Over the coming weeks, Ron, Hermione, and I slipped into a pleasant routine. We would wake up in the mornings, get ready in the Gryffindor common room together, and then go down to breakfast. There, we would talk and laugh, thinking about the coming day. Thinking about the exploits of the past night (which were invariably of a thrilling nature).

The time for class would come. Ron and Hermione would wave to me as we parted, and I would wave back, my heart giddy with joy. Each evening, we'd meet again in the Gryffindor common room. We'd relax in front of the fire, thinking of the coming weekend…

It was almost how I imagined complete happiness to be. And with only one small thing missing, I sometimes found myself forgetting about my future plans for marriage, and instead found myself just living in the moment…

One evening in the Gryffindor common room, as I was finishing my Potions essay, Ron brought up a topic that jerked me out of one of my reveries.

"So, Harry," he said. "Have you considered trying out for the Quidditch team?"

"What?"

"Well, you know, I don't think you could play as a Gryffindor, though you practically are one—but the Hufflepuff captain, Cedric Diggory, is holding tryouts this weekend...you could go out."

I thought about this. Quidditch had been one of the things that I had considered doing, back when I was actively plotting to get with Hermione—it seemed like one of the best ways to distinguish myself. To become a superstar. However, lately I hadn't been thinking that way, and it had slipped from my mind…but still...there would come a future time when I would want to start moving in that direction again, and surely this would help my reputation…

"Yeah," I said, warming to the idea. "Maybe I will…"

"Oh, no, Harry!" Hermione said quickly. "Quidditch is dangerous. I read in Hogwarts: A History that several players have died."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, Quidditch isn't that bad. Honestly, what could even happen? Aside from being hit by a bludger, or falling a thousand feet from a broom, or getting your head mistaken for the quaffle and thrown into a goal hoop...there's really no danger at all."

All through Ron's list, Hermione had grown greener and greener. She looked at me. "You don't really want to do it, right Harry? There are so many other things you could do. Like wizard chess club…or wizard Pokemon..."

"Harry doesn't even like chess," said Ron, laughing. "And he's not interested in card games, he wants glory! And Quidditch is how you get that. Am I right, mate?"

I nodded uncertainly. I did want glory, it was...well...glory. And while I was Harry Potter, that wasn't enough…was it? "Do you really think it's that bad, Hermione?" I asked. "I mean, the teachers are watching, it's not like anything awful could happen. Even the stuff Ron mentioned wouldn't kill a person…"

"Yeah, just injure them severely," Hermione muttered.

"Come on, Hermione!" Ron said. "Harry's going to be fine! Anyways, I heard that his father was a great player himself. It's in his blood. And Harry's already taken flying lessons…"

At my wince, Ron raised his eyebrows. "Haven't you?"

"Well, I...flying class is at the same time as Gryffindor History of Magic...and since Professor Binns doesn't care which section I go to...erm…"

Ron sighed. "Well, that would've helped. But still, mate, your father was a great player. And I bet that Dumbledore'll let you break the rules against first years owning brooms, with you being Harry Potter and all…"

Hermione just huffed into her homework, looking irritated. "Well, I just hope that Harry knows what he's getting into," she said.

I hoped the same.


Morning on the day of the Quidditch trials dawned bright and early. I woke up beside Ron and, unable to go back to sleep, I watched the sunrise.

At breakfast, I felt the butterflies begin in my stomach. By the time Cedric Diggory got up from the Hufflepuff table and motioned for any prospective players to follow, my bladder felt like it was the size of an eggcup.

"You'll be great, Harry!" said Ron, as I stood.

Hermione's face was somber. "Good luck," she said.

I snorted, because I believe that acting confident inspires true confidence. "I don't need luck," I said. "I just need—" my bladder shrank even more "—to go to the bathroom. I guess I'll just nip in on the way to the pitch…"

Once in the changing room, I pulled on some spare robes, and sized up the competition. There was a fair turnout—at least several dozen hopefuls had shown up, including a couple of people I recognized from a poster depicting last year's team.

Cedric came over to me. "Harry Potter," he said, grinning. "Good to have you here. Planning to make your old man proud, eh?"

I nodded. "I most certainly am, Cedric. Why, I bet I'll be even better than he ever was. I bet I'll be so incredibly good that I'll make the opposing Beaters faint. I'll make the Chasers plummet out of the sky. I'll make the Seeker go blind!"

"That's the spirit!" Cedric thumped me on the chest. "I'll see you on the pitch."

After he had left, I looked at my narrow broom, and thought about throwing up. I'd be thousands of feet in the air...with nothing to support me if I fell. Why had I done this again?

Glory, I reminded myself. Think of the glory

Out on the pitch, things were bright and my legs were unsteady. However, I tried to stand straight and tall. I gripped my broom tightly in one hand.

"Now, Potter," Cedric told me. "I'm going to let the balls go, to simulate game conditions. Then we're going to do a couple of laps around the field. Nothing fancy, no need to go wild...it's just to warm up, and make sure that everyone is capable of basic flight. Though I'm sure that won't be a problem for you." He winked. He turned to the large broom-carrying crowd that had gathered. "Everyone ready? Set?"

I closed my eyes tightly, gripped my broom with both hands…

Cedric blew his whistle.

I jerked my hands upward. Immediately, I felt a rushing all around me...the wind caressing my face...the warm sun at my back...

After a few moments, excitement started to flood through my body. This wasn't so bad...in fact, this was easy, this was simple, this was wonderful! I whooped, and finally opened my eyes—

Only to find that I was still standing firmly on the ground. The broom was clutched tightly between my hands, off to the side of my body. I had forgotten to mount it.

Several people flying around the pitch had stopped in midair, and were laughing, pointing at me. I felt my face burn. "Shut your mouths, dipsticks!" I yelled. "I bet even you couldn't have defeated Voldemort as a baby!" But they kept at it, not bothering to hide their glee.

I felt rage well in the pit of my stomach. If those little bastards weren't going to stop, then I was going to make them

Without conscious thought, my wand was in my hand, and words leapt, unbidden, to my lips: "Petrificus totalus!" And then— "Incendio—"


After Cedric Diggory had finished putting the fires out and sending several ashen faced players to the hospital wing, he rounded on me.

"Potter!" he snapped, his earlier niceness having vanished. "What the hell was that?"

I tried to think of some excuse, and came up with nothing. So I put on a guilty expression. "I'm really sorry, Cedric," I said. "They were laughing, and I just—lost control—"

"Yeah?" Cedric said. "Do you lose control often, Potter?"

"Umm...no?"

Cedric squinted at me. Finally, he said, "It had better not happen again. Or you're out of tryouts and permanently banned from the team, no questions asked. Do you understand?"

I nodded, still keeping on my guilty face.

Someone—I thought he was called Wallenby—came over and tapped Cedric on the shoulder. "Diggory? Have a look at this." Wallenby held out the Snitch, which had stopped fluttering, and was sitting, lifeless, in his palm.

"Huh." Cedric looked at the now-unmoving golden ball. "And this happened...how?"

"Well, we think that Potter, when he went all—um—"

"Brilliant?" I suggested.

"Yes, that. He hit it with his Petrifying Curse…"

"Huh," Cedric said again. He brought out his wand and cast the countercurse, but nothing happened. "I guess we can play without it for now, and ask Madam Hooch before the next practice…"

"Sure thing, Diggory." Wallenby mounted his broom and flew off. I watched, trying to hide the jealousy that I felt. If only I could fly like that

Diggory put his hand on my shoulder, face softening. "Even if you don't have it in you today, Harry, there's always next year…"

I slowly raised my eyes to his, giving him a glare as cold as ice. "You think I don't have it in me?" I coughed up some phlegm, and spit it into the ground, like I'd seen some sports players do on TV. "Well then, watch this."


The Gryffindor common room that night was filled with the warmth of celebration—or at least, the small corner that Ron, Hermione, and I occupied was. I held up my butterbeer joyously. Ron and Hermione followed suit.

"To me!" I said. "The new Hufflepuff Seeker!"

"To Harry!"

"To my great flying!"

"To his great flying!"

"May he win a million games and not die!"

We clinked glasses, and drank deeply. Or at least, Ron and I did. Hermione simply watched disapprovingly.

Some time later Ron and I emerged, a little bit giddy and very drunk.

"What was it like, Harry? What was it like?" Ron slurred, trying to wipe his upper lip and missing entirely. "When you got it...when you snatched the Snitch out from under the other players' noses? What did Diggory say?"

"Hah!" I said, smiling. "He said...he said…" Suddenly I remembered, and my smile dimmed. "Actually," I said, "Diggory wasn't...he wasn't thrilled…" Dammit. Why couldn't I have forgotten?

Unfortunately, the memories were flooding back, and even in my drunken state, I couldn't stop them from coming…

Despite my best efforts, I hadn't actually managed to get off the ground before the end of the tryouts. Oh, I mounted the broom—did I ever mount it!—but I kept coming back to the simple fact that I was a wingless land animal, meant for the ground. My mind just couldn't handle the idea of going so high up into the air. Sitting on such a thin stick of wood…

However, only two other people had shown up to audition for the Seeker position. One of them was a fourth year girl named Virginia; the other was Cedric (normally the Captain's position would not require an audition, but Hufflepuffs were very into fairness). After my little outburst, Virginia left, saying something about being too busy for Quidditch. And Cedric, upon making the final position decisions, eyed my wand and determined expression. Then he muttered that he would be playing Keeper this year.

Thank goodness that I wasn't in the House of the Brave. Otherwise I would've had another fire on my hands, one that I might not have been able to explain away so easily…

I turned my thoughts away from the Quidditch pitch, and back to Ron, not wanting to let him down. "Cedric said to me… 'Harry...you're going to become...the greatest Seeker...this world has ever seen…'"

"Yeah!" Ron punched at the air, and, drunk as he was, he accidentally made contact with Hermione's nose. "Oh...Herm-Hermione, sorry…"

But from amid a cloud of blood, she smiled at me. "I'm really glad you got in, Harry. Ron and I'll come watch every game…" Then, slightly more quietly, "Even if I do think it's a stupidly dangerous sport."

I smiled back. "Thanks...Hermione. That means—it means a lot."