CHAPTER 5

Tears and Tryouts

Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't get a chance to compare notes until that night at dinner. The boys had expected Hermione to be in their Charms class, but it turned out she had advanced Herbology that hour instead. Ron was extremely disappointed and was starting to act sulky.

"So, then, you mean the only class we have together is Potions? But that's no good--Snape won't let us talk, or--or anything!" He jammed his cheek down onto his fist and toyed grumpily with his food. Hermione patted his arm.

"That's okay, Ron," she said. "Actually it might be for the best. I mean, this way we won't be distracted from our studies all the time by having each other constantly around." Ron's eyes slid in her direction and then back to his plate, clearly not swayed by this logic.

"Well, it'll make us...appreciate our time together even more?" she tried. He grunted, determined to remain unconvinced.

"Oh come on, Ron," Hermione coaxed. "It's not like we'll never see each other. This is our future we're talking about. Our careers. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" She shook her head in exasperation and resumed eating. Ron sat up, indignant now.

"Your future? Your career?" he said, his voice starting to rise. Harry glanced at the staff table and put a hand on Ron's arm in warning. Ron shook it off.

"What about our future?" he said. "We've only been back at school for one day and you've already crowded me right out of your schedule. What was this summer all about--just a way to pass the time?"

By now several heads had turned their way. Hermione, flustered, tsk'd and threw her hands up, then buried her face in them. Ron swung his legs over the bench and swept from the Great Hall in a huff. Harry wasn't sure if he should go after him or stay with Hermione. He caught Seamus's eye and shrugged. Seamus winked.

"First quarrel for the young lovers, eh?" he said with a wise nod. "Never you mind, Hermione, he'll be back." Hermione raised her head to glare at him, angry tears shimmering in her eyes, and Seamus quickly stuffed a drumstick into his mouth, a cherubic expression on his puckish features. Harry attempted the role of peacemaker.

"Don't worry, Hermione. It's all just a bit--new. I expect it'll sort itself out after a bit, see if it doesn't."

Hermione sniffled. "Oh, Harry, this summer was lovely and I do care for Ron--after all, I never would have let things go as far as they did if I didn't care." Harry's eyebrows rose at this, but Hermione didn't stop to explain, leaving him awash in curiosity. How far had things gone? She rambled on.

"I mean, that was a holiday, and this is school. This is important, Harry. We only get one chance to get an education. We'll have the rest of our lives to be together, but right now we have to put all our efforts into school. Why can't he see that? It's not like we won't see each other every day, you know." She surreptitiously wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe, belatedly aware of interested onlookers.

Harry had more or less stopped listening after "the rest of our lives". Did that mean--were Hermione and Ron--?

"The rest of your lives?" he blurted.

Hermione looked at him blankly. "What?"

"You said you'd have the rest of your lives to be together," he said.

"Oh--well, er, of course," Hermione said brightly. She fiddled nervously with her silverware, belying her casual tone. "I just meant--well, you know..." She trailed off and glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye to see if he was still listening. He was grinning with gleeful enjoyment at her discomfiture.

"Yes?" he said politely, heroically swallowing a laugh. It wasn't often that Hermione was caught without an answer.

"Oh, very well," she said crossly. "If you must know, Ron and I are unofficially--unofficially," she stressed, "engaged." She looked around furtively. "And I'd appreciate your keeping that to yourself, if you don't mind."

Harry was nonplussed. Engaged? At sixteen? He didn't realize he had voiced his thoughts aloud until Hermione hissed at him to put a sock in it.

"Harry, ssh! We don't want it to get about," she whispered. "It's far too early to say anything. Just keep it to yourself. Please." She got up. "Really, Ron's got to be a bit more reasonable about this." She bustled off, still muttering under her breath.

Harry looked around. Hagrid, at the staff table, gave him a broad wink and jerked his head to the left, toward Snape. He had once again somehow been seated next to Professor Lovejoy, who chatted blithely to him, appearing to not notice his white-knuckled grip on his goblet or the bizarre grimace he wore, which Harry supposed to be the Snape version of a smile.

As Harry watched the two of them, an amused grin on his face, Snape happened to look over and catch him staring. Immediately he thumped his goblet down, pushed his chair back and, nodding curtly to a startled Professor Lovejoy, abruptly left the Great Hall. She stared after him for a moment, then smiled to herself and continued with her meal.

Harry headed for the Gryffindor common room, somewhat puzzled. He couldn't see what there was about Snape that could possibly cause anyone to pursue his company. Professor Lovejoy couldn't like him. She couldn't! Of course she didn't. Snape? Never. It just wasn't possible. Harry chuckled at the direction his thoughts were taking. The very idea of someone as young and lovely as Professor Lovejoy being interested in that--that--well, words failed him. Harry shuddered and put the notion firmly out of his mind as he, too, left the hall to return to Gryffindor.

When he reached the portrait-hole, Hermione was holding the door open for a group of first-years, in full Prefect mode.

"Come on, now. No stragglers," she admonished. "If Filch finds you running about after hours you'll lose us house points." She eyed them sternly, hand on hip. "You do not want to lose house points," she warned. "Not if you want to get on in Gryffindor, you don't."

Harry walked past them to where Ron sat at a table by the window; his Potions book was open, but he was twirling his quill idly and not really studying. He looked at Harry sheepishly.

"Guess I made an ass of myself, didn't I?" he said. "I don't know, Harry. I heard the words coming out of my mouth, but I just couldn't seem to stop myself." He groaned pathetically. "I suppose Hermione's not speaking to me now, is she?"

"Don't be stupid," Harry said. "Just tell her you're sorry. Say you're not worthy of her and that you hope she's still willing to marry you."

Ron sat up straighter. "Yeah, I suppose I could go over there and--wait. What? What did you--" He rounded on Harry. "Marry me?" he squeaked. "What d'you mean? Who said anything about marriage?" He smiled weakly at Harry's knowing look.

"Oh, all right then. Told you, did she? Girls never can keep secrets. Don't let on to anyone, will you, Harry? Only we're a bit young for anyone to take us seriously, you know? We just want to keep it quiet for a while. All right?" He looked at Harry anxiously, and Harry relented.

"I already told Hermione I wouldn't say anything. Does anyone else know?"

Ron shook his head. "I think Ginny might suspect something," he mused, "but she can go right on suspecting. Won't hurt her a bit." They looked across the room to where Ginny and Hermione sat talking animatedly together. Once they looked over at Harry and Ron and giggled; when Hermione saw Ron watching her, she tossed her head and pointedly looked away.

"Oh yeah," Ron said, gloomy once more. "She's crazy about me, I can tell." Harry chuckled.

"We'd better memorize the ingredients for Veritaserum," he observed. "Have to recite them in class tomorrow. Yuck." He shivered theatrically. "Recitations. It'll be like grammar school all over again." He thought of Snape and struck his fist on the table, making Ron jump.

"I just remembered," Harry said. "Do you know, I think Professor Lovejoy has a thing for Snape." Ron goggled at him, his own woes momentarily forgotten.

"No," he breathed. "Really? What makes you think so?"

Harry told him about his observations at dinner. "And it looked to me," he concluded, "like she's maybe doing it on purpose--sitting with him, the little touches on his arm, trying to get him to talk to her. Looks like she's got a right old crush on him." He shook his head sorrowfully. "What a waste."

Ron shook his head in commiseration. "It is that, mate." They began to work on their Potions homework, but the picture of Professor Lovejoy's delicate beauty in close proximity to Snape's sallow, sour-faced visage remained at the back of Harry's mind and caused his dreams that night to be very odd indeed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Saturday morning and Gryffindor house Quidditch tryouts finally arrived. There was much excited buzzing at the Gryffindor table over breakfast that morning. Harry was elated. Between being barred from Quidditch the year before by Professor Umbridge and having had only the very occasional chance to practice with Ron in August, due to Ron's frequent disappearances with Hermione, Harry was afraid his flying, not to mention his Seeking skills might be a bit rusty. As Gryffindor's newly appointed captain, he was doubly determined not to let his house down.

As Harry walked out to the Quidditch pitch after breakfast, Hagrid fell into step beside him.

"All right then, Harry?" he asked cheerfully, with a jovial clap on the shoulder that almost felled Harry. "Lovely day fer Quidditch tryouts. Thought I might just watch fer a while, if yeh don't mind." He lowered his voice. "How was yer summer, Harry? Haven't really had a chance ter talk to yeh. Been busy, y'know. Got some wonderful new stuff in store for my classes this year. Pity yeh won't be there. I'll miss seein' you three every day, that I will."

They had reached the pitch. Hagrid seemed to realize he'd gotten sidetracked from the intended direction of his conversation and tried again.

"So--was yer summer, er, pretty quiet, then, Harry?" Hagrid winked, laid a finger alongside his nose, and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially, "If yeh know what I mean."

Just then Alicia Spinnet caught sight of Harry and jogged up to them.

"Come on, Harry," she panted. "Better get started. Looks like we've got a pretty good-sized group who want to try out." She took hold of his wrist and marched him smartly off. Harry glanced back and gave a belated thumbs-up to Hagrid to indicate his summer had been uneventful, but Hagrid was already turning away to climb the nearest viewing stand. There were a few scattered Gryffindors who had come to watch the tryouts and were looking forward to spending some time in the sun.

A rather large group of students stood waiting nervously for Harry. The first-years looked at him in awe; not only was he the famous Harry Potter, but he was captain of their own Quidditch team. For a moment Harry had a strange sensation, a combined feeling of smugness and arrogance, as he surveyed the group before him and realized that now he was their leader. They were all anxious to please him; they cared what he thought. For a brief moment he basked in a feeling of supreme self-satisfaction.

Then, without warning, he felt a searing blaze of pain from his scar. His hand flew to his forehead and he felt faint. Ron noticed and, worried, started toward him.

Suddenly Harry remembered a vision of his father being unbearably smug and arrogant. The previous year Snape had attempted to teach Harry the art of Occlumency, or closing one's mind to external probing, in an attempt to keep Voldemort from penetrating Harry's mind and being able to control him. When Harry had succumbed to curiosity about the Pensieve sitting on Snape's desk, while Snape was out of the room for a moment, Harry had inadvertently witnessed an old memory of Snape's from when he was a student at Hogwarts, at the same time as James Potter.Harry had never known his father, who had been killed by Voldemort when Harry was very young, but he had always carried an idealized picture of his father in his mind. After seeing this vision, Harry's perception of his father had undergone a radical change, not for the better, and one which he was still at times reluctant to acknowledge. James Potter had not always been the warm, caring person Harry had grown up seeing in his mind's eye. Harry was not particularly grateful to Snape for this unwanted glimpse of reality, nor for his new understanding of what Snape meant when he told Harry he was "just like his father". He now knew that, at least when Snape said it, it was decidedly not meant as a compliment.

Ron reached Harry's side. "All right, Harry?" he asked quietly. Harry swallowed and nodded.

"It was just my scar--for a minute," he replied. Ron's eyes widened. He was well aware that whenever Harry's scar hurt, it meant that he and Voldemort were mentally connecting in some way. He looked an emphatic question at Harry, who shook his head. They would have to discuss it later. Shaking himself, Harry addressed the waiting hopefuls.

"Right, then, everyone. As you know, we've got four openings on the team this year. Most likely Ron Weasley will be staying on as Keeper, but to be fair we'll try out anyone else who's interested in the position. We also need two Beaters and a Chaser. So--let's divide into groups." He waved off to the left. "Chasers over here. Beaters--here. Keepers--here." There was only one prospective Keeper other than Ron.

"Okay. Let's start with the Chasers. I'm going to put the Quaffle up, and I want to see how you do on passing and scoring goals. Two at a time, up you go."

Ginny and Dennis Creevey were the first two to take to their brooms. At Harry's direction they passed to each other and practiced scoring goals while Ron and Katie Bell stood in as Keepers at either end of the pitch. Harry called them down after five minutes of hard flying.

"Good show, you two," he said, shaking their hands. "Next two Chasers!" He put all six prospective Chasers through the same drills, trying to remain scrupulously impartial although he really did think Ginny showed the most promise, being quick, agile, and surprisingly aggressive.

Everyone looked at Harry expectantly. He sighed. He knew what he was going to do, but he hoped no one would see it as favoritism.

"All right, everyone. You all did really well," he began. "I'm glad to see some first-years have decided to try out." These were two eleven-year-old boys, avid Quidditch fans as many students were at that age.

"You'll get your chance eventually," he told them. "And don't go anywhere, because we're going to need all of you in a few minutes, if you don't mind assisting. But for now I would like to welcome our new Chaser--Ginny Weasley." A burst of applause from the spectators indicated that Gryffindor appeared to be well enough pleased with his choice, which Harry was pleased to note.

The Beaters auditioned next. There were only two of them--Fred and George Weasley's best mate Lee Jordan, a seventh-year student, and--surprisingly--Lavender Brown. The most noticeable thing about her, Harry had always thought, was her tendency to leap to Professor Trelawney's defense any time a student maligned Trelawney's supposed ability with divination. That and her unfortunate propensity for giggling annoyingly whenever a boy paid any attention to her. Harry doubted Lavender truly had the aggressive tendencies necessary to make her a decent Beater. But as there were two vacancies and only two people interested in trying out for them, he had to give her a chance.

"Right--Beaters, here's what you're going to do. Hermione has kindly put a Flying Charm on four sets of robes. I want you to use the Bludgers like you would in a real Quidditch game and try to knock out the robes. Let's see how you do. Up you go!" He released the two Bludgers and Lee and Lavender soared after them, bats at the ready.

Harry shivered a little as he watched the charmed robes swirling above the pitch. They looked eerily like the Dementors that had haunted his third year at Hogwarts, hunting for Harry's outlawed godfather, Sirius Black. The Dementors had traditionally been under the control of the Ministry of Magic and were used as guards at Azkaban, the wizard prison, but over the last two years it had become increasingly apparent that they now bowed to a more malevolent authority, indeed were likely in the service of Voldemort himself.

"Pretend they're Slytherins!" someone shouted, and everyone laughed. Lee, who had formerly participated in Quidditch games only as an announcer, apparently took the advice to heart, swinging at the Bludgers so hard he nearly fell off his broom twice. Harry looked at him skeptically; Lee might not be a veteran Quidditch player, but Harry knew him to be a better flyer than that. He crossed his arms, waiting for Lee to look at him, then raised his hands--and eyebrows--inquiringly. Lee wobbled a bit, then straightened and gave Harry a devilish grin.

"Just joking, Harry!" he called, and in quick succession sent the Bludgers whirling through all four sets of robes. He flew past Harry with a flourish and bowed. The onlookers clapped, whistled, and cheered. Harry rolled his eyes but was inwardly relieved that Lee could at least fly well when he wanted to.

Lavender, too, acquitted herself well. Harry thought she must either have some hidden aggression in her or had found playing Quidditch a good way to take out her frustrations in life. Whatever the reason, when she hit a Bludger, she did it like she meant it. Her aim wasn't half bad, either.

"Pretty good, you two," said Harry after he had waved them back down. "I think you'll do." He turned to the stands and gestured toward Lee and Lavender. "Our new Beaters!" More cheering and applause ensued; the new Beaters had wide grins on their faces.

Finally it was time for Ron to defend his tenuous position as Keeper. He had gotten it by a fluke the previous year since no one else had been willing to step into Oliver Wood's shoes after his graduation and departure from Hogwarts. Ron's performance had been abysmal for most of the year, prompting Malfoy's evil genius to invent a song along the lines of "Weasley always lets the Quaffle in; Weasley is our King," sung with great gusto by Slytherins at all of Gryffindor's matches, to Ron's great chagrin. He had improved marginally toward the end of the year, and Harry hoped he'd been practicing hard over the summer.

"Keepers!" he called. Ron and a first-year, Michael Browning, came forward. "Each of you will take a goal," Harry explained. "We'll use all six Chasers who have tried out today. They'll bombard the goals with Quaffles, and you do your best to block them. During games there is only one Quaffle in play, but I want to see how your reaction times are. Professor McGonagall will keep score so we'll have some basis for comparison." Professor McGonagall waved from the announcer's stand. "Up you go!" called Harry.

Ron and Michael flew to opposite ends of the pitch and hovered around their respective goal hoops. Ron's hands were sweating badly, but he clung tightly to his broom, grimly determined to make a good showing. Michael, by contrast, sat his broom with ease and rather looked as if he were enjoying himself.

The Chasers flew haphazardly across the pitch, coming at the hoops from all angles, sometimes swerving away at the last moment, at other times turning mid-field from a feinted retreat to fire their Quaffles. Both Ron and Michael were doing a fairly good job of repelling them. After three minutes Harry blew his whistle and motioned all the players down. He turned toward the announcer's stand.

"How does it look, Professor?" he called.

Professor McGonagall ahemmed and, pointing her wand at her throat, said, "Sonorus!" She cleared her throat again, and now her voice rang clearly across the pitch.

"It seems we have a tie, Mr Potter," she said. "Twenty points for each Keeper." She pointed her wand at her throat again, said, "Quietus," and waited expectantly.

Harry looked at the waiting Keepers. Michael's eyes were shining; he could hardly contain his eager, pink-cheeked excitement. Ron, on the other hand, was looking anywhere but at Harry in an attempt to appear supremely unconcerned with the outcome of the trials. Harry grinned--if Ron was so unconcerned, maybe Harry would have a little fun at his expense.

"Thank you both for trying out," he said. "You both did great. Michael--" Ron's shoulders drooped noticeably-- "thank you for coming. I hope you'll try out again; you've got the makings of a good Keeper." Harry paused, watching the disappointment on Ron's face turn to uncertainty, then to disbelieving joy.

"Well, Ron, if you're willing, we'd like you to stay on as Gryffindor's Keeper," Harry said, walking over and shaking Ron's hand. The Gryffindor spectators in the stands cheered and chanted, "Weas–ley! Weas–ley!" as Ron stood with a dazed look on his face. Finally Harry nudged him and muttered, "Wake up, mate--you made the team." Suddenly Ron whooped and caught Harry up in a hearty hug, slapping his back and jumping up and down all at the same time. Spying Ginny nearby, he hugged her, too, whirling her around until they were both breathless and laughing.

Harry watched their antics with a feeling of contentment. Potions, Snape, and even Voldemort seemed rather unreal and far away just now. This was how it was supposed to be--all his friends together and happy and enjoying life. Hagrid gave him a thumbs-up and a big smile from the stands, and Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly.

The players began heading back to the changing room. As Harry neared the exit gate, walking alone for the moment, Malfoy suddenly stepped out from where he had been watching the proceedings unnoticed. His lips twisted in a characteristic sneer.

"How like you, Potter," he drawled, "to let every lame duck in Gryffindor try out. You don't stand a chance against Slytherin this year. I can't believe you're letting Weasley stay on as Keeper. That mistake's going to cost you." He moved away from the stand and sauntered off. "Can't wait for our first match," he threw over his shoulder.

Ron came up behind Harry. "What did that slimy little git want?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head. "Just insulting everyone. You know. The usual."

Ron eyed him skeptically. "Insulting me, you mean."

Harry shrugged. "Does it really matter?" he asked. "You showed him what you're made of last year. You'll show him again this year. He could do with some reminding."

"Speaking of reminding," said Ron. "Where d'you suppose his two gorillas have got to? Looks like there's been a little break-up, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Wonder where they ended up? We know they're not going to be Aurors."

Ron snorted. "They're not in Potions, Hermione would have said. Maybe they had to repeat their fifth year," he chuckled as they entered the changing room. "Looks like Malfoy can't be bothered with them, at any rate. Must be just awful to have to do everything alone. Poor ickle Dwaco," he crooned, "all awone." He sniggered.

Harry batted him on the arm playfully, but at the same time he wondered what really had become of Crabbe and Goyle. He hadn't seen them since the first morning of term when they had left the Great Hall with their choice of career paths still unresolved. He remembered Ron's remark about their desire to become Death Eaters...and he wondered.