You're a protagonist Harry
Chapter 15 – Sports ball
…
"It's tomorrow! I can't believe it's already tomorrow!"
Harry looked at the excitable ginger in bleary eyed confusion. Mornings. It should be illegal for a day to start so early. "What's tomorrow Ron?"
"Quidditch tryouts!" he squealed in girlish… ehem, I mean MANLY glee.
It was Saturday morning, only a few days since their first flying lesson and Harry stared at the notice with understandable skepticism.
"Ron, I know you said you wanted to try out, but let's be real here. We just learned to fly," and given a chance to see how Clementine handled a broom, it showed just how much they still had to learn.
"Aw come on Harry. You said you would. What's the harm in trying?"
Given the activity involved took place several stories off the ground, the chance for harm was not small. His tone also didn't help because it made Harry want to slap him across the face, but the ginger was spared that fate and instead forced to suffer another.
"You know that sort of whining is very unbecoming," said the bushy-haired girl primly as she trotted down the stairs from the girl's dorms.
Never a man to take a tongue lashing lying down, "Maybe we aught to have her try out too."
"Not in this lifetime!"
"Well, that's okay," he said with a victorious smirk, "you can always be a cheerleader instead. Course we'll have to do something about that disaster on top of your hea—ay! Owch! Knock it—ow! Ow! No! Gah! Mercy! Mommy!"
It was a testament to his survival instinct he managed to remain perfectly still till the maiming of Ron Weasley was complete and the angry lioness had stomped from the common room in a superior huff.
"I hate to say this mate, but you totally deserved that."
"Who's side'r you on?" Ron whimpered weakly from the floor.
Harry resisted the urge to snigger, "Just sayin. If you're going to antagonize her, you have to be ready to accept the consequences."
"I don't like consequences," he groaned, peeling himself from where she'd plastered him to the floor with the big, heavy book she was carrying. "Pretty sure that was a different book than she was carrying around yesterday."
"Probably trying to go through the whole library before the end of term." He wouldn't put it past her to try.
"Yeah, so, anyway… what were we talking about?"
"Breakfast," said Harry, changing the subject.
"NO! Quidditch," said Ron, changing it right back. "Come on Harry!"
He hated the whining, he really did, but since the ginger had already been beaten soundly the urge to do so himself was no longer there, now it was just the desire to make it stop, and there seemed only one way to do that.
He didn't know if he wanted to, he'd never been keen on sports, but if the options were saying yes or listening to him whine some more, and the worst that could happen was serious bodily harm, well, "Alright, fine! We'll try out for the Quidditch team."
"WOOHOO!"
"Oh boy," the green-eyed wizard groaned. "I just know I'm going to regret this."
His opinion on the matter hadn't changed by the following afternoon when what looked to be a full quarter of the house turned up to try out, while the rest sat up in the bleachers to watch, and gawk.
"Because this is how I wanted to spend my Sunday afternoon," Harry grumbled to the perfectly oblivious Ron who looked like he might take off any second without the assistance of a broomstick.
"Isn't it great!"
Harry just shook his head, "There'll be no reasoning with him now," he mused as a muscular looking third year walked to the front of the crowd and began to address them.
"Afternoon! Thank you all for coming out today. For those that don't know, my name is Wood, I'm the Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain!"
"Impressive," said Harry, "All four words capitalized and an exclamation point at the end."
"Today we'll be trying out all positions for our second string except Keeper, and one position in first string. That position being, Seeker!"
The crowd cheered, Ron loudest of all. Harry, not being a die-hard fan, or even a low-level initiate, watched with understandable caution. Everyone knew how rowdy soccer hooligans could be and these quidditch people didn't look so different.
"Since I see a good number of first years, let me just go over the rules real quick. Three hoops at each end of the field, you score by putting this Quaffle, through the opponent's hoops."
The large red ball had several odd indents but was otherwise unremarkable. "Probably hand holds or something."
"Fred, George!" he shouted to the nearby gingers before turning back to the crowd. "These nasty buggers are bludgers," the two balls shot out of the box like a pair of angry comets, "it is the job of the beaters, see these two blokes," he said gesturing to Ron's older brothers, "to keep those from mangling you."
"And I thought the soccer hooligans were brutal," Harry mused as Fred and George (or George and Fred) swatted the angry flying balls with a pair of small bats they were carrying.
"Ain't it great!" Ron beamed.
"Yeah, yeah great," said Harry with far less enthusiasm.
"And of course, last but not least, the rune ball." Calling it a ball seemed somewhat inaccurate, while it was vaguely ball shaped, it looked too solid and rather than being properly, smoothly spherical had numerous flat faces.
"Ours is the standard rune ball," he went on, "twenty faces, seventeen runes and three finger holes. This is for the Seeker. This is the only first-string position we have to fill but I'm hoping to find a second-string seeker today too, so don't be shy. We'll give anyone who wants it a chance."
"Awesome," Ron marveled.
Harry was not so sure. Ron had given him an in-depth explanation of Quidditch the previous evening; in depth and ad nauseum. He didn't remember all of it, but he did remember how important the seeker was, and how complicated the rune ball sounded.
"We're gonna start with Chaser," said Wood. "Everyone not trying out for Chaser, clear the field."
He and Ron were trying out for all the positions, so they weren't going anywhere but up.
"We got this Harry. We got this!"
Harry wasn't sure his friend was right, but he'd try. If it made Ron happy, he'd try. And trying was a perfect description of the process.
Chasers were expected to catch the quaffle while flying, so they started it out easy, having the first-string Chasers buzz around and throw quaffles at them to see who could catch.
They lost three in the opening salvo, and two more before they moved on to the next humiliation, passing. But this wasn't just regular passing, oh no, they brought out the bludgers for this, and not just the standard two. They were forced to fly the gauntlet of a dozen crazed bludgers, and two equally crazed gingers, passing the quaffle from person to person while trying not die.
Ron was knocked out on this one, and Harry nearly followed. By some miracle he managed to right his broom and avoid a good bludgering, but he did tragically lose the quaffle, which meant he was out.
"Boy it's a good thing we already got our first-string Chasers," said Fred.
"I'll say," agreed George, "cuz this bunch are SCRUBS!"
"Not the best I've ever seen," Wood said critically, eyeing the few still in the air by the end. "Still, something to work with. Right! On to the Beaters."
For beater tryouts the group was divided into two, offenders and defenders. A bunch of dummies were set to fly around, and it was up to the offenders to knock them out of the sky, while the defenders tried to stop them.
"Now this I like," Harry cackled as he swatted the vicious metal cored balls at the flying dummies with malicious accuracy.
Even Ron was not spared and lost the dummy he was protecting to Harry's deadly aim. He was only slightly less effective when it came time to switch and he was responsible for defending the dummy. Believing the best defense was a good offense, any bludger that got close was sent right back at the person who sent it his way.
"He's definitely Beater material," said Fred, with an acknowledging nod from George.
"He's not as big as I'd like for a Beater," said Wood with a critical eye, "but we can always work on that later."
With that done, it was down to the big one, the Seeker.
Everyone was trying out for that, which didn't surprise Harry in the least. What did surprise him was just how bad most of them were.
The first test was simple, catch the rune ball.
The rune ball didn't begin the game in play. It was set on the ground and would eventually come to life and start flying around like one of the bludgers, but with less malice. Anyone could catch the rune ball, but only those with the special glove could calm it, done by putting the gloved fingers into the holding holes. Anyone else would have to fight with it as it tried to escape.
One would think, the simple task of catching the ball would be relatively simple. Judging by the epic failure of more than half the people trying, this was not the case.
"Oy, get back here!"
"I got it, I got it, I go—don't got it."
Now, be fair, most of them were flying the school brooms which, as noted in the previous chapter, were relics. That said, it really was a pitiful showing. People who'd flown well enough in the Chaser drill seemed to completely forget how to operate a broom while they chased down the elusive rune ball.
"This is just embarrassing," Harry mused as he waited for his turn to be humiliated. "What is it was these magical objects all having so much attitude?"
"Aw, it's not so bad," said Ron, the perpetual Quidditch optimist. "We'll do fine. Just you wait and see."
It wouldn't be Harry waiting as he came up before Ron, but his words turned out prophetic. It was a short chase and Harry had the rune ball tucked snuggly under his arm.
"That's it?" he said, almost not believing it. "All that fuss and, really?"
It was a bit of a letdown. After so much fumbling and cursing, he'd expected at least a bit of a chase, bare minimum.
That was saved for Ron. So excited and full of vigor, he chased the rune ball up and down the pitch. Showing a single-minded intensity that could have been inspiring, if only he could catch what he was chasing.
Managing to get a hold on it once, he'd nearly got his fingers in the holes when the ball made a sharp turn, nearly taking him off the broom as it escaped captivity.
"Bloody, buggering—get back here damn it!"
Despite the command, it did not, and Ron was out. This left Harry and two others, neither of which looked terribly confident after seeing how easily Harry had captured the rune ball.
"So, it's down to you three," said Wood, hovering over them so they wouldn't go getting ideas about their station. "Then that's just leaves us one thing left to do?"
"See who knows the most rune combinations," one of the boys said hopefully.
"Nope."
Harry chuckled to hide his relief. He knew nothing about runes, never mind any rune combinations.
"The game doesn't end till a seeker puts the rune ball through one of the hoops," said Wood. "For your final test, lets see if any of you can do it."
While also being the team captain, Wood was also the first-string Keeper. Their final 'test', as he put it, pitted them against him. Seemed fair.
"So, who's first?"
Not Harry, who, while not a sports person, understood the value of 'knowing thy enemy' so to speak. Opting to go last, he let the other two take their shots.
The first was absolutely pitiful, a straightforward charge, a straightforward throw, a straightforward fail.
The second one, the boy who'd asked about rune combo's, tried to be clever and use one of those rune combos with his throw. Whether he got it wrong or was simply a bit slow, the ball got as far as the circle around the rings, then suddenly shot back the way it had come, plowing through the prospective Seeker without any sign of stopping.
While Wood called for the observers to catch the poor boy, Harry's eyes were on the rune ball. Zipping after the retreating orb, he caught it, calmed it, then snapped out three runes before hurling the ball straight at Wood.
From halfway across the field it was impossible for him to not see it coming. It also seemed equally impossible that it should fly the distance between them, but it did. It glowed with power as it shot at the Keeper.
Wood, seeing it coming, steadied himself and prepared to intercept. His hand reached out to knock it aside, but to the surprise of all watching, the ball preempted. Deflecting before his hand could touch it and going into the side ring.
Those watching roared their approval. Wood too, looked pleased.
"Looks like we found our Seeker!"
Ron was jubilant, "You did it Harry! Blimey, what a shot. Where'd you learn the Deflector?"
"Is that what it was?" Harry asked, his face a mask of befuddlement. "I don't know, I just, knew it. Does that make sense?" It sure didn't make sense to him.
"Cor, you were made for this game Harry, it's like you got a, oh, what's the word?"
"Instinct," said Hermione, appearing out of nowhere.
"Well look who it is," said Ron.
"You were watching that?" said Harry, now befuddled and surprised.
"It was a nice day," she said. "I can read outside."
Her protest was weak, neither boy was convinced.
"Whatever. You were saying something about, instinct?"
"I was," she said primly. "Apparently, in the past there's been players who knew rune combinations without ever having seen them. They said it was just instinct."
"Yeah, yeah I've heard of that," said Ron. "But why have you?"
"Just because I don't like the sport doesn't mean I don't find the rune ball fascinating. I'm actually reading up on them in preparation to take ancient runes next semester."
"Over achiever," Ron grumbled.
"Anyway," Harry interrupted before Hermione could fire back, "you think I have this instinct?"
"Stands to reason," she said. "It seems to run in families."
"So, what, you're saying someone in my family had it?"
"You mean, you don't know," the bushy-haired girl boggled.
"Know what?"
Apparently, whatever it was, words simply weren't sufficient to convey. Dragging them both back into the castle she took them to the trophy room, to a case holding various awards for Gryffindor, one of which had a very familiar name on it.
"James Potter, Seeker," it read.
"Whoa! Harry, you never said your dad was a Seeker," Ron gushed.
"I—I didn't know."