You're a protagonist Harry
Chapter 23 – Oh my darlin, Clementine
…
"Good practice everyone. Nice to see that hustle."
"I think he needs to get his eyes checked," Harry mumbled, certain any hustle he may have had crawled into a hole and died five minutes into practice.
It was partly his own fault. His grand epiphany had been missing a few pieces. Simple equations like, attitude does not equal physical ability. Or common-sense stuff like, twenty-four hours, every day, that's all you get. His training regime needed some adjusting.
"You alright there Harry?" asked Katie.
"By what standard of measurement?"
The other Chasers laughed; the schadenfreude was thick in the air.
"Where's that stamina Mr. Seeker?" Angelina giggled.
"Poor little guy, all tuckered out," Alicia tittered.
Harry didn't see the humor, "You just wait," he 'threatened', "I will give you all such a spanking."
It wasn't much of a threat, made less impressive by his inability to hold up his threatening pointer without it shaking all over the place. Damn noodle arms.
Their mocking laughter echoed in his ears as they walked away, leaving him sitting on the pitch staring at the falling darkness.
"There has got to be something I'm missing here," he decided after some time alone to think, and mope. "I wonder if it isn't just this."
The broom in his hand was a school standard. A Comet, or so the very faded etching on the handle said. It had probably been new when the school first got it… a hundred years ago.
"You, my friend, are holding me back." That or he just wasn't as good as everyone was leading him to believe.
Moaning and groaning like a malcontent zombie, he staggered to his feet and mounted the old Comet. The broom responded readily enough, just as it had that day of his first lesson. It wasn't dim, that was good at least.
"Let's see what we can do without anyone watching."
Lacking an audience, or anyone to get in the way, he pushed the broom as far as it would go. Early evening chill kissed his sweat glowed cheeks till they burned yet still he fought for more. More height, more speed. Twisting, turning, looping and twirling.
He coasted to a hover, high over the pitch, his arms burning.
"Crimeney!" he exclaimed to the night.
It had to be the broom. None of the others were so strained and it couldn't just be he was 'that' much weaker than the whole rest of the team. Could it?
While he sat there alone, brooding on his lacking upper body strength, he realized he wasn't quite as alone as he'd first believed.
"Hi," she said with a jaunty little wave while sprawled across the full length of her broom.
A moment of bleary-eyed staring produced a name to go with the grinning face, "Clementine."
"Got it in one," the Hufflepuff cheered.
"Yeah, took me a second. What brings you out here this evening?"
"Seemed a nice night for it," she said. "I thought Gryffindor was done with the pitch till I saw you zipping around."
"They were—are, I was just… I don't even know."
He was too tired to think anymore. Tired and frustrated.
"You seem stressed."
"What gave it away?"
"I have a sense for these things," she said sagely. "Women's intuition."
"Well, woman's intuition is very nosy."
It also had a sense of humor, which was good. If she didn't, well, he'd seen what she could do to someone on his sort of broom and they were up much higher than Malfoy had been.
"Why are you riding a school broom?" she asked. "Don't you have your own."
"Nope."
She seemed surprised, "Really?"
"Do you think I'd lie to you?"
"No, it's just, you're the Seeker. You won't be able to do the position justice on 'that'."
"Managed to fly circles around our reserve Seeker on it," though the more he saw of the boy the less of an accomplishment that felt like.
A sentiment which she wholly agreed with, "Your reserve Seeker is pitiful. Even on a better broom he'd be pitiful. Don't put him in if you can help it. You will lose."
"Women's intuition?"
"Yes!"
It wasn't that he disagreed with her. He was pitiful, and whiny. So whiny. It's not fair, wait for me, don't do that, and on and on like an annoying little brother.
"Hey, you wanna try out a real broom?"
Was she saying, "You're gonna let me ride yours?"
"Sure," she chirped. "Come on."
"Uh, shouldn't we go back to the ground first?"
The look she gave him was pure predator, almost sexual, "What's the matter? Scared of a little altitude?"
She had him, by the balls no less and she knew it. "Get your sassy little butt over here."
Giggling, her sassy butt coasted his direction till they were within easy reach.
Switching over was a trick, both brooms dipped briefly. Clementine's came back up noticeably faster and Harry couldn't help but be awed. He could feel the difference the moment he touched it.
"Whoa!"
The owner of the broom grinned, "Go on Harry. Let her out."
With an invitation like that, how could he not.
He stooped into a dive straight at the ground, building speed till he was inches from the turf before pulling a sharp turn and blasting parallel to the ground so close he could feel the grass brushing his knees.
"Woohoo! GO HARRY!" his audience screamed as he pulled up like a rocket and shot for the moon.
The rush, the thrill, it was beyond his ability to describe. The broom responded with barely a nudge, like it was tapped into his brain. He circled the pitch once then did it again, weaving between the boxes close enough to ruffle the canvas.
Looking for something else to play with, he saw the hoops at the ends of the field. His grin turned manic. His broom turned to the hoops and blasted across the field. It was a tight fit, but he threaded the needle at a reckless speed. Then he did it again, and again.
Clementine was laughing herself nearly off the broom when he finally came back.
"You are crazy," she giggled, none the less impressed by his daring.
"The difference is—I can't even!" Words failed him. They were leagues apart, barely comparable.
"Am I gonna have to fight you to get it back?"
Harry quirked a sardonic brow, "You might."
How was he supposed to go back to the old Comet after this?
"Gonna get your own then?"
"Not much choice," he admitted. "If the others are riding anything like this, there's no way I'll be able to keep up on 'that'."
"Not sure how many people over here would be flying a Silver Arrow. It's a French model you know."
"I did not know," it was a worrying trend actually, all the things he did not know.
"My dad picked it up for me the last time he went across the channel. I've been zipping around on that for almost a year now. Got her all broke in just the way I like it."
"Does that take long?" he asked. "Breaking it in I mean."
"Depends how often you fly it, how hard you fly it. With your training schedule you could have a new broom broke in within a week or two at most."
And their first game was only a few weeks away, just after Halloween.
"I don't suppose you know how to contact the place your dad got this?"
"No."
Course not.
"But if you want, I got the supply catalogue for Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. I know they do mail order."
"That'll do."
"Well come on," she waved him on. "It's in my room."
"Inviting me to your room," he leered a little, "Really Miss Clementine, so forward."
The look she gave him in reply had a little leer of its own, "Don't get ahead of yourself Harry. You haven't even bought me dinner yet."