There was no more putting it off. Now that Angelina was gone, he was quidditch captain and the captain had to arrange tryouts. With the season looming closer and closer every day, he had no choice but to organize the tryouts.
Having put up a sign in the Gryffindor common room two days earlier, he set out on Saturday morning to set up. The brooms already set up; he started to get the balls ready for play. He'd just set the quaffle by the case when he heard an uncertain voice behind him.
"Um, is this the tryout?" As Harry turned to answer, he realized who it was. When she saw his face, she sighed. Not knowing what to say, Harry stood there blankly. With downcast eyes, Morgan turned to leave.
"Wait!" Harry said suddenly. She turned back to him, bracing herself for his accusal, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but still she looked him directly in the face. "Why've you been avoiding me? I've been trying to talk to you all week."
The gentle tone of his voice surprised her. But she still dropped her eyes again. "I saw how much you hated Draco in that bookstore, and I just thought that you wouldn't want anything to do with me because of him." She sniffed quietly, then continued. "That's what usually happens."
Harry laughed. "That's all?" Morgan's head snapped up at this. Harry shook his head and smiled. "I learnt a long time ago not to judge someone by what their family's like."
But she was still not convinced. "What about your friends? They don't seem quite as tolerant." she said, rising one shoulder.
"They'll get over it. So," he said picking up the quaffle, "what position are you trying out for?"
She looked uncertain. "What's going?"
He put the ball under his arm and started to count them on his fingers. "We need two more chasers and two beaters as well."
Her eyes lit up. "So you need beaters huh?"
"Thinking of being one of our new beaters huh?" However, his question went unanswered as the rest of the applicants and the two remaining team members showed up.
Seeing the look Ron was giving her, Morgan averted her eyes and brought out a book from inside her robes, sat down and started to read.
"What's she doing here?" he hissed to Harry.
He shot Ron a warning look. "She's trying out. Come on mate, have the decency to at least get to know her before you decide to hate her." Ron nodded grudgingly. Harry, felling slightly cheered, addressed the new arrivals. "Today, four slots on the team will be filled. Since there are…" he stopped to quickly count them. "Twelve of you, we'll separate you into groups of four. From one group, two will play beater, two chaser; then they'll swap round." Now," he said pointing out who were to be the first four. "You lot come with me, the rest of you can sit in the stands and watch."
The first lot were, in a word, hopeless. Three of them were second years, and one of them a third year. A second year girl was hit in the back of the head by the quaffle because she'd gotten confused by the play that was apparently too complicated. She left the pitch crying soon after that when Ron laughed at her. Ginny decided to retaliate by singing the nasty version of 'Weasley is our king'. That deflated him a little, and he was soon back concentrating on the quaffle again. After his brilliant save last year and an entire summer of almost constant practice, he had improved markedly – now right up to Wood's standard.
Slightly disheartened, Harry called for the remaining three of the first four to land and called for the next four to get ready. None of them managed to lighten his spirits at all, being nearly as bad as the first lot. While playing beater, a fourth year dropped his bat. While he retrieved it, three people were very nearly unseated by the unwatched bludger. Harry himself had to barrel roll to avoid it, and it got so close to Ginny that she felt it just skim across her cheek.
So it was that Harry called for the next four with a heavy heart. But right from the moment they mounted their brooms he knew this lot were better. All of them sat astride their brooms with confidence. Strangely enough, the only four that were at all decent ended up in the same group, though Harry decided later that it was because they were the smarter ones, wanting to eye up their competition first.
Stranger still, was the fact that all four started playing in the position they were least suited for. A fifth year with the beater's bat swung hard, but missed the bludger completely, almost falling off his broom in the process. But when playing chaser, he got a goal past Ron that just passed out of his reach. Morgan was an alright chaser as long as she only had to catch the quaffle, not pass it. But as beater, she got in a shot that forced Ginny to brake and spin around in the opposite direction to avoid it, making her drop the quaffle, which one of the others caught and tried to score another goal which Ron caught - barely.
There was no question as to who made the team, and Harry told them this as they packed up.
On the way back to the castle, Harry noticed Morgan hurrying away. Jogging to catch up, he called out to her. "Morgan! Hey, wait!"
She turned slowly. "What?"
He could see from the look in her eyes that her defenses had gone back up. "I didn't want you to disappear again. You're harder to find than a demiguise."
She chuckled. "I am good at what I do." She said, shrugging. "Why are you so worried about me anyway?"
"I know what it's like not to have any friends. I went through it for long enough, and I don't like it to happen to others." Harry could see the change in her. She was undoubtedly thinking about all the lonely times. "Look, meet me in the common room tomorrow morning and you can come to breakfast with us."
"But what about your friends?" Morgan asked for the second time that day.
"I said that they'll get over it. If they don't, then they're not the people I thought they were. Will you at least give them a chance to get to know you?"
Taking a deep breath, she answered slowly. "Okay. I'll meet you by the fireplace." She smiled lightly. "See you tomorrow. By the way," she said glancing over his shoulder "your redheaded friend wants to talk to you."
He turned round to tell Ron just to wait a minute only to see him talking to the fifth year. When he turned back, Morgan was gone again. "I hope she turns up tomorrow. This girl has a knack for vanishing." He thought wearily, hanging back to catch up with Ron. The conversation he was deeply immersed in was – surprise, surprise – about the Cannons.
