so maybe he wasn't that bad a player.
This was my first ever HP fic! Let me know what you thought... and thanks to Elledreamer, my beta! Much appreciated!
Spinky :D