He had to admit, from ground level the pitch looked pretty impressive. He spent most of his time well above the pitch, looking down on it, and the center circle seemed a blur, the house pennants just distractions. But sitting in the stands, talking things over—that was different.
"Now, I don't mean to jump the gun," said Lestye with a smile. "But a little bird has told me you don't necessarily need to stick around here for your N. E. W. T.s if you'd rather be...elsewhere."
He nodded, smiling. "Yeah. I...I mean, I'll certainly have a lot more to learn, studying up on my own, I don't want you to think I'm just trying to drop out. But in terms of what I can learn in a classroom, here...past a point, I think I'm ready."
Lestye replied in kind. "Good. I—you certainly fly like you are, let's put it that way," and they shared a laugh.
"I mean, my mum's worried, what if I got injured and—you know, obviously there's never been an incident. But what if?"
"No, no, she's—it's good someone's looking out for you! Right. Well, you know it's a small world, ours, and even if some gits think Quidditch is just a game, well, it's a good earner and there are a lot of teams for our population. So even if something went wrong and you had to miss a season or two, you could still probably walk into at the very least, any of the reserve teams, when you got back."
"Yeah. And, if for some reason I couldn't play—"
"At all? Well, there's the Department, obviously. Magical Games and Sports. We look after our own, you know, there'd be a place for you there."
He smiled, relieved, and tried not to imagine sitting at a desk all day. "That's good. Yeah."
"Any other questions I can answer?"
"Er," he blushed. "N...not really."
"Are you sure? It'll just be between us, don't worry."
He looked around, at the empty pitch, and finally blurted. "What about international duty? Don't just say "oh someday," I know I'm not good enough yet, but, just in general, what's that process like, do the clubs get upset..."
Lestye broke into a hearty laugh. "Yet? Chin up, sport, we'll have you ready for ninety-four, you'll see."
He gaped. Surely he didn't mean... "Ninety-four?"
"Cup's coming home in another cycle. On—well, above, as it were—home soil. Hawksworth'll be back, of course, Choudry and Montbriant with the bats I should reckon. You'll have a bit more experience under your belt, but won't have grown too large you'll fall off your broom. Look, kid, I don't say this to everyone, you know I don't, we're trying to build a championship side. This isn't flattery, I want you to be part of it."
"...You're mental," he could only stammer. "Starting for England? This soon?"
"Oh, trust me, it won't feel like soon. You'll want to be practicing first, it's hard work. But the best work there is."
He nodded, numb, trying to take it in, trying to understand any of it, and finally just blurted "Hawksworth?"
"Aye, he'll be captain then if I've retired. Think I've got a few more years left in me."
"That's awfully early to know for sure. Isn't he—I mean, by then won't he be a bit old?"
"Well, a bit. But no matter."
"And if someone else comes around by then—there's half a dozen who could probably oust him. Travers, Livingstone, Wakefield..."
"Wakefield?"
"With the Magpies, by the time callups come around she could probably fly rings around Hawksworth."
"Aha. Yes. Well, of course, there are lots of considerations to selecting a lineup."
"Oh of course! Don't mind me, blimey, I don't want to argue with you." A few words here and there and it was too easy to forget he was talking with Puck Lestye. Puck Lestye wanted to talk Quidditch with him!
"Oh, there's no harm done. You'll just come to learn, as you play in the league, the Three Griffins...they're about more than just seven of us in the air, you understand? They represent all of England, all of English wizardkind."
He nodded. "But I'm just a sixth-year, I, I can't do any of that."
"Oh, poppycock. Listen, do you happen to have a Squib for a wife?"
"A Squib? For a wife? What are you playing at, I'm barely of age!"
"Of course you're not. See, I know that was a silly question. Now here comes another, watch. Don't be scared. Do you happen to have a Squib husband?"
"Er. No. I, I'm not exactly sure what people are going on about when they talk about falling in love and all, I don't, you know, fancy any blokes right now. Or girls either."
"Not to worry, sport, you're perfectly fine, see? Already ahead of Madam Wakefield."
He blinked. "Come again?"
"Well, you're still doing your honorable family name proud. Haven't gotten hitched to a Squib."
He must have misheard. "So...Wakefield can't make the team because she married a Squib?"
"Now, now, it's not nearly so straightforward, goodness knows. All might change in four years' time, you know that, but, Hawksworth comes from good stock, has served the game well. He'd be a strapping choice for the captaincy, is all I'm saying."
"Good stock?"
"Well, you know, his mother, Laetitia Prince, captained the sixty-six side. What a Seeker that woman was. Got to see her play in the testimonial for Mulroney...blimey."
"Not the side that got tipped out by Hungary in the second round?"
Lestye blushed. "I see you appreciate your history. Very good. It'll serve you well, you understand, as you get to know people...not that you need to understand it all right away of course."
He nodded. "I...I think I understand enough. Thank you for coming out here."
"Oh, it's always a privilege to come back to Hogwarts. Nowhere else like it."
He broke into a smile. "None indeed."
He escorted Lestye to the gate—if it hadn't been for the excited owls they'd already interchanged, he would have asked for his autograph. Instead, he made his way back to Gryffindor tower, collapsed on his bed, dug out a parchment, and addressed it to the Romanian dragon sanctuary.