Harry quickly became one of the most popular people in school, at least among the Gryffindors. It seemed everyone, from naive first years, to even some desperate seventh years, were clamoring to be Gryffindor Keeper. Harry didn't know much about the Keepers job, and had never seen any of these people on a broomstick before. Harry would have asked Ron what to do, but Ron kept dropping hints about how he always played Keeper when helping Fred, George and Charlie, with Quidditch practice.
"Hold tryouts," Hermione said one night, as she was doing her homework. Harry got an image of himself as a sort of director on the Quidditch field, scribbling down notes. "I'd feel like a big prat," moaned Harry.
"Of course you wouldn't. Me and Ron will come out on the Quidditch field with you too, in case you felt funny or anything. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would let you."
"You reckon?"
"Of course! We'll find the perfect Keeper for the team. I'll write up a flyer to post, and then let's go see if we can book the field.
In a weeks time, the flyer Hermione was posted was full of names of Gryffindors who wanted a chance at Keeper. Harry was very relieved that Ron hadn't signed up for a tryout--if he'd had to cut him, Harry'd never be able to look Ron in the face again. However, some of the people who signed up didn't seem like they had ever played Quidditch.
"The Creevey brothers--both of them," said Harry as he looked over the sheet with Ron in the common room one night. "And Natalie McDonald--isn't she the quiet second year?"
"Sort of bookish--really tiny, right?"
"She could pass for Winky she's so short," Harry said.
But the biggest surprise came near the end. "Neville Longbottom?" Harry and Ron gasped in unison. The only time Harry had seen Neville on a broom stick, Neville had lost control and fallen off of it.
"He can't fly!" Ron said. "I mean, it's Neville we're talking about..."
Harry was torn between laughing and anger at Neville. "I can't just cut him from the team when he tries out!"
"3 to 1 he's going to kill himself out there," Ron said.
Harry couldn't help grinning. "You're turning into Bagman."
Harry nervously went out into the stadium, with Hermione and Ron at his side the next week. Ron and Hermione waved goodbye, to sit in the stands, leaving Harry quite alone, with just his broomstick and a couple of tennis balls. The aspiring Keepers were already in the stands with their highly polished broomsticks and hopeful looks on their faces. Harry felt very strange; this was what Madam Hooch and Oliver Wood were supposed to do, not him.
"Er--" Harry said, "All right then. I'll call you up, one by one, and we'll practice some--er--Quidditch. You've all got broomsticks, right?" Nine heads nodded. Harry noticed that Neville was clutching an old Shooting Star.
"Right then." The tryouts were exhausting. Half of the people looked as if they'd never seen a broomstick before. The other half was at best, mediocre. The Creevey brothers both got so nervous that they went back into the castle without trying out at all. But the worst part came when it was Neville's turn.
"Hey Harry," Neville said nervously, the Shooting Star so tight in his hand that Neville's knuckles were white.
"Hey," Harry said glumly. "Right then." "Good luck."
Neville climbed on his Shooting Star, and to Harry's surprise was able to shakily make his way to one set of goals. Harry took a tennis ball in his hand, and flew near the scoring area, throwing the ball in. Neville had barely moved.
"All right, Neville?" Harry asked. Neville was bright pink. "Yes," said Neville in an oddly high voice.
"Right. OK--," Harry took another ball from his sleeves. "This time try-er-catching the ball." Harry threw a simple shot toward the goals, and Neville determined, lunged at the tennis ball. Taking both pudgy hands of the broomstick, Neville caught it-but he'd lost his grip. Still holding the tennis ball, Harry watched in horror as Neville fell 40 feet off his broom.
Harry had caught the Golden Snitch when it was inches away from the ground-when it was hovering over the enemies ear. But now, he couldn't move his broom to get Neville. He could only watch as Neville fell, closer and closer to the ground.
"Faltuous!" a voice cried out. Harry looked down-Hermione was standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, a wand raised. Neville was now falling slower to the ground-when he hit it he didn't get up.
He's passed out!" Hermione called up. "Probably scared to death-Ron, go get Madam Pomfrey." Finally gathering his wits, Harry zoomed down onto the ground.
"Neville!" he cried, shaking him. Nothing happened.
"He'll be all right," said Hermione. "What possessed him to try to get on a broom?"
"Dunno," Harry said. "I mean, he's horrible."
"Don't say that. What if you heard your friends saying that you were awful at-well-say Potions?" Hermione looked peeved.
"I'd agree," Harry said fervently.
A few minutes later Madam Pomfrey came running up onto the field, followed by Ron. "Stupid boy," she muttered. "Dangerous sports, broomsticks-far too many ways for students to hurt themselves." She conjured a stretch and lifted Neville on it. "He'll be all right," she said looking at Harry, Ron and Hermione's stunned faces. "But I don't think he'll be wanting to try Quidditch for a long time."
"I told you," Ron said, as they walked back to the castle. "I told you Neville would kill himself."
"He isn't dead," said Hermione. "He's just passed out."
"Yeah but that's just because you did that spell thing." Suddenly, Harry felt a tugging on his robes. He frowned and looked down, to see a tiny girl with enormous eyes.
"I'm Natalie McDonald," she said in a small voice. "And I-I didn't get a chance to try out and I'd really like to." "Keepers usually aren't so short or skinny," Harry said gruffly. The girls face fell, and suddenly Harry felt a pang of guilt.
He sighed, "Go on," he said to Hermione and Ron. "I'll meet you in the common room."
"Thanks," said Natalie breathlessly. "I've been playing with my brothers for years-they're both in Ravenclaw, and I got a Comet 361 for my birthday." She showed him a glistening new broom with the words "Comet 361" emblazoned on it. "Not as good as a Firebolt," she looked jealously at Harry's top of the line Firebolt. "But still decent. Newest in the Comet line."
They reached the Quidditch field; the stands were now empty and dusk was falling. Harry rose on his broom with ease, followed swiftly by Natalie, who took a quick lap around the field and stopped at the three goals. She was good; yes, she was very good, even on a Comet.
"All right," Harry called, holding a tennis ball firmly in his hand. He tossed it, aiming for the left hoop. In a blink of the eye, Natalie had caught it, holding it in her hand with a grin on her face. She tossed it back to Harry.
"That's good!" said Harry, starting to feel excited, and tossed the ball again. What Natalie lacked for in size, she made up in speed and agility. She knew all kinds of tactics, Harry noticed, as she zoomed quickly around the scoring hoops, and attempted the Starfish and Stick (though she was so tiny, she only covered the center hoop). When Harry finally said that they'd had enough, Natalie sped towards the ground.
"Did I do all right?" she asked breathlessly, her enormous eyes peeking out from her stringy bangs.
Harry grinned. "We're going to need to get some Quidditch robes for you."
The Gryffindor team loved Natalie. Alicia, Angelina, and Katie, seventh years who played as Chasers, doted on Natalie like she was their little sister. Fred and George teased her, which from them, was excellent praise. Natalie, who had always fallen into the shadows was now quite popular-at least she was recognizable. Nearly everyone had something nice to say to her, that is, except for the Slytherins who hissed at her as she passed in the halls. Harry tried to explain to her that hissing was just the sort of thing Slytherins did, but Natalie was still upset by it.
"Don't mind them," Harry said to her in the corridor one day, after Graham Pritchard, a Slytherin second year tried to curse her in the halls. "I have to put up with Slytherins all the time; they're just jealous."
Natalie nodded, but still looked scared out of her wits. Nearly twice a week Harry had to reassure her that the Slytherins were a bunch of nitwits. Between the heavy workload, Quidditch practice, and trying to keep Natalie from having a nervous breakdown, Harry was thoroughly glad when Halloween, and the first trip to Hogsmeade rolled around.
"Have you written to Sirius lately?" Hermione asked as they entered the Three Broomsticks, the pub in Hogsmeade. "You really ought to tell him about you being captain."
"Why? You reckon someone's trying to kill me?" Harry said. He was in a very bad mood-Professor Flitwick had been teaching the class Revealing Charms and Harry couldn't get the hang of it at all.
"No," said Hermione, looking slightly hurt. "I just thought he'd like to know."
Ron interrupted the silence. "I'll get some butterbeers, all right?" he said.
Harry smiled and nodded. Hermione and Ron hadn't been giggling, or really doing anything else, since that night in the common room. Harry was greatly relieved by this at least.
Hermione was talking about Sirius but Harry wasn't listening. Cho had just walked in, leaning on the shoulder of Roger Davies, a Ravenclaw seventh year and captain of the Ravenclaw team. Harry felt as if something sharp had just poked him in the stomach, as he tore his eyes away from Cho, and concentrated on what Hermione was saying.
"Anyway, I was wondering why he wanted you to come to my house this summer-I mean You Know Who didn't show up on Privet Drive, of course."
"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "Can we talk about something else?" Hermione suddenly turned red and nodded.
"All right," she said quietly, as Ron returned, trying to bring three great mugs of butterbeer to the table.
"I'll help you," said a high voice. Both Harry and Ron whipped around (butterbeer splashed upon Madam Rosmerta's polished floors). It was Ginny.
Ron looked incredibly annoyed, but Ginny just grinned and took one of the butterbeers, handing it to Harry.
"How are you, Ginny?" asked Hermione. "Want a butterbeer?"
"No, that's all right," said Ginny quietly.
"Sit down at least, if you're going to stay here," said Ron, rolling his eyes. Ginny didn't look hurt-she just rolled her eyes, and pulled a chair up from an empty table, next to Harry.
"Why aren't you hanging out with your boyfriend Colin?" asked Ron.
"He isn't my boyfriend!" said Ginny ferociously. "You shut up!"
"Whoops, I forgot, your boyfriend is Neville." This caused Ginny to look even more furious.
"I don't like either of them," she said shrilly, casting a glance towards Harry. "And you know it, Ron."
"Yeah, sorry Gin," Ron said, taking a gulp of his butterbeer.
"So you're letting Natalie be Keeper?" Ginny said to Harry. "She's really nice, and I bet she's good."
"Yeah, she is," said Harry. "You should've tried out."
"No," said Ginny wrinkling her nose. "I'm really awful, and if I did get in I would have had to put up with Fred and George. I already see to much of them!"
This made Harry laugh. "Ooh!" Ginny suddenly stood up, bumping into Harry. "Lina's calling, I've got to go. See you around all right?" She grinned at Harry and left, meeting up with a friend, and disappearing through the doors of the Three Broomsticks.
"Harry…" said Ron with a teasing grin on his face.
"I wouldn't speak if I were you," said Harry feeling his face go red. He looked pointedly at Hermione.
"Oh really, you're both being such idiots! We better get back to the castle soon, we don't want to miss the feast," Hermione said briskly, but Harry noticed she was slightly pink.
Harry looked around the Three Broomsticks-Cho was still there, giggling with Roger. For some reason--maybe it was the butterbeer--Harry's stomach didn't hurt as much.
"Hold tryouts," Hermione said one night, as she was doing her homework. Harry got an image of himself as a sort of director on the Quidditch field, scribbling down notes. "I'd feel like a big prat," moaned Harry.
"Of course you wouldn't. Me and Ron will come out on the Quidditch field with you too, in case you felt funny or anything. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would let you."
"You reckon?"
"Of course! We'll find the perfect Keeper for the team. I'll write up a flyer to post, and then let's go see if we can book the field.
In a weeks time, the flyer Hermione was posted was full of names of Gryffindors who wanted a chance at Keeper. Harry was very relieved that Ron hadn't signed up for a tryout--if he'd had to cut him, Harry'd never be able to look Ron in the face again. However, some of the people who signed up didn't seem like they had ever played Quidditch.
"The Creevey brothers--both of them," said Harry as he looked over the sheet with Ron in the common room one night. "And Natalie McDonald--isn't she the quiet second year?"
"Sort of bookish--really tiny, right?"
"She could pass for Winky she's so short," Harry said.
But the biggest surprise came near the end. "Neville Longbottom?" Harry and Ron gasped in unison. The only time Harry had seen Neville on a broom stick, Neville had lost control and fallen off of it.
"He can't fly!" Ron said. "I mean, it's Neville we're talking about..."
Harry was torn between laughing and anger at Neville. "I can't just cut him from the team when he tries out!"
"3 to 1 he's going to kill himself out there," Ron said.
Harry couldn't help grinning. "You're turning into Bagman."
Harry nervously went out into the stadium, with Hermione and Ron at his side the next week. Ron and Hermione waved goodbye, to sit in the stands, leaving Harry quite alone, with just his broomstick and a couple of tennis balls. The aspiring Keepers were already in the stands with their highly polished broomsticks and hopeful looks on their faces. Harry felt very strange; this was what Madam Hooch and Oliver Wood were supposed to do, not him.
"Er--" Harry said, "All right then. I'll call you up, one by one, and we'll practice some--er--Quidditch. You've all got broomsticks, right?" Nine heads nodded. Harry noticed that Neville was clutching an old Shooting Star.
"Right then." The tryouts were exhausting. Half of the people looked as if they'd never seen a broomstick before. The other half was at best, mediocre. The Creevey brothers both got so nervous that they went back into the castle without trying out at all. But the worst part came when it was Neville's turn.
"Hey Harry," Neville said nervously, the Shooting Star so tight in his hand that Neville's knuckles were white.
"Hey," Harry said glumly. "Right then." "Good luck."
Neville climbed on his Shooting Star, and to Harry's surprise was able to shakily make his way to one set of goals. Harry took a tennis ball in his hand, and flew near the scoring area, throwing the ball in. Neville had barely moved.
"All right, Neville?" Harry asked. Neville was bright pink. "Yes," said Neville in an oddly high voice.
"Right. OK--," Harry took another ball from his sleeves. "This time try-er-catching the ball." Harry threw a simple shot toward the goals, and Neville determined, lunged at the tennis ball. Taking both pudgy hands of the broomstick, Neville caught it-but he'd lost his grip. Still holding the tennis ball, Harry watched in horror as Neville fell 40 feet off his broom.
Harry had caught the Golden Snitch when it was inches away from the ground-when it was hovering over the enemies ear. But now, he couldn't move his broom to get Neville. He could only watch as Neville fell, closer and closer to the ground.
"Faltuous!" a voice cried out. Harry looked down-Hermione was standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, a wand raised. Neville was now falling slower to the ground-when he hit it he didn't get up.
He's passed out!" Hermione called up. "Probably scared to death-Ron, go get Madam Pomfrey." Finally gathering his wits, Harry zoomed down onto the ground.
"Neville!" he cried, shaking him. Nothing happened.
"He'll be all right," said Hermione. "What possessed him to try to get on a broom?"
"Dunno," Harry said. "I mean, he's horrible."
"Don't say that. What if you heard your friends saying that you were awful at-well-say Potions?" Hermione looked peeved.
"I'd agree," Harry said fervently.
A few minutes later Madam Pomfrey came running up onto the field, followed by Ron. "Stupid boy," she muttered. "Dangerous sports, broomsticks-far too many ways for students to hurt themselves." She conjured a stretch and lifted Neville on it. "He'll be all right," she said looking at Harry, Ron and Hermione's stunned faces. "But I don't think he'll be wanting to try Quidditch for a long time."
"I told you," Ron said, as they walked back to the castle. "I told you Neville would kill himself."
"He isn't dead," said Hermione. "He's just passed out."
"Yeah but that's just because you did that spell thing." Suddenly, Harry felt a tugging on his robes. He frowned and looked down, to see a tiny girl with enormous eyes.
"I'm Natalie McDonald," she said in a small voice. "And I-I didn't get a chance to try out and I'd really like to." "Keepers usually aren't so short or skinny," Harry said gruffly. The girls face fell, and suddenly Harry felt a pang of guilt.
He sighed, "Go on," he said to Hermione and Ron. "I'll meet you in the common room."
"Thanks," said Natalie breathlessly. "I've been playing with my brothers for years-they're both in Ravenclaw, and I got a Comet 361 for my birthday." She showed him a glistening new broom with the words "Comet 361" emblazoned on it. "Not as good as a Firebolt," she looked jealously at Harry's top of the line Firebolt. "But still decent. Newest in the Comet line."
They reached the Quidditch field; the stands were now empty and dusk was falling. Harry rose on his broom with ease, followed swiftly by Natalie, who took a quick lap around the field and stopped at the three goals. She was good; yes, she was very good, even on a Comet.
"All right," Harry called, holding a tennis ball firmly in his hand. He tossed it, aiming for the left hoop. In a blink of the eye, Natalie had caught it, holding it in her hand with a grin on her face. She tossed it back to Harry.
"That's good!" said Harry, starting to feel excited, and tossed the ball again. What Natalie lacked for in size, she made up in speed and agility. She knew all kinds of tactics, Harry noticed, as she zoomed quickly around the scoring hoops, and attempted the Starfish and Stick (though she was so tiny, she only covered the center hoop). When Harry finally said that they'd had enough, Natalie sped towards the ground.
"Did I do all right?" she asked breathlessly, her enormous eyes peeking out from her stringy bangs.
Harry grinned. "We're going to need to get some Quidditch robes for you."
The Gryffindor team loved Natalie. Alicia, Angelina, and Katie, seventh years who played as Chasers, doted on Natalie like she was their little sister. Fred and George teased her, which from them, was excellent praise. Natalie, who had always fallen into the shadows was now quite popular-at least she was recognizable. Nearly everyone had something nice to say to her, that is, except for the Slytherins who hissed at her as she passed in the halls. Harry tried to explain to her that hissing was just the sort of thing Slytherins did, but Natalie was still upset by it.
"Don't mind them," Harry said to her in the corridor one day, after Graham Pritchard, a Slytherin second year tried to curse her in the halls. "I have to put up with Slytherins all the time; they're just jealous."
Natalie nodded, but still looked scared out of her wits. Nearly twice a week Harry had to reassure her that the Slytherins were a bunch of nitwits. Between the heavy workload, Quidditch practice, and trying to keep Natalie from having a nervous breakdown, Harry was thoroughly glad when Halloween, and the first trip to Hogsmeade rolled around.
"Have you written to Sirius lately?" Hermione asked as they entered the Three Broomsticks, the pub in Hogsmeade. "You really ought to tell him about you being captain."
"Why? You reckon someone's trying to kill me?" Harry said. He was in a very bad mood-Professor Flitwick had been teaching the class Revealing Charms and Harry couldn't get the hang of it at all.
"No," said Hermione, looking slightly hurt. "I just thought he'd like to know."
Ron interrupted the silence. "I'll get some butterbeers, all right?" he said.
Harry smiled and nodded. Hermione and Ron hadn't been giggling, or really doing anything else, since that night in the common room. Harry was greatly relieved by this at least.
Hermione was talking about Sirius but Harry wasn't listening. Cho had just walked in, leaning on the shoulder of Roger Davies, a Ravenclaw seventh year and captain of the Ravenclaw team. Harry felt as if something sharp had just poked him in the stomach, as he tore his eyes away from Cho, and concentrated on what Hermione was saying.
"Anyway, I was wondering why he wanted you to come to my house this summer-I mean You Know Who didn't show up on Privet Drive, of course."
"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "Can we talk about something else?" Hermione suddenly turned red and nodded.
"All right," she said quietly, as Ron returned, trying to bring three great mugs of butterbeer to the table.
"I'll help you," said a high voice. Both Harry and Ron whipped around (butterbeer splashed upon Madam Rosmerta's polished floors). It was Ginny.
Ron looked incredibly annoyed, but Ginny just grinned and took one of the butterbeers, handing it to Harry.
"How are you, Ginny?" asked Hermione. "Want a butterbeer?"
"No, that's all right," said Ginny quietly.
"Sit down at least, if you're going to stay here," said Ron, rolling his eyes. Ginny didn't look hurt-she just rolled her eyes, and pulled a chair up from an empty table, next to Harry.
"Why aren't you hanging out with your boyfriend Colin?" asked Ron.
"He isn't my boyfriend!" said Ginny ferociously. "You shut up!"
"Whoops, I forgot, your boyfriend is Neville." This caused Ginny to look even more furious.
"I don't like either of them," she said shrilly, casting a glance towards Harry. "And you know it, Ron."
"Yeah, sorry Gin," Ron said, taking a gulp of his butterbeer.
"So you're letting Natalie be Keeper?" Ginny said to Harry. "She's really nice, and I bet she's good."
"Yeah, she is," said Harry. "You should've tried out."
"No," said Ginny wrinkling her nose. "I'm really awful, and if I did get in I would have had to put up with Fred and George. I already see to much of them!"
This made Harry laugh. "Ooh!" Ginny suddenly stood up, bumping into Harry. "Lina's calling, I've got to go. See you around all right?" She grinned at Harry and left, meeting up with a friend, and disappearing through the doors of the Three Broomsticks.
"Harry…" said Ron with a teasing grin on his face.
"I wouldn't speak if I were you," said Harry feeling his face go red. He looked pointedly at Hermione.
"Oh really, you're both being such idiots! We better get back to the castle soon, we don't want to miss the feast," Hermione said briskly, but Harry noticed she was slightly pink.
Harry looked around the Three Broomsticks-Cho was still there, giggling with Roger. For some reason--maybe it was the butterbeer--Harry's stomach didn't hurt as much.