4.

"Nice scar."

Harry instinctively lifted a hand to his forehead to ruffle his hair and then glanced up.

Riley gestured absently at the back of his hand, prompting him to look. "Where did you get that one from?"

It was the one that Dolores Umbridge's wonderful detentions had done. The writing was barely noticeable. 'I must not tell lies'. After getting all that sun the past few days, his skin had tanned so much so that the scar stood out more than usual. He unconsciously tried to brush the words off before reaching for his glove to hide it. He was always hiding his scars.

Riley crouched down and, before he could don the glove, took hold of his wrist to examine the odd marks. "Wow… Morbid." He flicked his eyes up. "What did you do that for?"

Harry yanked his hand out of Riley's grip and jerked his glove on.

The young Keeper tilted his head, puzzled. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" he asked quietly. He wasn't met with an answer. "Where did you get that scar from?" he wanted to know. There were a lot of things he wanted to know, but he supposed he could start there and work his way up. "Was it a long time ago?"

Fortunately for Harry, the coach blew his whistle at that moment.

They had their first injury during their second match. One of the Beaters had caught a Bludger wrong and managed to dislocate a shoulder. An injury of that caliber meant he could be out of play for at least two weeks. It also meant that he might not be able to train in time for the Puddelmere United's first game. As he was carted away by Hector, the other players felt some pressure mounting. The past two days had been fun and all, but a single injury could keep them out of the season. With that thought in the back of their mind, they went back to playing.

Brock was pushing their limits with his quick instructions. After the game, they were running drills with each player being asked to perform a certain skill at random. For example, the Keepers were made to do rapid successions of Double Eight Loops and the Chasers had to perform the Porskoff Ploy. The Seekers chased after Snitches that ran pre-planned routes while the Beaters practiced their swings against Bludgers that bounced back at them.

Harry was quickly getting used to the Snitch, each capture bringing back more and more memories of Quidditch matches at Hogwarts. He was superior to the other two Seekers who were trying out because of his experienced flying technique, but he was still unsure about how he would do against the top Seekers in the world. As Hermione would tell him, it's all about practice. Or, as Ron would tell him, 'you are dead to me if you don't make it to the playoffs'.

Throughout the practice, he could feel Riley keeping a close eye on him and that made him nervous. The man's usual cheery disposition had faded considerably during their morning interaction. In fact, he hadn't even smiled once. That couldn't be a good sign. Did he think this wasn't a good idea? Was he simply unimpressed? Or was he pissed off?

After three hours in the air, Brock sounded his whistle to stop the drills for a break. Everyone touched down on the grass to grab a drink of water. Harry skirted confrontation by keeping his head down and moving to his duffle bag by the benches. But his slinking didn't go unnoticed for long.

"Well?" Riley asked as though the past few hours of practice hadn't happened at all. He heard a quiet sigh from the sweaty Seeker who was pulling a water bottle out of the bag. "Aren't you going to tell me? I've got all day, you know?" To prove his point, he sat down on the bench and folded his arms against his chest.

"Look, it's not worth talking about," Harry finally said in defeat.

"Let's see."

"No."

Riley frowned. "Are you always this mysterious?"

"Yes."

He then glanced at the group lounging in the sun just a few meters away. "Shall I tell them?" He waited for an answer even though he knew he was wasting his time. After a long pause, he looked at Harry again. "No?"

Harry had been watching the other players as well. Over the past two days he hadn't spoken with any of them except during games. He was trying so hard to keep a low profile that he couldn't even remember half of their names. "Does it matter who I am?" he murmured.

"Of course it matters."

He flicked his eyes to the right at Riley who was smiling kindly. "I'm just a guy, you know," he tried to reason out. "You wouldn't look twice at me on the street."

"But we aren't on the street, are we?" Riley countered. "We're on the field and if they knew who they were playing with, I have a feeling they would play a lot differently, especially the other Seekers who are up against you." He kicked some grass with his shoe. "Why did you choose this team?"

Harry wasn't sure if he would like the reason. "Obscurity."

"Ouch. That stings."

"Sorry."

Riley laughed it off. "But you're serious, aren't you?" he went on to say. "You honestly want to play, don't you?"

"… Yeah."

"Okay. I respect that." He nodded once. "You seem to enjoy playing. How come you never tried out earlier?"

Harry took another swig from his bottle before saying, "It was sort of expected that I join the Ministry afterwards." Then he paused. "That came out wrong… Um… I wanted to be an Auror at that point in my life."

"This is a mid-life crisis?"

He managed a dry smirk. "Sounds about right."

Riley was liking Harry Potter more and more with each passing remark. "So… Shall I tell them?" he asked again.

Harry hesitated.

He hesitated for a moment too long.

"WHOA, ISN'T THAT HARRY POTTER!?"

There was sudden silence on the pitch.

Brock slapped a hand to his face in defeat.

Riley grinned wide as he pointed accusingly at the mortified man in front of him.

The shock only lasted a few seconds.

"Not like he's wearing a disguise or anything," Hank the Beater drawled. He returned to stretching almost immediately, as though nothing was amiss. He did manage to elicit surprised mumbles and exclamations from the rest of the players as they started to realize that they had been in the presence of a celebrity for two days without realizing it.

"Oh my God, I nearly killed you yesterday!" West started in horror. "Shit…"

"I knew it," a few of them mumbled under their breath. A handful of them didn't believe it, their brows bunching up as they scrutinized the flushed Seeker who was now crouching by his duffle bag and pretending to sort the gear.

Since the end of the war, the name 'Harry Potter' invoked a sense of pride in wizards and witches. He had captured everyone's heart with his heroics, dedication, and modesty. He did not exude power, yet he was placed on a pedestal by children who had grown up hearing the fantastical tale of this young boy who had saved the world from certain evil. His life was never public, yet his past was printed in half the books that were in circulation in the Wizarding World. Even after giving up a better part of his childhood to defeat Lord Voldemort, he had continued for years to clean up the mess left behind by the battle. He was a good man.

The players had every right to feel bewildered and self-conscious.

He was untouchable. An idol.

To see such a man among common folk was almost unheard of.

"How about a speech?" Riley egged on.

"Shut up," Harry muttered under his breath.

A few hours later…

"How far are you willing to go?"

The players looked down at the long table. Rows of shot glasses were sitting there, unclaimed and filled with various concoctions. They also glanced at each other, wondering what they were supposed to do. Riley, sensing their confusion, reached forward and separated five glasses, pulling them towards him. Then he arched a brow, challenging them. Before long, all of the worn-out players had sectioned out their share of alcohol. Riley was buying, after all. No point in being stingy. Besides, they seemed to be celebrating that night. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to grab a drink with the Boy-Who-Lived.

Now Harry wasn't much of a drinker, especially not in public settings like this loud pub they were in. He slouched in his seat despite already being in a private booth with the team and tousled his hair to make sure his scar was still hidden.

Nothing got past Riley.

"Hey," he said over the din and jerked his thumb at the Seeker. Harry glared at him while pursing his lips just as numerous pairs of eyes swiveled at him. "It's not often we have a celebrity in our midst! Let's play a game." He reached across the table and pushed one of the unclaimed shots firmly forward. "Have you ever killed anyone, Mr. Potter?"

His surprise showed plainly. There was a pregnant pause. Only a moment later did he realize that he was actually expected to answer that. "Of course not," he exclaimed.

"Alright." Riley held his hands up as though to quiet people down even though no one was talking but him. Everyone in the booth was still very, very fascinated by everything that had happened. "If the answer is yes, you take a shot."

"Just me?"

"You and anyone else who feels like joining in." He then made a show of thinking. A moment later he snapped his fingers and a bright smile appeared on his face. "Here's one. Did you get fired?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No."

"Are you trying to get your name in the papers?"

"No."

"Oh, I know. You're working undercover, aren't you?"

"No."

"Are you getting offered a crazy salary?"

"… No."

"Girl trouble?"

Harry massaged his temple. Why had he agreed to come here?

"Boy trouble?"

"No, Riley," he answered patiently. "As hard as it might be for you to imagine, my life is as normal as yours, alright?"

Riley guffawed. "My life is far from normal. Anyway, I just hope you don't simply grow out of this phase. That would be embarrassing. And I hope you don't think that you're a sure thing. You're pretty cool and all, but that doesn't mean you just get a free pass into this team, alright? I don't know how things work back at the Ministry, but that sure as hell isn't how-"

Harry snatched the shot glass up and downed its contents in one gulp. Midlife crisis. Sure. Why not? The alcohol burned at it went down, heating up his stomach. He swallowed his second shot without flinching. Heat rushed to his head. Before he knew it, he had finished a third one.

That hit the spot.

"Hmm." His vision doubled. With a quiet mumble he laid his head on the table and hid behind his arms.

This all happened over the span of thirty seconds.

"I guess we're starting," Riley cheered before taking his first shot.

"Oh my goodness…" Mallory rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"No," he slurred.

"He really is doing it, isn't he?" Brent said wondrously. "How the hell did we not recognize you?"

Hank took his first shot like it was water. "Surprised you even have to try out," he said gruffly.

"I thought you were an Auror," Mallory continued on. She leaned over closer to the table to try and peer at the Golden Boy's face. "Aren't you an Auror?"

"No," came the muffled reply.

After some unsuccessful tries to get him to sit up, the players decided to let him be and, instead, talk about him 'behind his back'. Plenty of stories were exchanged, myths they had heard and articles they had read in the papers about the ex-Auror's prowess. They also began dissecting his flying style since it suddenly made sense. He must have caught many Dark Army soldiers with the same evasive maneuvers and unpredictable turns he used while chasing after a Snitch. The night suddenly turned into a Harry Potter admiration party. No one had ever said a bad word about him, not since the end of the war.

His cheeks were burning as an hour passed this way. If he listened to any more praises, he would start screaming.

He abruptly sat upright and struggled out from behind the table, mumbling, "Loo," before stumbling away. It took some searching before he found the bathroom. He weaved past other patrons to get to it, cringing the moment he stepped in and the rank smell hit him like a wave. He walked to the cracked porcelain sinks without glancing at the urinals. The less contact he had with people, the better. He washed his hands and face with cold water from the leaky tap.

Yes, he was terrified. What if he was making a huge mistake? What if he failed? What if he ended up making a fool of himself?

He was expected to be remarkable.

He gripped the edge of the sink and leaned against his arms tiredly. He wasn't thinking straight. He took a deep breath to calm his drowsy mind. Starting tomorrow, everyone will be talking about him – at his workplace, in the common household, on the news, and everywhere. He had to be prepared for that. He had known. But he had figured that he would have more time to do some damage control. This evening was just a taste of things to come. If he couldn't handle a handful of people talking about him, how was he supposed to play a game that was fueled by public support?

This wouldn't do.

He stood up straight and wiped his face with his shoulders. Ron would be slapping some sense into him right now. To try out for an international Quidditch team was not an impulsive decision. He had weighed the pros and cons for ages. He didn't just up and leave his Auror team to fend for themselves. He had trained a good replacement himself. He had to stand by his choices, especially now.

Feeling very drunk and resolute, he managed to get out of bathroom with his dignity intact.

Only to be met with Riley on the other side.

"Oh," he said lamely as he bumped into the Keeper. "Sorry."

"Alright?" Riley asked while tugging Harry to the side, away from the doorway and towards a quieter corner of the pub. "Were you embarrassed?"

"I'm just not… I'm not used to… all this." Harry waved his hand vaguely. "I don't know. Sorry. I'm not very good company today."

"You have to get used to it now," Riley advised him. "You know that, right? If you're going to be a part of the league, you need to learn to be okay with people talking about you and taking pictures, wanting autographs, all that."

"I know."

"I've grown up living this way, so it comes naturally. My mum and dad were always gracious and good with fans. I hope you can be that way too."

"I'll try…"

"And just relax, yeah?" Riley added. "You're so guarded. I've noticed. But you do loosen up when you're playing. I've noticed that too. I know you enjoy flying. Even if you can't handle all this publicity, just hold onto that feeling. It'll be fine. You'll do great."

"Thanks."

"Besides," he pressed his finger to Harry's chest, "I'm sure you're used to the celebrity status." He trailed his finger down.

Harry stepped back uncertainly…

… just as Riley was jerked away by the back of his shirt. His arms windmilled and he ended up bumping into Big Heck. "What the-"

"Shut up," Hector growled. Then he looked at Harry. "Sorry about him," he muttered. "He's drunk."

"Er, um, it-it's okay."

"I'm not drunk!" Riley argued. "Let me go, you brute." He tried wriggling out of Hector's grasp.

Harry took that opportunity to slip away feeling very, very sober. He sat back down at the booth. That was the weirdest thing that had happened to him in a long time. Strange guy.