Chapter 6: England U-21 vs The Chudley Cannons

Hermione was careful to avoid Harry the whole morning during breakfast time. All of them, including Harry, could feel the tension. Jane paused while pouring some tea for herself.

"Where's Hermione?

Harry flashed her father a look. Fearing the worst, Harry was relieved to see him taking all of this in stride. Harry gulped and was priming himself for an apology when Roger said in a matter-of-fact tone, "She's doing some reading up on ..ahh...transparencies." he concluded, his face betraying a reluctant smile. He winked at Harry knowingly, and Harry almost choked on his toast; so hard he was trying not to laugh. Roger was like a bigger version of Fred and George sometimes. He immediately liked him now more than ever. They finished their breakfast and Mr Granger called Hermione down from upstairs.

"Come on now, get a move on. We should have left ten minutes ago. "

Hermione made her entrance, her head held high and deliberately trying not to blush. She was wearing a baggy Adidas tracksuit that effectively hid anything that needed hiding.

"Oy! What's that you got on? Planning on going for a jog?" Roger baited her, a twinkle in his eye. She stared at them both with a look that would have done McGonagall proud. Her father immediately sobered up and Harry made a big scene of rubbing the back of his neck, looking anywhere except at her. Roger continued, " Right, well. Everyone ready?" he asked and they left for the door. They said their farewell to Mrs Granger and they jumped in the car; Hermione sat in the passenger seat and Harry directly behind the driver. Roger made cheerful enquiries about Quidditch and Harry was happily filling him in, avoiding Hermione's reflection in the rear view mirror. They did manage to find each other's eyes once, and Hermione immediately looked away. After another few minutes they reached a large abandoned warehouse. Harry and Hermione's eyes touched once more, and Hermione once again avoided his as she hastily stepped out of the car.

"Strange place to have a match," Roger said, bewildered.

"It's enchanted dad. Don't worry, you'll see," Hermione said stiffly.

Harry followed behind the pair of them carrying his gym bag and the Firebolt in what seemed to be an elongated guitar case. They went through the open doors of the abandoned warehouse, walked a few steps when suddenly the dingy area morphed into a stadium entrance, glass swivel doors behind them and a ticket taker and turnstile a little way on. Groups of young wizards and witches were making their way to the multiple ticket booths, some accompanied by a parent. It was a relaxed atmosphere, but Harry's excitement still gave him nerves in his stomach. As they approached the counter Harry realized that this wasn't a small affair, a continuous stream of people were arriving. They reached the ticket counter and the witch there smiled at them.

"Welcome. Passes please."

Hermione passed her two and she and her father passed through on the turnstile, waiting for Harry to join them. He shifted his weight nervously, not exactly sure what to do.

"Er- I'm here for the tryouts."

"Tryouts?" She smiled sympathetically. " I'm sorry dear, but tryouts were finished a month back."

"Ludo Bagman told me to be here this morning," he dug around in his bag for the letter.

"Did you say Mr. Bagman?" She looked at him curiously now. Recognition dawned in her eyes and she exclaimed, "You're Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," he whispered. Harry looked around, hoping no one heard her. Mr. Granger had an incredible look on his face, now realizing that Harry was some sort of celebrity.

"Oh I'm sorry about that. Right you are, right you are," she apologised, noticing the scar hiding for the first time. "This way please," she offered. As he followed her, he paused and waved at Hermione and her father.

"I'll see you afterwards!"

"Good luck Harry!" cried Hermione with a tad more enthusiasm than was necessary. Roger smiled inwardly. He wished he could be around later in the year for this. Hermione checked herself, looking around a bit self-consciously. Harry was taken through a door that the stadium used for the home team's dressing rooms. As he entered nervously, he realised he was late- coaching staff, Quidditch players and in the centre drawing most of the attention, Ludo Bagman were all now looking at him.

"Ah there ye are!" Ludo beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Were waiting a bit for you to come. Only a few minutes though. One more person to come, she should be here any second now-Ah speak of the devil..."

"Excuse me, excuse me!" an excited voice said behind him, trying to edge her way through. She whizzed past, slightly out of breath.

She's obviously in a big rush- Wait, that dark hair looked familiar...

"Ah yes! Miss Chang! Glad you could come. Your mother said you might be interested for that chaser spot we just lost due to ah uh, personal reasons. Good thing too, she has an eye for quality Quidditch players." He grinned in a mischievous way. Some of the older male staff smiled as well. They knew something that the team obviously did not.

Does Ludo fancy Cho's mom?

"Harry! What-?"

"Cho?" it was the same dumb question he asked the last time they met.

"What are you doing here?" they asked at the same time.

"Bagman told my mother..."

"Bagman wrote me a letter..."

They paused, smiling at each other. " You first," Harry said.

"No you go..."

"AhEM," Bagman grunted. "Well you know why we're here. Some of you have featured throughout last year and are now settled in. The rest of you however,' he glanced at Harry and Cho, "need to pay close attention. This is our first public practice match and we need to rally the support of our fans for the match against Krum and Bulgaria." Harry snorted at the name. He smiled, remembering that little crack at the end of Ron's letter when he called him 'Vicky'. "We'll do a few basic warm ups and formation flying -a little of getting familiar with the stadium and conditions. For those newcomers, I'm sure you'll fit in smoothly." He winked at Harry. "What we're really here for is to win the crowd and their support- and also a bit of advertising and ticket sales won't hurt either… As you know, we'll be playing a practice match against the Cannons today-" There was now a buzz going around the room. Harry's eyed widened.

Isn't that Ron's favourite team?

"There will be two halves basically. We'll put on the starting line-up for the Bulgaria match first, er; and that will be, Wood in goal, Jackson and Briggs beaters, Gareth, Charles and Rooney are the chasers and Cantonma is seeker, in absence of Hortone." He paused and made sure everyone was there. "We have unlimited substitutions and we may introduce the reserves. We'll then play the Cannons reserves with our reserves and see how things work." He paused, staring at the lot of them. "Well? What are you blokes still gaping around for ?Get your sorry arses out there!"

They grabbed their training kit robes and donned them as they ran through the corridors, making sure they had their gear ready as they congregated at the players' exit to the pitch. Harry gasped at the huge span of the stadium. The seats rose stories high into the air and there were a respectable amount of spectators. It was nowhere full, but still made Hogwarts crowd look relatively small.

Holy shit.

The players walked onto the field, and all waved to the crowd excepting Harry, who was still to dumbstruck to move. There was a polite applause ringing around the stadium, and the flashes of numerous omnoculars. He finally caught himself and did a sort of half-hearted wave.

"BLIMEY! Ron shouted. "HERMIONE ! LOOK- IT'S HARRY! What in Merlin's beard is he doing down there? HERMIONE! IT'S HARRY! HARRY POTTER!" he repeated, now almost standing on his seat. Hermione straightened up, and just as he said- there he was. She still wasn't very happy with him at the moment.

"I know Ron, I know. Sit down will you?"

"How can you be calm at a time like this? Do you know who is there on the pitch!" he asked again, not fully believing it himself.

"Yes. It's Harry. And I found out this morning."

"How did you manage that? I've been mailing him and I can't get through! It's as if he dropped off the planet!" bewilderment all over his face.

"Well that's OBVIOUSLY not the case is it?" She hesitated, "Ummm...He has been by me since three days ago."

Ron looked at her incredulously. "HE ..WHAT?"

Harry did not spot Ron nor Hermione in the crowd, and neither did he have any time. They were going through their paces now, keeping close -knit formation flying, offensive and defensive position drills, diagonal flight dummy plays and some long distance passing. He did notice that Cho seemed to be a very good chaser, maybe even better than being a seeker. It was at a much faster pace than Harry was used to, but once on his broom nothing else mattered and the drills came easy to him. Sooner than he thought, Ludo was beckoning them back down into the dressing room.

"All right. I liked what I saw out there and it seems that the previous sessions have finally gotten through to those thick skulls of yours! Well in the next ten minutes we'll be starting the practice match. Go get your strip and the first team will suit up and follow the referee onto the pitch when he's ready. The rest of you take your place on the bench and be ready to be called at any time."

They filed out, each receiving a brilliant red Quidditch robe with the Three Lions Emblem stitched on the front and some sort of print on the back.

"OY! Potter!" Oliver Wood was calling him to wait up. "Hey Harry. It'll be like old times eh? "

"Yeah, If I get to play," Harry admitted a bit dejectedly.

"Bloody hell, Bagman knows you're better than Cantonma but can't just replace him. You just do what you do best and I bet you ten galleons you're on the squad," Oliver grinned at him and ran down to meet the others. Heartened by that pep talk, Harry walked to the dugout and took his spot next to Morrison on the bench. The drums and horns were now picking up a rhythm in the crowd. The chanting rose to a crescendo at the sound of the referee's whistle. Signalling the start of the match.

"And theyyyrrrre off! Cannons in possession!" Bagman's voice carried over the crowd from the commentators' booth. "Hurley, to Hughes, now to Thompson. Tricky piece of skill there by Thompson. Narrowly missed that bludger. Passes to Kingsley, no... Intercepted by Gareth! England in Possession!" And so it went, Cannons eventually getting 120 points to England's 90 at the end of the first 'half' of the match. "England substitutes- Morrison and Gramble on for Briggs and Gareth." T

The snitch was exceptionally fast and Harry only spotted it once or twice before it darted behind some player, and then out of his line of sight. Their coach approached the team, a marker board in his hands.

"Allright lads. The defensive work needs some tuning, but we'll be ready for Bulgaria for sure with some more practice. Okay, it's now Forrester in goal, Morrison , Nickolai :beaters, Chang, Gramble and Jemson chasers and we'll keep Cantonma for now. Now show those Irishmen what England is made of!"

Harry joined Wood on the bench, once again feeling disappointed. He hoped his chance would come before the Cannons' seeker got the snitch. The way Cantonma was flying it would take forever for him to find it.

"Don't fret Harry, you'll come on any time now," Oliver said. But ten minutes later it seemed that coach Ryan wasn't having any intentions to follow that part of the plan.

"Chang ! Forrester!" he summoned them imperiously after calling for substitutions. "What are you doing? Letting them win? Forrestor that's 8 unanswered they've gotten behind you! You see that score line? What does it say?" Forrester opened his mouth, but wasn't even allowed to retort. "It says 200- 90! Wood, get in there! Gareth! Replace Chang," he looked at her and sneered. "What we do not need right now is another pretty face," he said off-handedly. Cho looked absolutely destroyed, her face already setting up for the torrents.

"Seems that Gareth and Wood are back on the pitch. Chang and Forrester out-" Bagman announced. "Cannons once again on attack, great save by Wood! Quick release now on to Jemson, gives Gramble, GRAMBLE SCORES!" Harry was fascinated. The Cannons had already analysed the basic strengths and weaknesses of his inexperienced squad and taking full advantage of it. Wood was under constant pressure and once again the Cannons were dominating the match.

"Excellent once again from Wood, that's four in a row consecutive saves! How long can it last!" screamed Ludo.

As he said it the Cannons scored twice in succession: the score now 220- 100.

It's hopeless. My big break and we're getting creamed…

Harry knew that unless something drastic happened, the cannons are going to win and he wasn't even going to feature. At that second, something flew past his field of vision. It was the Snitch! It zoomed some ten feet off the pitch, Cantonma and Kelly furiously battling each other for an advantage in the sprint to catch it. They were flying very low, jostling each other shoulder-to-shoulder. Cantonma, lacking some of the experience of his opponent, lapsed in concentration and a Bludger aimed for him hit him square on the back, pitching him forward, forcing him into a few spectacular tumbles before coming to a painful halt. The crowd Ooohed in concern. The referee blew his whistle to stop play, the medi-wizards apparating on the pitch to take Cantonma off for treatment. The referee signalled to Coach Ryan for a substitution.

"Potter, you're on. Get me that Snitch!"

Harry nodded grimly. "Damn right I will," he muttered and was off.

"Injury to Cantonma. Substitution: Potter," announced Bagman.

The crowd was still preoccupied with news of the injury that the announcement went unnoticed. England and The Cannons took positions again, and the referee restarted the play with another throw of the quaffle. Harry was finally in his element, and the wind blew his hair in waves away from his face.

"The cannons once again in possession. It's McKinnon one on one with Wood! Great reflex save! Oh wait, Keane recovers the quaffle, and finishes! 230-100!" Harry looked down at his skipper, Oliver's face flushed red with embarrassment.

Keep it together, Ollie. It's gonna be a rout if you crumble

"Jemson with the quaffle, he's streaking down the middle, wait...Kelly has burst forward. Has he…! YES! He's seen the snitch!"

Harry saw it too, it was streaking between him and Kelly, his opponent with an obvious head start. He accelerated dramatically, weaving through the players, his eyes trained on the golden target. He was closing the distance to the snitch, but Kelly had the better angle and faster trajectory. Harry angled himself to get the fastest line only to realize that if they continued on this direction, they would collide head on. He bent over even lower unto his Firebolt and pushed it as fast as he could go, daring his opponent to back off. Kelly, the more experienced payer did not falter nor sway but continued steadily on.

Good- I love a challenge- Come on- are you chicken?

Ttwo blurs, one of Red and the other golden orange arrived at the snitch at the same time. They both catapulted forwards off their broomsticks after the seemingly disastrous collision, each players landing hard on the ground, rolling and tumbling a few times before coming to a painful stop, fifty metres apart. The referee blew- the snitch was no longer in play!

"DID YOU SEE THAT! AMAZING! LET'S VIEW THE REPLAY!" roared Bagman.

The advertising board showing the score showed a slow motion breakdown of the collision.

" It seemed that Kelly was about ten feet away from the snitch when Potter, what is that..? He hooked his right foot on the underside of the broom, braced his left on the tail and simultaneously angled the nose to a sharp angle downwards, propelling him forward through the air. Ah yes- we can see very clearly the collision shortly afterwards-" At the moment of collision, the crowd groaned in pity.

Harry couldn't breathe, his head was spinning and it felt as if his leg was broken. He squinted against the midday sun, spitting out some blood from his bleeding lup. The sun was directly overhead now, and it burned his eyes to open them. But he felt it in his grasp. Knowing that he was triumphant fuelled him. Slowly and unsteadily, he got to his feet. Almost topping backwards, he sucked in his breath and punched his right fist into the air, the snitch gleaming in the sun. The crowd went beserk as he roared out in victory, the slow-motion highlight reel on the big screen providing an impressive backdrop of the events happening in real time. The replay zoomed in on his face, a fierce battle cry emanating from this newborn warrior; all boyishness vanished from his bloodied face.

"POTTER HAS DONE IT ! IT'S ALL OVER! IT'S ALL OVEEEERR ! ENGLAND DO IT AT THE DEATH TO WIN 230-250! WHAT A PLAY!"

Harry finally tumbled backwards, flat on his back on the soft grass. He basked in the moment, his limbs extended in a large X. The next thing he knew there was a mass of black hair blocking his vision and Cho was flush on top of him and screaming in his face.

"Harry you did it. We Won!" He grinned stupidly. She swooped down on him and snogged him right there in the grass, all encompassing and wet. He was stunned – too surprised to even break the kiss. She drew back, her hands framing his face. She smiled tenderly at him, gave him a mock cuff on his chin, then jumped off and allowed him to be carried away by the other English players. He was being slapped hard on the back, his messy his hair being ruffled by numerous hands. He wished they would stop hittin him on the shoulder, which was hurting badly now from the fall. As they walked off the pitch Harry reflexively looked up to the right of the tunnel. Hermione and Ron were glaring at him, stony expressions on their faces. He did not get a chance to talk to them; he was being dragged along to the dressing rooms. Hermione waited until Harry disappeared to really let loose.

"Ron! Can you believe him? Kissing Cho in front of all these people!"

"Who wouldn't? She's hot!" This seemed to infuriate Hermione even more. "What I don't understand- firstly, why is he staying by you and secondly; playing for England against the Cannons! The Cannons, Hermione! He ruddy well knows they're my favourite team, look I even brought the Cap he gave me!"

"Let's find him," Hermione ordered.

"Good idea."

Harry was gearing down in the dressing room. There was a stupid grin on each of the players' faces, all excepting Harry.

What's wrong now? My two best friends looked as if they wanted to slug me

He pondered on this, his gaze rooted at a spot on the ground.

"... at that time tomorrow. Right Potter? POTTER!"

"Huh? Wazzat?" Harry jumped.

"I said we'd have a closed practice tomorrow at eight am. We're going to do some reshuffling and organize our strategy. We've got- let's see …around a month and a half to get it right. So from tomorrow every Monday, Thursday and Saturday we have training. You want a spot on this team you better be there. And that goes for everyone. " Bagman reached for the door. "Oh, guys and gals, there may be reporters for The Prophet outside. I advise you to avoid them, however, if you do answer them, don't embarrass us." He sent a warning glare to them and left.

Oh damn. The press…. Wish I had my invisibility cloak…

He was fed up of hearing of himself in the papers. He pulled out his wand to do a simple healing charm but remembered just in time that the Ministry would fry him if he did any magic. Reluctantly, he put away his wand, and went to the showers. He let the warm water ease his aching shoulder and knee. His blasted shoulder was starting to really bother him. Doing a self inventory- his cheek stung, there was a raw bruise there as well. Running his tongue on his lips, he spat out some more blood; his bottom lip was bleeding also. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he felt all the pains from that fall catching up- and is body felt battered. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the now empty locker room and opened his gym bag. He put on a pair of Jeans Hermione had bought for him. His hair was still damp and curled into his eyes. Even though his shoulder ached, the only visible damage he could see was on his face and back.

There was a soft knock on the door. Thinking it was Oliver and another one of his post match analysis, he said, "Yeah, it's open."

"THERE YOU ARE HARRY! You've got some answers to cough up mate. You've got Errol totally burned out looking for you, I find out today you're staying with Hermione for God-alone-knows-why and failed to mention to me a little thing like PLAYING FOR ENGLAND perhaps. I believe you owe me an explanation, right Hermione?" he paused, waiting for his backup. "Hermione?" he enquired looking at her.

But she was not listening. She was looking at Harry, (who was looking back at Ron dumbstruck) her cheeks reddening slightly.

"Hermione. Earth to Hermione." Ron waved his hand in hello.

She looked at Ron. "Oh! Uhh, yeah Harry! You need to talk to Ron. He refused to listen to me. I tried."

"Really? Sounds familiar. Nice to see you too, Ron." Harry walked up to him and clasped his hand firmly, flexed his arm; both of their hands now shoulder level. "Glad you came, mate."

Ron grinned back at him, all sourness gone in an instant. It was a moving gesture, the two of them inseparable and committed in their loyalty and friendship towards each other. Hermione knew she would never have that with either of them, but was content that they both always seem to need her, and that she has always been there to help them. She looked at them, Ron's red hair pointing in all directions, making him look much cooler than he really thought he was. Harry's hair was still wet and clung to his head and the back of his neck. She glanced at his torso, and was caught between interest and concern.

"RON! There you are!" Ginny Weasley came panting into the door. "Fred says to hurry u-" She glanced at Harry, who was bareback and damp, and blushed furiously. Harry, being so clueless about girls, smiled good-naturedly at her.

"Hey Ginny." If it was possible for her to go any redder, she did so now.

"R-ron, Fred says that they're waiting at the f-Floo powder fires for you. They have to get back in time for the after-match rush at the store. Mom would kill them if they left you behind – uh and they also need you to do some packing. So come on, we've got to go!"

"Crap." Ron turned back to Harry. "By the way- Great game mate. You'll fill me in on the details later," he grinned, hitting him on the same damaged shoulder as he left. Harry grimaced.

"Ow- Yeah man. I'll mail you soon as we get back." Ron waved his hand absentmindedly as he walked off and Harry soon realized that Hermione was staring at his back and arms. "What is it?"

"Harry, you're banged up all over," she said sympathetically.

"Oh this? Nah, normal Quidditch bruises- nothing too serious. Usually, I'm in school when this happens so I just do a little magic and fix myself up but - I can't now." He noticed her worried expression. "It'll heal, don't worry..."

"Wait here for one second." She dashed into the dressing room and picked up a little container of Madame Nightingale's Soothing Salve.

"Sit," she ordered him imperiously. He obeyed, straddling the locker room bench. She sat in front of him, twisting so that she faced him. She dipped her forefingers into the salve and gently applied it to Harry's cheek. His eyelids dropped, it was relaxing and felt wonderful. She smiled; she liked taking care of him and Ron.

"Harry..." she sighed, and her thoughts stretched out towards him.

"Hmm?"

She inspected his torso- and saw some nasty scars about his body. "My god, Harry how did you get these injuries?"

He opened his eyes and looked at what she was pointing at. "Oh, that." He remembered them too well. All of his injuries were definitely not Quidditch related. He looked at his right arm and the large shiny mark there. "That's from the Basilisk bite I got in my second year. Um, this," he pointed to a spot inside of his shoulder, "is where Wormtail cut me to get my blood." She paled. Wanting to know more, she pointed at his other arm where a slash ran along most of his bicep, up the back of his shoulder nearly reaching his back.

"That's from the Horntail. She was something wasn't she?" and amazingly, he smiled.

Hermione frowned. How could he smile at that? She clucked at him, got up and saddled the bench behind him so she could apply the balm to his back. Hermione took her time and applied it gently to his bruises. Her soft touch immediately calmed Harry, and Harry slowly fel the pain ease away. As she rubbed it in, Harry's mind was being clouded, magic was traversing his conscious- images of his memories fading and melding into the deep emotions of another. He saw himself walking out from a small path in a group of trees, obviously scared. It was weird, watching himself use a summoning charm. A few seconds later a broomstick zoomed to his side and Harry saw himself mount it smoothly- taking off at top speed towards the Dragon at the other end. The vision played until the Horntail slashed him, at which point her he suddenly broke out of that semi-trance like state and felt an incredible urge to scream, his face burning as if he was brutally digging his fingernails in them.

He jumped up from the bench, the adrenaline and desperate immediately gone. He stared at her incredulously.

"Hermione…"

"What is it?" she asked, her eyebrows creasing in worry. "Did I press too hard?" Harry shook his head.

"Er. Nothing. Thanks a lot Hermione. Maybe we should meet back with your dad."

Something was going on, but Hermione thought wisely not to press on. She nodded and got up. Harry put on a new t-shirt, picked up his England robes and stuffed them into his bag. Hermione looked uneasily at him as she followed him out of the dressing rooms and into the passageway. They walked in a tense silence until Hermione decided to divert Harry's attention from whatever was bothering him.

"My dad said he'll meet us at the exit, he wanted to talk to Ron's parents, or dad I should say. I didn't see Mrs. Weasley at the match."

Harry nodded, but did not say anything as he pushed open the door to the main lobby. His chin was down, buried in thought. These images he got in his head were perplexing him. How was he seeing all this?

"HARRY POTTER!"

He looked up and was instantly blinded by a sharp flash of light. Many more flashes followed it from all directions, everybody calling his name.

'A FEW WORDS PLEASE!"

"CAN I SCHEDULE AND INTERVIEW?"

"MARGARET THATCHER FROM THE PROPHET, HOPING TO ASK-"

"JACK LOVEGOOD FROM THE QUIBBLER, YOU KNOW MY DAUGHTER SHE-"

"HARRY POTTER OVER HERE PLEA-"

"WE'RE FROM QUIDDITCH MONTHLY WE-"

"One at a time PLEASE!" Hermione shrieked, standing in front of him; her arms outstretched in a silencing manner. All the voices stopped, obviously stunned at this little girl eyeing down at them with such superiority. Harry's mouth dropped in awe- Hermione was in full control now. She pointed at the two young wizards from Quidditch Monthly.

"Thank you. You may ask Harry a few questions, but be brief and professional. We will not answer any questions that is irrelevant."

We?

The Quidditch monthly reporter, obviously still stunned, cleared his throat." Ahh, yes,.ahem. Terry Grey from Quidditch Monthly. Excellent performance, Mr. Potter! What is your opinion of England's game?"

This stumped Harry. He had only seen one big match before, and that was the Quidditch world cup final. He answered truthfully, "It was a hard match. I believe England was under pressure most of the game. We're glad the team regrouped at the end."

"The team regrouped? Mr. Potter, it was fairly obvious that it was one man that pulled England's arse out of the flames," Terry Grey countered.

'Uh yes well…" he stammered."It was a piece of luck, really."

"Luck? Luck? Ha! That was an extraordinary piece of flying and tenacity you pulled doing that stunt. We've never seen anything as outrageous. What's that manoeuvre called?"

Harry must admit that it was a dangerous piece of flying. It seemed that he rushed headfirst into the collision without thinking, something that he knew that was turning out to be a very dangerous habit. He recalled the whole ministry of magic incident, and realized he was regularly doing this sort of thing. He sighed.

"I don't know. It seemed sort of to be the only way to get the snitch at the time."

"So it was basically a gamble then."

"I guess so," Harry agreed, the comparison between this stunt and Sirius' rescue becoming more obvious by the second. He was lucky this time- he caught the snitch, but he could just as easily broken his neck.

"Well I guess it was 'Potter's Gamble'. Sounds good. We'll use that in print." He scribbled something down on the parchment in his hand. Hearing a new Quidditch move named after him was utterly ridiculous but it did give his ego a huge boost. "Thank you Harry. Great job out there!" he gave him a thumbs-up and allowed someone else to take the floor. Hermione pointed to a young witch who had her black hair pulled tightly in a bun.

"Olivia Harswick, 'Wizards Weekly'. Harry, was the pretty girl swooping down on you after the game your girlfriend? What is her name?" she shot the question unflinchingly, eyeing him. Harry frowned.

"That question is irrelevant Ms. Harswick," Hermione countered, a little peeved. "Next person plea-"

"And who may YOU be?" she challenged.

"Me? That is not impo-"

"Are you his girlfriend?" She interrupted again, her quill at the ready.

"No!" Hermione answered a bit too quickly.

"Well I suppose you should allow Mr. Potter to answer his own questions and stop putting your nose where it doesn't belong." Ms. Harswick said arrogantly.

Harry took offence at this. "Don't you dare insult Hermione," he said in a cold tone.

"Ah, so Hermione is it? Who is she to you Harry?" she asked sweetly.

"She's is one of my best friends," he answered automatically. Hermione beamed at him.

"From the smile she's giving you, I would wager she's a bit more than that."

Hermione rounded on her, eyes blazing, "Listen, I don't know who you think you are to be saying these things but I definitely would not tolerate any more of this nonsense."

"What are you going to do about it little girl? Lock me up in a jar?" She sneered at her. Hermione was taken back. How did she know about Skeeter? The other reporters laughed at her, oblivious to the deeper meaning in those words. Hermione; obviously embarrassed that all these wizards were laughing at her, flushed red. She opened her mouth to retort when she felt that eerie feeling of her hairs being on charge again. Harry took one step forward, eyeing Olivia Harswick. The laughter quickly died away and Hermione was now watching Harry with a sudden urge to pull him back. He stopped directly in front of Olivia, looking down at her through his slightly wet hair He stood there motionless for a full second, the lobby turning deathly quiet as the lights flickered above.

"Apologize to her. Now."

Olivia cringed, taking a step back. "I-I'm sorry," she said, clearly stunned. The lights flickered once or twice again, and were back to normal. Harry nodded curtly, then looked back at Hermione.

"Come on, let's go," he said softly. He rest his fingers at the small of her back and led them to the place where Arthur Weasley was talking with Roger Granger, clearly oblivious to the little scene that just occurred around the bend. Arthur Weasley was grinning broadly and laughing at something Mr. Granger had just told him. They saw Harry and Hermione approach and they called out to them.

"Harry dear boy, absolutely smashing display! Seeing brooms fly scared me to death but I must admit, it's highly entertaining. From what I've heard you are something of a prodigy. First you make house team in year one and now the youngest Quidditch player to represent the under 20 squad. How old are you? Sixteen?" Roger asked.

"Fifteen, sir. Sixteen on the 31st July."

"Amazing. Well I'm sure you'll be a huge success. That was some great flying," said Roger.

If I survive my trial- I'll definitely try my best…and that's a big 'IF'…

"Now Harry, don't let all this get to you. Keep your head on," said Mr. Weasley.

"Yeah- it's a bit overwhelming isn't it?"

"Well Arthur, it was great seeing you again. Guys you ready?"

They nodded. They said their goodbyes and followed Roger to the car.

"How about something to eat?" asked Mr. Granger.

"No thanks-" Harry wanted to sleep. These bouts of telepathy and dizziness were fatiguing him. Hermione knew him too well- she could hear in his voice that he was exhausted.

"Harry's tired dad. Maybe we should just go home. He has to come back tomorrow for practice," Hermione explained. He nodded to her in silent thanks, and dozed off in the back of the car. When they reached at the Granger's house, Roger awoke Harry and helped him carry his gym bag. Harry took his firebolt from the back seat and trudged up the stairs, his muscles aching, especially his shoulder and lower back. He dumped his firebolt and his gym bag on the ground and fell into bed.

"Harry, you can't sleep just yet! You've got to write to Ron!"

Harry grumbled something resembling 'a little later, a little later.'

"Fine! When Ron bites off your head in the next letter I hope you will tell him that I tried to remind you!" cried Hermione.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered and fell asleep.

Hermione looked at him, all brave and heroic on the pitch but he looked so young now, sprawled on the bed with his shoes and glasses still on. She sighed, took them off again and covered him with the sheet.

"You sleep well. You deserve some peace." She whispered to him. She left the room, remembering the way he defended her at the match. She smiled to herself, recalling the way he automatically told the woman that she was one of his best friends. He never really showed how much he appreciated her, and to do it in front of so many reporters was more than she could have asked.