OF WITCHES AND BROOMSTICKS

Harry's nerves were completely raw as they stepped onto the Quidditch Pitch twenty minutes later. He looked over at Ron and saw a queasy look on his face, like they were about to see the contents of his ham, cheese, zucchini, toast, and ketchup in reverse on the lawn.

"Hey, relax," Harry said, patting Ron on the back. "You've got it in the bag."

They rounded the stands and walked into the pitch. Ron turned white. "Wanna bet?"

It appeared as if the entire Gryffindor House was standing on the pitch, brooms in hand. And there weren't just Gryffindors in the stands watching them, too—dozens of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, even Slytherins had decided to attend.

"We warned you, Harry," said Fred, grinning widely.

George clapped him on the back. "You're famous!"

Harry groaned.

It took just under an hour for Harry to sort through the mess of applicants to the team, but sort through it, he did. The two hundred hopefuls were split into groups of ten and took turns flying around the pitch to show their speed. More than half of them were fairly decent, and Harry had no problem eliminating those that weren't. In a chorus of disappointment, muttered grumbling, and the few snickers, they trooped off the field.

He then sorted them according to the positions they were trying out for, finding to his annoyance that a group of giggling Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were among them. Fred and George found great amusement in this and proceeded to accuse every other applicant as being from the wrong House, from the wrong school, from the wrong country, and even out of the wizarding world entirely.

"Why do they find such pleasure in acting like idiots?" Harry said to Ginny as the twins tried to convince a first-year he was a Squib.

"Because they are idiots," Ginny replied with surety.

"Ah. That would do it," said Harry.

There were close to fifty Chaser hopefuls, most of whom did somewhat well. When it was Ginny's turn to try out, Harry kept getting distracted by the redhead who easily outstripped the others in speed, and knocked seventeen goals to boot. The only other ones who scored better were Katie Bell and another burly seventh-year girl.

"You there!" Harry called to the girl as she landed. "You were brilliant up there. What's your name?"

She was rather tall and muscular, built along the lines of Angelina Johnson. Her hair was pulled tightly back and hung down her spine in a long, black braid, and her eyes were dark and shrewd, reminding him very much of—

"McGonagall,"she said, sticking her hand out. "Maggie McGonagall."

Beside him, Ron choked.

"You mean you're—"

"McGonagall's niece, yeah, I know. I get it all the time," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"Do you get her love of Quidditch as well?" Harry asked, turning Captain.

She gave him a mean grin. "Born and bred!"

He shook her outstretched hand. "Welcome to the team!"

With Ginny Weasley, Katie Bell, and the new Maggie McGonagall as his Chasers, Harry felt his prospects at getting a good team this year begin to look up. Along with his strong, female lead of Chasers, Harry also decided to follow through on Fred and George's advice during lunch on getting reserves for every slot.

"After all, you never know when your Seeker's gonna land himself in the hospital wing just before the final match of the season," George had said.

"Or when your Seeker's gonna lose himself all the bones in his arms for his idiocy," Fred agreed.

"Or when your Seeker's gonna land himself in the mud from falling off his broom in the middle of the game."

"Or when your Seeker's gonna land himself with his fist in another player's face after we've already won—"

"Or when your Seeker's gonna land his fist in one of your faces if you two don't knock it off!" Harry grumbled.

It was a harder decision, but he finally settled on a fifth-year named Demelza Robbins who had proved to be good at dodging Bludgers; a boy called Troy Porter who scored quite well; and surprisingly, Dean Thomas, who'd flown and scored almost as good as Ginny.

The Reserve Chasers now sorted out, Harry turned his attention onto Beaters. Luckily, there weren't nearly as many trying out for this slot. Before he could get them into the air, however, Fred and George insisted on sizing them all up.

"You call yourselves Beaters?" George barked, walking in front of them, hands behind his back.

"More like a bunch of hopefuls for the Weird Sisters, if you ask me," said Fred in disdain, walking around behind them.

Harry and Ron bit back snickers as several of them stood up straighter and stuck their noses higher in the air.

"You're far too skinny…"

"This one's no good, his arms are too long—"

"Tiny feet on this one—"

"—Too chubby. He'd never get off the ground—"

"This one needs a hair trim—do we look like the Magical Menagerie to you?"

They came to a stop in front of the last two, a boy and a girl standing side by side.

"Twins," George grunted. "Much better."

Remembering something Professor Jones had said during their walk up from the train to Hogwarts, Harry looked closer at the last two and saw that they were right. Tobias and Alexandra Rosier both had long, dark, curly hair just like their aunt, and their faces sported matching impish looks.

"You!" Fred roared from behind the girl. "What's the best way to attack an opponent from below?"

"Keep a weather eye, use the blunt end to punt, and feet up for balance, sir!" she shouted back.

George rubbed his chin. "Insightful…and I don't suppose you can tell me the results of last year's Wanderers and Arrows match, boy?"

"The Wanderers were leading four hundred fifty to the Arrows' own three hundred, when Arrows seeker Hutchinson stole the Snitch out from under their skirts and the match resulted in a tie, sir!" said Tobias Rosier.

The other applicants were looking at both sets of twins, impressed, but Fred and George weren't done yet.

"The Caerphilly Caterpillars," said Fred quietly, scrutinizing both from in front. "In '91, they pranked their opponents' team so hard, it went down in The Mischievous Matchmakers book as the dirtiest deed to date. Name that prank!"

Tobias and Alexandra exchanged whispers.

"The clock is ticking," said George.

"I've got it! The Caterpillars pranked the Harpies by slipping them Love Potion before the game!" said Tobias Rosier. "And during the play, the witches were tailing them and giving them points on purpose, in love with the lot of them—"

"—and nobody knew what had happened until the match ended and Gwenog Jones cried out to the entire stadium that Keeper Leonard Codsworth was the best shag she'd ever had—" Alexandra Rosier continued.

"—and then she mounted his broom and started snogging him right there!" Tobias crowed.

"That is correct!" George shouted. "Everyone give a hand to our new successors!"

There was a confused smattering of applause as Fred closed his eyes, raised his hands, and gave a brief prayer of thanks to the Quidditch God.

Once the twins (and Harry, who had still made them fly and knock a few Bludgers about) were satisfied, Tobias and Alexandra Rosier became the new Gryffindor Beaters.

"Ah!" said Fred, collapsing in the chair beside Harry. "Knew they'd win!"

Harry furrowed his brow. "How'd you know that?"

"Because we taught them everything we know about the skillful art of Beating," said George conversationally. "They've been practicing with us since their first year. We rehearsed this scene just for you, did you know? The pause and the huddle at the end was just for special effects."

"Totally my idea," Fred whispered to Harry.

From her perch in one of the highest seats in the stands, closest to the Gryffindor goal posts where she could see Ron better, Hermione watched as the try-outs progressed. She knew it was bound to be long and boring, so she brought her Ancient Runes essay with her.

She looked up from her book to see Harry lining up a bunch of big, burly Gryffindors. Ron was among them, looking ashen-faced and gripping his broomstick tightly.

"Come on, Ron, you can do it," she muttered.

Beside him was a seventh-year Hermione knew to be Cormac McLaggen, the Head Boy. Her hand tightened around her wand as she remembered hearing him talk just before try-outs about Ron and Ginny. She had been walking just behind him onto the field and heard him boast about how he was going to kick Ron out of the position, he was so good.

But he didn't stop there. He had to go around insulting Ron for the next twenty minutes. Heavens above, if he wasn't the Head Boy…if I weren't a prefect…

So what if you're a prefect? said the voice in her head that sounded like Ron. You can do it…no one has to know…and wouldn't it be fun getting back at him for saying those things about Ron? About Ginny? Do it for them. And if you do it right, it'll make sure he doesn't get the Keeper spot…

But she couldn't do it, she was a prefect, he was a Head Boy, and it wouldn't be fair...

The Keeper applicants flew up into the air after Harry's whistle. Ron would be trying out first—it seemed Harry thought by doing him first there would be less time for Ron's nerves to settle after watching the rest perform—and flew straight to the goalposts. The three female Chasers threw ball after ball at him, and Hermione saw him save one after the other. At the far end of the pitch the reserve Chasers were trying out a large, heavyset girl for Keeper.

Cormac McLaggen, meanwhile, was flying around the pitch with one of his mates, working out before it was his turn. As they came circling around Hermione's corner of the field, she heard him talking.

"—believe you me, I always knew I'd be Head Boy and Gryffindor Keeper my senior year," he was saying. "Although I wanted to be Quidditch Captain, too…but you'll never know when Potter finally pulls the plug…he's almost died every year he's been here, maybe this year those Death Eaters will succeed—"

Hermione's lips tightened. In front of her, Ron could obviously hear them too, for his ears suddenly turned red.

Just ignore him. Just ignore him. Just ignore—

"—thought I'd be top of the year too, but did you know that Granger scored higher on her exams than any of the N.E.W.T. students? Mind you, the O.W.L.s aren't nearly as hard…but she is quite a catch, you know…I certainly wouldn't mind if she wanted to do me next when she's done with Weasley and Potter…ha, I bet you I could shag her before Christmas—"

Her face reddened, and her hands shook. Ignoring him was no longer an option. By the goalposts, Ron slipped and missed his first goal.

"—what is the deal between her and them anyway? I don't know why she hangs out with them, they're not even good-looking. Especially Weasley, with his red hair and freckles…and have you seen how he's always bumbling around? What an oaf—it's surprising he's lasted as long as he has, being Potter's mate. You'd think by now the Death Eaters would have offed him. I heard my dad say he was almost a goner in the Department of Mysteries. Pity he wasn't—"

Hermione lost it. Her wand was out and the thought was formed before she even realized it, and a non-verbal spell went shooting straight towards McLaggen.

"Her-mione?"

She jumped as Viktor Krum appeared beside her. "Oh! V-Viktor! Have you…erm…have you come to watch the try-outs, then?"

"Yes, I haff been vanting to see how Potter does as Captain. Are you here for him as vell?" he said, sitting beside her.

"For Ron, mostly," she said, "He's up there, it looks like he's just finished trying out. He's just really nervous, and he's never played well with nerves…"

Viktor grunted.

Hermione heard Harry call McLaggen's name, and the Head Boy shot up to the goalposts in a rather zigzag manner, nearly bashing into Ron. Viktor furrowed his brow, watching as McLaggen missed the first two saves, then turned to look at Hermione.

"You know, that…erm…spell that you did to stop Peeves at the start of term," she said abruptly, voice high. "I've never seen anything like it. What's it called?"

Before he could answer, a black owl swooped down and landed on his lap.

"Oh, he's gorgeous. Is he yours?" Hermione asked.

Viktor reached out to pet it. It made a soft noise in its throat from the touch, but its sharp, calculating eyes stayed on Hermione.

"Yes," he said. "His name is Kiril. In mine country, ve are haffing many owls as our pets."

She reached out a hand to pet the bird when Kiril nipped at her finger. Viktor said something sharply in Bulgarian and his bird flew off, looking wounded.

"I am sorry, Her-mione. He doesn't take vell to strangers."

"No, no, it's fine…"

"Here…let me," Viktor said, taking her hand. He gently put her finger in his mouth, never taking his eyes off hers, and gently kissed her finger.

By now, the other Keepers had tried out. Harry announced Ron as the Gryffindor Keeper, yet again, and Cormac McLaggen sulked in the corner, red in the face. Hermione, however, wasn't paying attention. When Viktor was done, neither of them pulled away. All she could concentrate on was his hand in hers and his eyes on hers…

And all of a sudden, Hermione rather forgot to go congratulate Ron on becoming Keeper.

"Harry! Harry! Did you see me up there? Was I great or what? Well, I did miss that one save, but—where's Hermione? Was she watching? Wait, where's she gone?" said Ron after try-outs.

Harry looked up. He had just given his new Quidditch team and the reserves—who included the foul-mouthed Cormac McLaggen as reserve Keeper—his first speech as Captain. As was usual for them, Fred and George kept making remarks all through it that made the team laugh at them instead of paying attention to what Harry was saying. He didn't know how he had put up with five years of them before, and he suddenly felt sorry for Ron having to live with them.

As it was, no one trying out for the slot of Seeker reserve came even close to how good Harry had been, even in his first year, and he decided to go without a reserve.

"Fine. It's your splinching," Fred had said before he and George walked back to Hogsmeade.

Harry shrugged it off. He had gotten through five years as Seeker with no reserve so far. Granted, they had lost once or twice because of it, but there were no dementors hanging around this year, and no Voldemort dressed in a turbin to make him lose consciousness.

And besides. There are more important things than winning.

He stopped. Did I just say that? Oh, Ron would kill me if he heard…

"Last I saw, she was walking off the field with Viktor Krum. He was watching you, did you know?" said Harry. If he thought Ron would beam at this, however, he was dead wrong. At once, the smile slid off his friend's face and he scowled.

"Why was he here?" he said moodily.

"…well, he is the Quidditch teacher and referee. It makes sense he would be at all the Houses' try-outs. He only arranged them," said Harry.

Ron only grunted in answer and left for the dressing rooms, leaving Harry to clean up the mess. The rest of the team and the reserves trooped off the field, and Harry started to put the Quidditch balls away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny break away from Dean Thomas and Katie Bell to come and join him.

"You were really brilliant today, Harry," she said, joining him in rounding up the school brooms.

Harry colored. "Er…thanks."

"I think you'll make a great captain. You were always good at teaching people. Have you thought about coming back to teach at Hogwarts after you graduated? We could always use a Defense professor—after that curse is broken, of course," she added hastily.

Harry nodded, remembering what Professor Jones had said about the position. "Ever since I heard my dad was an Auror, I've wanted to be one. Ron fancies himself as one too, you know," he said.

Together they wrestled the two Bludgers into the crate, then Harry locked it shut.

"It's great that the D.A. is going to be a part of the whole school now," said Ginny, casually. "So how is…erm…how are things going with you and Cho Chang anyway?"

"Not good, seeing how we left things last year," Harry replied. "I saw her in the hall today. She couldn't even look at me."

Ginny clucked in sympathy.

Harry looked sideways at her. "So how're…how're things with Dean?"

There was a growl in his stomach at the mention of Dean Thomas that had nothing to do with hunger.

"Oh…fine…just fine…" said Ginny, growing pink.

There was an uncomfortable silence as they started walking back to the Gryffindor locker rooms. By the time they got there, everyone had already changed out of their robes and left, leaving the room unlit. There was still a silence between them after they had changed into their regular clothes and were heading back up to the castle.

Harry was idly looking into the Forbidden Forest on his right, when he suddenly stopped.

Gleaming eyes…a black dog…

"Harry? What is it?"

"I…I...I thought I saw…" Harry stammered, still staring. But when he blinked, it was gone. Just a trick of the light.

"You thought you saw…?" Ginny prompted.

"It…it's stupid," said Harry, shaking his head to get the image out of it. "You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Try me," said Ginny, stubbornness audible in her voice.

"I…" Harry sighed. "I thought I saw Padfoot, okay? I must be seeing things. I know he couldn't really be there…just, nevermind. It's ridiculous."

"That's not ridiculous. Or stupid. Not even in the least. I know it's not the same, but when I was little my uncle Bilius lived with us for a while. He was like Fred and George, always good for a laugh, and he got along well with everyone." She smiled, remembering. "I was always his favorite, because I was the only girl. He played with me when the others went off to Hogwarts, and taught me and Ron quite a few tricks to play on Fred and George…and when he died it was like this big part of me went missing with him."

She hesitated, then continued. "That's when I first saw him in the orchard. I went running to Mum about it, she thought I had just fallen asleep, but it kept happening. Mum and Dad were about this close to committing me to St. Mungo's for a while because I saw him everywhere. It couldn't have just been that he was a ghost because nobody else saw him. I still don't know why it happened. Maybe I was just too little to understand what death meant. But believe it or not, it happens all the time…people seeing the ones they lost even when they know they're dead. It's not stupid. It just…is."

Harry looked at her. He didn't know what he had been expecting from her. Hermione would have given him sympathy, and he didn't want to be pitied. Ron would have shuffled his feet and pretended he hadn't heard, and Harry didn't want to be ignored either.

But Ginny…she understood. And that helped more than anything.

"I just feel so guilty," he suddenly burst out. "All the time. It just…kills me, knowing that he died because of me. That it's my fault he isn't here. And there are times I forget he's dead and I'm laughing with you guys and then I remember, and it's like feeling that if I ever have fun or laugh again, it's…it's abusing his memory that he saved our lives and we're not even remembering him for it. And this isn't the only time I've seen him, too. There was once over the summer at Diagon Alley, and then twice at the Burrow, and...and on the train, too. It just…it feels like I'm going insane. It feels like he's doing this to torment me, to tell me that it's my fault, and he's going to haunt me as a Grim until…until I die in this war too."

He finished ranting, and it suddenly felt so good to get it off his chest, even when he'd never spoken of this to anyone before. And it suddenly felt right that it was to Ginny Weasley, of all people. But now that it was said, he wondered what she was going to think of him now, knowing the truth about how he felt…

She stayed silent until he was done, eyes scanning his face. Finally, she said, "Harry…you don't really think he's the Grim, do you?"

Out of relief more than humor, Harry laughed.

"No, really, I mean it," she continued. "He's not trying to haunt you to death, Harry. You see him in his Animagus form because that's what you're familiar with…not because he wants you to die from seeing him. Don't you get it? He's proud of you! For everything you've done, for being your father's boy, for wanting to follow in his footsteps, for excelling at Quidditch…of course he'd want to be with you! Of course he'd be here on the grounds for you. You know him. He wouldn't leave your side for anything. Not even death."

"But why isn't he mad at me?" Harry said. "After everything I did—"

"That's why he isn't mad at you. It's because of everything you did. You put yourself in danger just to go save him when you thought he was dying. He's like a father to you. And you're like a son to him. That's why he put himself in danger to go save you. It's how he wanted to die, you know. I overheard him and Lupin talking at Grimmauld Place that winter. He said that if there was one way he wanted to go, it was while saving you. He died fulfilling that dream, Harry. He died not because of you, but because of what you mean to him," she said softly, looking up at him.

A small smile appeared on Harry's face at this.

It was this, more than anything that anyone had said over the summer that helped Harry get over his godfather's death. He felt a calmness wash over him at her words as well as a new scent—that of something warm and red and smelling of flowers. It made him feel giddy inside and he barely noticed that they were walking closer together.

All he knew was that he never wanted this feeling to go away—not even when he was thinking of the war, or of Voldemort, or of how they were supposed to kill each other in the end. He only knew that at this moment, no matter what happened, everything was going to be all right.

And it was because of this that Harry Potter told Ginny Weasley about the prophecy.