Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter
The upcoming 1st Quidditch match of the season was a welcome distraction.
What Lockhart had said to him managed to make its way slowly within Gryffindor Tower through a couple of eavesdroppers when Fay and Neville recounted his lesson. Within days, the 'Peacock Ponce' as he was officially dubbed, was completely and irrefutably ostracised by the House of Lions.
James and Lily Potter were alumni of the red and gold, and Harry was one of theirs. Lockhart's words were practically a death sentence for his popularity amongst them. It did not help that his reputation was already participating in a severe nose dive over the recent week's lessons.
It was rumoured also, that Minerva McGonagall was seen entering the man's office, fury frothing from her lips. Harry disliked everything that was going on with the situation for a few reasons. One being that it put him even more under scrutiny, and while he could accept the adoration for his Quidditch playing – considering it was all under his control – he detested the pitying looks and apologetic words from the students. Apart from the Slytherins of course.
Yet the weeks carried on as they always had. Ever piling up levels of homework, enjoyment of his circle of friends, the complexities and beauty of magic, and practice.
Over the summer, Wood had been sent an offer for trialing at Puddlemere United for their reserve Keeper, which he passed with flying colours. If the six of them thought he was manic in his approach the year before, now he was a professional team's reserve he was ten times as frenzied.
Harry was happy for his friend/captain but wished he would calm down a bit.
Wood had pulled him aside after practice one windy Monday night at the beginning of October. "Harry, what do you know about Seekers in the Pro League?"
"Nothing really, why?"
"Harry, would you ever think about doing Quidditch when you finish school?"
"Like, as a job?" Harry was not stupid. He knew where this was going. Really, he had not considered what sort of career he would like to go into. Neville and Fay had both told him of the various paths he could go down, but Quidditch? He definitely enjoyed it, and more than that, he was good at it. And when he took to the field, people were not viewing him as the boy-who-lived, or their preconceived notions on how he should act. They were seeing him as the Seeker for Gryffindor, and that made it all the more heavenly to think about.
"Harry, the owner of Puddlemere, when he found out that you were my Seeker, was asking all about you. I reckon you're going to get a few offers soon."
"Wait, what? But I'm only 12! How could I play for a team?"
"You won't be singled out. There are rumours of a foreign player at Durmstrang who's just a few years older than you being scouted for their national team. Harry, take it seriously. Trust me, you're beyond skilled, and with proper, professional training... Harry, you'd be unstoppable."
The conversation left an imprint on Harry. When he spoke to the rest of his friends later, they concurred with their Captain's assessment. He had never really considered what he would do when he left Hogwarts – it felt so far away. 'Quidditch. Hmm, maybe.'
His good mood on the topic was soured, however, as their team practice was just starting and seven green-robed boys walked out onto the pitch holding sleek black brooms.
"What the hell is this, Flint?" shouted Oliver. "We booked the field for today."
"Well," Flint said smugly, "We've got permission from Professor Snape, as we need to try out our new Seeker."
The rest of the lions had landed by this point, listening in to the conversation. Wood frowned, "What do you mean new Seeker?"
"That would be me."
Harry groaned when he saw Draco Malfoy nudge his way to the front of the pack. A smarmy smirk on his face, his posture screaming 'superiority'.
"Not just that, but Draco's father has seen fit to donate our team with brand new brooms."
"Top of the line, Nimbus 2001's," Malfoy said proudly. "A bit better than that old 2000 don't you think? Heh, I would bet just one of these would be worth more than your whole house Weasley."
Angelina and Alicia foresaw the twins' reaction and blocked them from getting passed, obscenities shouted towards the snakes.
"It doesn't matter anyway, we booked it first."
"Well, Professor Snape says otherwise."
"Oliver, just leave it for now." Katie glanced over at the still smirking Slytherins. "We'll beat them no matter the broom, so just leave it for now."
Malfoy couldn't resist getting one more jab in before they could leave. "I don't really know what you would expect from a coward. Luck won't matter when I'm up there. You'll be seeing how your better fares in the air."
"Funny one. No one here had to buy their way onto the team, Malfoy. Everyone here did it by their own skill."
Harry hadn't seen this argumentative side to Katie before, no one had. It was as if there had been a switch flipped from the normal friendly, kind girl to someone vigorously defending them. He hadn't thought of the house traits being something to take all that seriously before, but could easily comprehend now why the Sorting Hat chose Gryffindor for the girl.
Malfoy, however, was not as pleased as the Gryff players. "You dare speak to me like that? From a coward's whore?"
A mist descended and Harry saw only red. There was a firm grip of two different sets of hands grasping him tightly while he felt him being pulled backwards. The sound of jeers got quieter and quieter as the morning breeze swirled around him. Distantly he heard a gentle voice touch his ear. The heat slowly began to leave from the back of his head as his blood cooled.
"Come on Harry, Hagrid should be up. We'll go for a nice cup of tea. Get you back to normal."
He nodded along to what was being said. The anger had almost left him by this point, but every fibre of his being was disgusted at his response. He refused to let his mind cloud with such feeling. He saw what it did to people who embraced such emotion and never wanted it to affect him like he had experienced.
"I...I'm sorry."
Katie placed a finger under his chin, lifting him up so that their eyes locked. "Harry, you never need to apologise to me, okay? I think we were all shocked when you acted like that, but there is nothing to say sorry for. Oliver and Angelina managed to pull you back before you said or did anything too reckless."
"I never thought I'd see you do something like that Harry," said Fred. "Get off to Hagrid with you, I think I'm back to bed for a bit now that practice is cancelled."
Oliver was grumbling; he was muttering vulgarities under his breath that had Harry giggling. Katie took his hand in hers, broomsticks in their free one's, and pulled him off towards Hagrid's Hut
When Neville and Fay had heard about his angry outburst, they would have immediately dismissed it as a hallucination, but when confirmed by both Katie and Harry, they grew slightly concerned.
"He's never insulted any of you like that before. He's said things about my parents. And yes, they hurt, but Katie was in front of me. If you understand what I'm saying?"
They had, to an extent. They accepted it as further proof that Harry was nothing like how he had behaved 12 months previously. Flitwick and McGonagall, when they were told about his outburst, shared a silent look between each other. They concluded that his hormones and mental state were most likely all over the place due to the onset of puberty. Thus followed two slightly embarrassed teachers explaining exactly what that was and what it entailed to an even furtherly humiliated Harry Potter.
When looking retrospectively on his upbringing, of which knowledge they had limited information but enough to come to a close conclusion, it would only be right that the bonds he had forged would be extreme enough to warrant a response like he had given. Harry had exited that particular conversation with a greater perspective on his situation, but smiling as he realised that the two were correct.
"Just be careful, Mr Potter. Mr Malfoy can be slightly... determined, to cause issue with you personally. Now that he has seen such a response, he may try to antagonise you to get a similar response."
"It was an error Professor," he had replied. "I should have known that he would have said something."
"Just be careful, Harry," nodded Flitwick. "I would rather not see you in detention because of it."
True to his word, he kept himself calm. Though Malfoy's apparent bravery had renewed, and as such his spiteful taunts came back to the forefront of their interactions. Snape, whenever he witnessed such behaviour, would pretend not to hear anything and simply sneer. Things on that front appeared to be going back to their horrendous normality.
It would have been worse on the Halloween anniversary, but Neville and Fay had kept him occupied in the common room, though Neville looked a tad queasy.
Harry appreciated them keeping him company on a date he despised. The wonders of 'what ifs?' crawled over his body, making unbidden feelings arise over the musings of family.
Fred and George had snuck down to the kitchens to grab some food for him, knowing that he would not attend the feast.
"No need for thanks Harrikins."
"But..."
"Nope.
"Not going to accept."
"It's our pleasure."
Harry thanked them quietly though, packing what was brought away in a basked that came with them. When Katie came down the stairs from the girl's dormitory she sat down on the back of the sofa, her hand gently running through his hair as her nails glided over his scalp.
Neville and Fay sadly said their goodnights as they followed their housemates. This was something that Harry wanted to do with Katie alone and refused to have their own evening ruined by his selfishness.
No words since that day had been spoken of his unnatural eruption at his school bully. Truthfully, Katie was incredibly touched that Harry had altered his very behaviour, even if temporarily, for her.
She adored the boy who was almost purring under her touch. At first, it had been a connection that she established because of her pity. Over time it changed. It altered in short bursts to having him be someone so integral to her life.
When her parents had sat her down to talk about her relationship with Harry, she was not sure how she could define it exactly. "He's hurting. If I can take some of that away, then shouldn't I?"
They didn't have an answer for their daughter. They felt strange about this issue but felt that no harm was coming from it and so trusted her to make the right decision.
They could hear the night's celebration in full swing as they crept outside. Their hands entwined as they walked to their spot on the rock by the lake. Whenever no one could find Harry, she would know that this was the place to find him. It had become their refuge together from the weight of the world.
They enjoyed each other's company here that night, laughter and conversation flowing like a stream. Neville and Fay were his closest and best friends, but this was something far deeper than that. The relationship they shared was interpreted on a spiritual level. She was his balm and his anchor. He knew now why he felt so hideous when Malfoy said those words, and he was okay with that.
They sat side by side in peaceful silence, listening once more to the ripples of the lake, ignorant of the chaos exploding in the castle.
While accusations and fear spread over the words on the wall, and the frozen body of Mrs Norris was ogled like a curiosity, the two of them simply enjoyed the moments they had together.
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There had been some questioning as to their whereabouts that evening, with snide comments sent his way by the Potions professor, and an accusatory stare from Lockhart, but their location had been waved off as unimportant by McGonagall.
"I knew exactly where they would be, Severus."
"Of course, Minerva, but why would Mr Potter not be with his... friends, at the feast?"
"I agree with Severus, my dear." The look she gave to Lockhart could have melted steel. "I and Professor Snape are both in agreement that Harry may have let his slight fame go to his head. I believe we had such a discussion not too long ago as well."
The back and forth had carried on between them, but Harry stood with his head down, not saying a word. Katie looked him over, eyes hardening at the accusations while her respect for the Transfiguration Professor increased.
"Professors," she spoke up while there was a lull. They turned to face her questioningly. "Harry doesn't like Halloween all too much." She gripped his hand tightly, reassuring him that she was there with him. "So I promised that I would stay with him. We spent time outside, away from the feast; we got permission from Professor McGonagall to do so."
"Severus, Gilderoy," intoned Dumbledore, who had been observing silently, "The magic used to petrify poor Mrs Norris is beyond what a second year could accomplish, no matter how skilled Mr Potter is." He ignored the snort released by Snape. "And I was aware of his wish to remove himself from the festivities of the night. Of which I find perfectly understandable."
Harry smiled at the Headmaster, who winked back cheekily.
"Now, if that is to be all, I do believe that Mr Potter and Miss Bell have a Quidditch match to get some rest for tomorrow."
They had been dismissed from the presence of their professors and departed for Gryffindor Tower.
"Snape really has it out for you."
Harry nodded his head, choosing not to say anything. He was tired, both physically and emotionally, and just wanted his bed.
Before the portrait of the Fat Lady, Katie stopped them both. "I'm always here for you Harry." She brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear and pulled him into a gentle embrace. "You know that right?"
"I know," he whispered.
"Good. Now come on, we've got a match to win tomorrow."
That had been the night before, where everything seemed so right in the face of something so wrong. Now, with a Bludger hurtling right at him, he could not say the same.
The match had begun well enough, but almost immediately something seemed wrong. Both of the Bludgers were acting oddly. No matter what Fred or George did to defend him, and no matter how far away they were hit, they came screaming right back at him much faster than they should be able to.
The plays were getting dirtier and dirtier as Slytherin ran rings around their inferior brooms; the Slytherin Chaser's had more general skill, but the teamwork of the three girls was far more superior. The scoring was being kept fairly even because of this, with Gryffindor keeping up (barely) with only 60 points between them.
Three times Harry had gone for the Snitch, only to be distracted by the rogue Bludgers. Two of those times, Malfoy showcased that he was all bark and no bite when he lost the golden ball in what should have been much easier pickings.
With each minute that passed, Harry was getting more and more frantic. They couldn't keep demanding time outs to give him some reprieve. The balls had been checked and checked again, but each time there was no tampering shown. It was deemed to be the magic of the Bludgers and was considered allowable, much to the annoyance and anger of the observing Gryffindors.
So once more Harry went unto the breach, kicking off at the sound of Hooch's whistle. The moment his Nimbus rose into the air, the Bludgers shot after him like a magnet. He was getting tired. On top of having to use more of his stamina to keep up with a superior broom such as Malfoy's, he was having to utilise every muscle he could to perform the moves required to dodge the extremely violent hunters.
Fred and George by this point were panicking noticeably at the danger their little friend was in. Their beater bats were constantly hitting air as the Bludgers were taking a mind of their own, with juddering movements as if they were deliberately avoiding getting hit. It was enough of a split-second distraction each time to relieve Harry, but he was sweating profusely; the Bludgers were getting more violent, seemingly smarter, and closer with each passing minute.
His movements were becoming more erratic. He and his broom had been hit more than once, luckily by mostly glancing blows, except the one that bounced off his collar bone and smashed straight into his right elbow. He flew through the pain. A 'normal' person would have tried to leave the match by this point.
Quidditch made people change from their norms it seemed, for Harry was determined to catch the Snitch; he wanted to prove to Malfoy that his derogatory behaviour was of a tenuous basis, and he did not wish to dishearten those who put their faith in him by failing.
It was near enough on the hour after play had begun. Slytherin was winning the match at 260-170, with Alicia scoring a quick penalty when Harry glimpsed a hint of vibrating gold out right behind a gleefully laughing Draco Malfoy.
He did not think. He just charged headfirst, right arm flailing tucked into his chest, cradling away the pain. The opposing Seeker rolled out of the way, profanities spewing from his lips.
Harry ignored him, praying that the match would just end. His free arm lunged before him, clutching at air, while he instinctively pulled his body in the direction he just knew the Snitch would jump to. His broom turned sharply in a 90 degree angle, his hand curling, and in the movement he made, the Snitch made its own way into his hand.
He had no time to enjoy the moment; his momentum ended as he caught the winning ball to the sound of raucous screams. These turned to fear laden ones as one of the Bludgers nailed him directly in the gut.
He had no time to scream as he was blown clear off of his Nimbus, falling uncontrollably the 60 or so feet to the ground below. The speed was such that no one had time to even attempt to halt his fall, so the last thing Harry saw before he reached unconsciousness was the terrified visages of Katie and George as their broomsticks screamed towards him.
When he awoke, the sun had vanished from the sky, replaced with shining starlight.
He looked around, vision blurry as his glasses were not on his face.
"Harry Potter should not have come to Hogwar-", any words that Dobby the House Elf were to say after this was silenced as Harry felt the weight on his bed vanish.
Harry heard violent whisperings away from his bed, followed by muttered squeaks, and then silence. He heard a low snapping sound and footsteps coming to his bed.
"He's awake. He really shouldn't be awake." The voice sounded like Professor Flitwick, but his addled mind couldn't comprehend why he would be here so late.
"He can't be. That fool near killed Mr Potter. The amount of pain his body must be in while I fix him should be enough to force him unconscious."
"Madam Pomfrey, I think Professor Flitwick may be right." A cool hand landed on his forehead, moving back and forth. He felt so tired.
"Wha... What's going on?" The Elf, and the whole situation, had him muddled. He felt as though he was enduring a waking dream as his confusion overrode any sense of comprehension.
"Shh, Harry." It was Katie. He could always tell her voice. "Go back to sleep. We'll be right here when you wake up."
He felt a warm pressure replace the hand which travelled to his scalp and started to gently scratch it.
His eyelids drooped as they became heavier and heavier, and he returned to the land of the unawake.
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"That was definitely some of the best flying ever seen, Mr Potter. And I tell you, I do not say that lightly."
The man was practically bouncing up and down before Harry's hospital bed.
"But this is too much," Harry was stunned into near incoherency. "Mr Breakes, I'm not old enough surely."
The man chuckled kindly. "It's fine Mr Potter, trust me on this. I understand your reservations, but I saw how well you flew, and against charmed Bludgers at that! I showed the omniocular recording to the team, and most are as excited as I am at the possibility of you joining us. With Amanda leaving to join the Harpies, and with our reserve Seeker now pregnant, we are in desperate need of one if we wish to keep any measure of success. I was told of your proficiency in the position, but wow, that was something amazing."
Professor McGonagall, in her position as his head of house, was standing next to his bed, hand on his shoulder as she looked on the proceedings with an immense feeling of pride.
"Mr Breakes is offering you a position that I strongly suggest you take, Mr Potter."
He quirked an eyebrow up at her. "Um, Professor. Isn't Tutshill the team you support?"
She said nothing, but the light dusting of red on her cheeks spoke volumes.
"I've already hashed out the contract if you do say yes, and Professor's McGonagall and Dumbledore have agreed to agree as long as there are some stipulations."
"Which are, Mr Breakes?"
"Well, you would need a chaperone from the school to come with you when training and playing. It makes sense really and it's something I know other teams have done before. You would be paid a set rate of 100 Galleons per match, with an extra 50 per win, with another 20 if you catch the Snitch. Bonuses involved as well depending on our league position. There are more technicalities, but those are the two most serious ones."
"I would seriously advise taking the offer, Mr Potter. You are plenty far ahead in your studies, especially in my own and Filius' class, that we can loosen up on your homework contributions. I cannot promise that other teachers would be open to this as well, but know that we trust your education will not slip."
Harry looked down at his lap, not expecting such a conversation when he awoke that afternoon.
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had been quietly chatting on a conjured table setting by the foot of his bed when his eyes fluttered open to the feel of a painful headache.
He had croaked out a noise, to which the school Matron had hurried over to him, wand waving and incarnation's uttered. "Mr Potter," she had begun, "As much as enjoy your company, I would rather not have had to restore your digestive tract and have to regrow your entire arm's skeletal structure."
"What?" he asked dumbly.
"You've been unconscious for 2 days Mr Potter. I would advise it that you remain here for another few more just so I can see if you are fully healed."
He looked over to a relieved McGonagall. "You gave us a real fright Mr Potter." Her Scottish burr thickened slightly as she took him in. "What do you remember?"
He scrunched his face up as he tried to do so, "Catching the Snitch, then falling. After that, not very much." He shot up straight, a stab of pain hitting him as he did so. He fell back onto his pillow, writhing as he felt as if his whole torso was stretching in every way possible. "What...do...you...mean?" he gasped out. "Regrow?"
Pomfrey tutted as she turned her head away, though he could clearly see McGonagall's rage. "Our esteemed," she spat out, "Defence Professor decided to take the role of Madam Pomfrey and using his incredible intelligence cocked up a simple healing spell with a vanishing one! The bast-" she coughed into her hand, stopping herself abruptly. "Mr Lockhart is, for lack of a better word, a fool."
"Oh."
"Only you Mr Potter, could take all of that and just say the word, oh," Pomfrey said dryly. "Now, I am loath to say this, but Minerva, give him some fluids and a bite to eat, and as long as the man doesn't excite him too much, he should be able to have that discussion later today."
This led to the manager of the Tutshill Tornados giving Harry Potter an offer of the Seeker position for his team.
"Can I think about it?" Harry asked.
"Of course, Mr Potter, I would like to have a response by Friday if possible. It may be too late after that, as we play Wimbourne Sunday afternoon, and any skilled Seeker is better than an untested one."
When the man had left, he had discussed the offer thoroughly with Flitwick, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and his friends, and each time he did they were in agreement that he should accept.
"Harry, my boy," smiled Dumbledore, "I have witnessed your grandiose display of Seeking very thoroughly and I must say of what a privilege to see such mastery over the sky. If it is destiny that you should play, why, I daresay Professor McGonagall wouldn't be adverse to the idea now, would she?"
When Katie had come to visit, she had latched onto him like a limpet and refused to let go. "That man is toast now," she fumed.
"You should have seen it, Harry," George couldn't help the smirk grace his face as he remembered. "If Flitwick hadn't of stopped her she would have just kept punching."
"Punching?" Harry asked warily.
Katie waved it off. "It was just a couple of hits. He had just vanished like half your body. I may have been a tad upset."
"'Upset' she says." Fred shook his head. "If that was upset then I don't want to know what angry is like."
"Yeah, uh, Katie, the grass was meant to be green, not that lovely red colour," George continued. He raised his hands in defence at her grimace. "Hey, I don't disagree. I think if you hadn't have got there first, one of us would have done exactly the same. At least Pomfrey healed your hand. Can't say the same for ol' Gilderoy."
"I think he's still wearing the bandages. I tell you, when Mum hears about this, she's going to go mental. He demanded that Katie be expelled, but Dumbledore just told him to think of it as experience when fighting off a smaller attacker."
Harry had asked about Dobby as well, not sure if it was a dream or not. Katie had hesitantly filled him in.
"He was there that night – I knew you had woken up – and myself and McGonagall had some... words with him. Don't worry, he won't be doing anything again."
Harry was not too sure what she meant by that but decided to let things lie as they were.
There was some drama that had unfolded as well it seemed, as one of Harry's 'fans' had now been petrified. The boy was a Colin Creevey, someone that Harry had never really spoken to, but had deemed him important enough to follow him around with a camera. He was slightly too forward, but some of the others had allowed him to take some photos of them together, which Harry had happily put into his photo album.
He tried as he could to put it out of his mind, however, as he spoke to and nervous looking Mr Breakes. "I think I will, sir," Harry could have smiled along with the man it was that infectious, "But is it possible that I could ask for a favour or two?"
"What is it, my boy?"
Professor Dumbledore was almost ignoring the conversation as he sat chewing on his muggle confectionary of the week, a look of content on his face.
"We-well," he wet his lips as his nerves started bubbling forth. "Am I allowed to choose the teacher who comes with me?"
"Of course, Mr Potter. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore wouldn't mind."
"Oh of course I don't mind, Harry. As long as I get to come at least once. It has been a while since I've seen a professional match."
"That...that's fine, sir. Is it okay if I take Hagrid for my first one?" he asked softly.
"I'm sure Rubeus would be more than happy with that, Mr Potter. I expect that Professor McGonagall would be wishing the most."
Harry grinned at his Headmaster, before turning back to Breakes. "Is it okay if I can get tickets for my friends to come too? Not now, I know, but when school isn't on and there is a game?"
"I don't see why not. I take it that this is an acceptance, Mr Potter?" Harry nodded his head in agreement. "Perfect, I'll see you on Sunday, bright and early. Professor," he dipped his head at the Headmaster and turned to walk out, a jaunty tune on his lips and a skip in his step.
Harry once more experienced the... thrill... of floo travel two days later, an excited Hagrid in his wake.
"I can' tell ya 'ow much this means Harry. I'm sure ya'll do righ'. Thanks, fo' pickin' me too. Mean a righ' lo' it does."
"Of course I'm going to pick you first, Hagrid. You were the one that brought me to this world. You showed me what it was like, so it's the least I could do." Harry could always speak frankly with Hagrid; the man was just so easy to get along with.
"Ah, Mr Potter. And Hagrid, it's good to see you again. Last time I saw you, I'm pretty sure I was on fire. Now, come, come. We haven't got much time to prepare for the match, but it'll have to do." Breakes hurried out of the room, beckoning them to follow.
He led them into a locker room, depositing a sky-blue and white coloured set of Quidditch robes and accompanying armour. "We got your measurements from McGonagall," he explained as he pulled him out and into a large room after he had changed. "I'm sorry Hagrid, if you wouldn't mind following Mizzy" he pointed at a stationary House Elf, "She will take you to our top box. There will be complementary refreshments, of course, but from here on its team only I'm afraid."
Hagrid went off without issue, giving Harry a half-hug and a shout of 'good luck!'
Harry was then introduced to six people of varying ages, most greeting him with a smile.
There was Alexandra McDowell, an older looking, grey-haired woman who was the team's Keeper. The Chasers: James Wild, a portly looking man with smile lines and a bright red handlebar moustache; Fiona Burner, a young looking, bubbly woman who greeted him enthusiastically while staring at where his scar was; and Jeremiah Jones, a middle aged man who was apparently a cousin of the famous player Gwenog Jones who rudely muttered under his breath at seeing him. The Beaters hailed him with high friendliness: Sarah Wilkes and Max Gibbon, older players who were covered in bruises, and both having cauliflower ears.
Harry politely said his hello's to these people who would be his teammates, wishing in his head that Hagrid could have stayed with him as his nerves and anxieties increased. He just wanted to be back out on the field; there could be 10,000 people watching him then and he would not even realise. The hunt for the Snitch was the only thing that he could focus on in the sky.
The feeling of desperation, for what he did not know, roiled in his gut. Nerves struck him like icicles in the back of his head, and he could feel his mouth begin to salivate while the bile rose slowly in his throat. It was the waiting – the what if's? – that he could not stand.
"Dunno exac'ly wha' a kid's gonna do, ya know? The only reason we ain't bo'om of the table is cos the Cannons are shite."
"Jeremiah!" shouted Fiona and Sarah at the same time.
"I's true though innit?" Harry decided then and there that he didn't want to get to know the man. "Lil' squir'll cock it all up in the firs' minu', trus' me on this."
Harry saw him spit into the corner, but none of his teammates decided to back him up. He was as silent as the grave when they were summoned onto the pitch. His eyes appeared hollow, and his already too pale features became like chalk.
The commentator introduced them, and Harry heard the pause after his name was spoken, followed by a muted spattering of applause. He felt lost. His Nimbus was held in his grip, the grass below him swaying in a light breeze and he idly wondered if he could just lay there. 'What am I doing here? This isn't house Quidditch, these people do this for a living!'
The snitch was released into the air, and Harry, whose nerves and distressed anxiety was so prevalent were causing his already super-reflexes to increase to a level of hypersensitivity. His eyes traced the golden ball as it darted this way and that, settling right next to the underside of the referee's broom.
The whistle blew, and Harry pushed his broom straight forward. The referee yelped in surprise, dodging backwards, causing the Snitch to drop down, then shoot directly into Harry's path.
His first match outside of Hogwarts had lasted a grand total of 6 seconds exactly.
The crowd had stilled, awe on every face as Harry's mental state began to return to normal. He closed his eyes and the cheers reminded him of Gryffindor's wholehearted support; the joyous shouts of his team as they swarmed him mirrored those of Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Fred, George, and Oliver. Yet he couldn't apply their voices to these strangers.
It was not until he reappeared in his common room, a wireless set blaring fast paced music in the centre of the room, that he knew he could receive the form of praise he craved. When Oliver cried over his shoulder; Fred and George thrust pumpkin juice and cake into his hands; when Alicia (as big a Tutshill fan as McGonagall apparently) spun him in circles, making him laugh boyishly; when Angelina told him how proud she was of him; when Katie held him tight and smiled that smile; when Neville lightly punched his shoulder; when Fay hugged him and whispered a "well done"; when the professors congratulated him. This was when he knew he had succeeded. The Tornado's team were (mostly) welcoming enough, but this was the congratulations he needed, from the people he needed it from.
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Harry and his friends groaned collectively when they saw that the teachers for the Duelling Club was to be Snape and Lockhart. After Flitwick had regaled Harry, Neville, and Fay about his time on the European Duelling Circuit in his youth during one of their tea sessions, the others had been bouncing off the walls in excitement at the thought of possibly being taught by the man. Now Harry just wanted to get his Charms homework done. He had only really come here because Fay had given him a 'look' and then he was out of the library where he was trying, and failing, to finish Binn's latest essay. Instead, he was leaning into Fred and Angelina while scuffing his feet on the ground.
Fred leaned down so no one could hear him. "If you want to go Harry, we'll come with you."
He looked up relieved, "If that's okay with you." He turned back to face the proceedings. "I don't want to be here."
Snape was simply consistently vile to Harry, combined with the common Slytherin detractors who were smirking on their little group over the way, and was more than enough to see him wish to leave the room. Gilderoy Lockhart added to the mix was just a recipe for trouble that nobody desired to be a part of.
The 'strutting peacock' of a man had not seemed to take Harry's employment and great success in Quidditch lightly. It was as if the man had seen Harry's accomplishment as a personal affront to his image, and was constantly trying to one up him.
It was common in the ensuing days after his incredible win, for Lockhart to hone in on Harry, making snide, immature comments about how their types of fame greatly differed. It made Harry constantly uncomfortable, and if not for Neville and Fay as his shadows to bring him back up emotionally, he would have quickly reverted to the depressed, delicate Harry from over the summer.
Harry felt bad for taking them all with him, but Angelina was top of her year in Defence, and so was confident enough that she would be okay not being there, and so volunteered to spend some time alone with her little friend.
They found out later, after Angelina had tried to teach him how to make shadow puppets to an empty room for their dual mirth, that they did not miss very much; it went as well as could be expected, and so they joined the two in their relaxations.
The club had been established in the wake of Creevey's attack and subsequent petrification, but was quickly removed as an option when Dumbledore heard of the disastrous first meeting. When he heard from Snape that he had watched Harry leave the room at the very start and not return, he simply popped a muggle sweet into his mouth and nonchalantly asked if Harry may have the minor skill of a Seer. He then mulled the thought over to a frothing Severus Snape, finding humour in the question of if Harry realised how much of a debacle the night turned out.
He then quickly turned his mind to the accompaniment timetable that Harry had drafted, a monologue developing to his Potions Professor, as to how he couldn't wait to see Harry play off against Puddlemere in December. It wasn't his intent to get Snape to storm out of his office, but his slightly cheeky smirk at the thought of the young Potter did not reveal any disdain for the result.
Harry's life continued on as well as it could. He also now had awed, starstruck people, whispering about him for a different reason than being the famed boy-who-lived.
There were a few hundred people who lived in Hogwarts, and there were more than a few Quidditch fans among them, with a few of those who supported the team that Harry was now the Seeker for.
It was a new experience for him to walk down the corridor and see the strange looks he was getting from girls of all ages. When he brought up the strangeness to the Chaser trio, thinking that their shared gender would assist him in this matter, Angelina burst out into a doubled-over laughing fit. Alicia just sat in silence while her mouth contorted and her cheeks went inwards as she tried to stop herself from joining her. Katie's eye started to twitch slightly but remained silent. He left the conversation more confused than before as no answer was given to him.
"Ah, well, they're... fans? I guess." Neville was a better target to gain information from. But Harry took it for what it was and left it at that.
There were some issues as well it seemed that came with his increase in fame, besides Lockhart's attempts and Snape's contempt.
Ronald Weasley, it seemed, took affront of Harry's increase in popularity. He would glare at him whenever he got the chance, though Harry did not know why.
"Ignore our idiot of a brother, Harry."
Fred concurred with his brother. "Indeed. We think he may have been dropped on his head."
"And not just at birth."
"I don't think red is quite his colour, my dear Harryness."
"No. Possibly better with a touch of green."
The other issue was Draco Malfoy. Though he was an issue in general as the most common bane for Harry's wishes of a 'normal' experience at Hogwarts, the behaviour had become worse when he learned that Harry had been scouted to join a professional team. Then it worsened, even more, when Harry's actions in his first game garnered a lot of support and attention. Draco always seemed to want to be the 'top dog' in Harry's opinion. When he discovered that the other students were now observing him differently, and taking into account Lockhart's and Ron's blatant opinion, he realised quickly that Malfoy was jealous of him. Of what he could not say. The boy had everything that he could ever want, and in many ways, far removed into the dark recesses of his mind, Harry was envious of what Malfoy had.
It did not mean that he wasn't grateful for what he had. Yet he knew that he was damaged goods; he was getting steadily better, and things were improving so much, but there were still desires that he could not control.
He soldiered on, attempting to not dwell on the fast changes occurring around him. He simply tried to enjoy his magical life. He went to lessons and did his homework. He now split his training sessions with Gryffindor and Tutshill during the week, yet never forgot to spend time with the team whenever he could. The same could be said with his two best friends with whom he made sure to always reserve time for.
There was something dark though, hovering just out of reach. He would remain in a happy mood for as long as he could, but at night as he tried to drift off to sleep, he would remember Dobby's warning. He would think of the apparent message written in blood by the girls' bathroom with Mrs Norris frozen next to it. He would think of the boy kept in the hospital wing; Harry had seen his face as he left the wing and winced at the look of pure fear on his face.
He felt queasy. His dreams burned, and the scars marring his forehead and hand would ache.
Author's Notes
So we're getting into some of the meat of the plot now. Hope you enjoyed my little present for Harry in his Quidditch career. I may have worked some of my own magic on the story, but I'd like to think that it could be plausible for someone of Harry's talent to be scouted professionally. Canonically, it was stated that Harry was most likely better than Charlie Weasley as Seeker, and that was considering it was said in Harry's early years compared to Charlie's last year. It was even said that Charlie would have been accepted for the national team, so its not that far outside the realm of possibilities.
I am also aware that there would be difficulties in the logistics of Harry playing for multiple teams. It is not my intention to announce it in this chapter as I wanted to have it stated in a later one, but after reading a different fanfiction I realise it may, at this point, be a source of some annoyance. Basically, Harry's more professional team takes priority and if any issue comes because of Quidditch clashes, he would be forced to quit the House team before the Professional. As I said, I have got the plan to work that in to the story, but it wouldn't be for a good few chapters yet.
Creevey – I needed to have a victim for petrification, and I decided to keep Creevey. My thoughts though on this matter is that with a larger, more protective circle of friends, they would have kept the boy and his forwardness as far away as possible without being too harsh about it. Harry and co. may seem cold with their dismissals of the boy, but remember that their primary focus is on Harry's safety above everyone else's. The staff are concerned, but they're professional enough to not show it in front of the students.
Next chapter: A Merry Christmas