5.

GOLDEN BOY TO STEAL THE GOLDEN SNITCH

POTTER QUITS THE MINISTRY FOR THE LEAGUE

SECOND LIFE OF THE BOY-WHO-LIVED

When the candidates reconvened on Monday, they were shown to a large locker room where they could start stowing their Quidditch things. With much fanfare, the room was soon filled with players grateful to have a cold space to recover in instead of spending the entire day outside in the beating heat. The room had been charmed to fit all twenty-two of them. The lockers were tall and grey, standing against plain white walls. There were showers and other amenities that were separated by a wall of washbasins off to one side of the room. The floors were yellow, tiles gleaming in the white light that shone across the space. "Not shabby at all," West noted.

Harry was unloading his gear when he heard, "You're pretty stacked," followed by a slim hand wrapping around his bicep. He jerked in fright and turned around, nearly falling into his brand new locker as he tripped upon seeing Riley standing in front of him. The man was holding a cup of coffee and appeared as chipper as ever. Harry shook him off, but he was persistent. He skimmed his hand over the Seeker's torso, eliciting a sharp yelp in response. "Do you work out a lot?" he asked. "Probably from all that Auror training, huh?"

The fact that the two of them weren't alone in the locker room didn't faze him at all. But the other players weren't so blasé. Mallory mumbled, "What are you talking about?"

"Jealous?" Riley finally let go of Harry and looked over at her to gloat. "I copped a feel."

Harry hung his head in defeat.

But Riley wasn't done. "Maybe we should follow his schedule, you know?" he figured as he walked over to his locker and started putting his stuff away. "He probably had a strict workout thing going on at the Ministry."

"Copped a feel?" Parker and West echoed.

"Sexual assault," Harry bit out.

Riley laughed happily. "It wasn't that bad, was it?" He waved them down. "Oh, and just so all of you know, he's not into guys. You have a shot though, ladies." He was hit in the head with a tin of wax for that comment. "Ow." He picked up the container off the floor. "What? Got a girlfriend?"

Harry hadn't been in this sort of a juvenile situation in ages. He caught the tin that was thrown back at him. This was like being back at Hogwarts, getting teased by the Weasley twins. "Grow up," he sighed and rolled his eyes.

He had to admit that it did feel quite nice to act juvenile after so long.

Meanwhile, Brock was marveling his sparkling office. In all his years as a coach, he had never had such a room. Overlooking the Quidditch pitch, the office was above the locker room. It was spacious and empty for the moment. He stood by the large windows, looking down. How things changed in a short span of twenty-four hours…

He had been called to an emergency meeting at the British and Irish Quidditch League on Sunday at seven. He hadn't even been awake when the call came in. So he was incredibly surprised when he found himself in a conference with the director and a three of his underlings.

"Ah, Mr. Lightmead," the bloated and balding man with a cheery beam said enthusiastically from his seat behind the long table. This was the director of the British Quidditch sector, Stuart Tynee. Back in his day, he was quite the sensation as both a player and a coach. Now retired, he stuck with his passion and rode his way to the top of the league, which was where Brock found him that morning. "Please, have a seat," he bolstered while waving a meaty hand at the lone chair in the middle of the heavily decorated room. Brock was too confused to be nervous as he perched down. "Sorry to call you in so early. I hope we didn't disturb your beauty sleep." Then, without waiting for a response, Tynee chortled. His double chin jiggled in time with his stomach. By the looks of it, he had let himself go as soon as he had found himself behind a desk. "But onto business." He casually gestured to his right. One of his dour-faced lackeys handed him a crisply folded Daily Prophet. "Harry Potter has been trying out, has he?" The director's words were light, but his stare was more intense, causing Brock to shift in his seat. "Why wasn't I made aware of this?" Tynee now waited for a response.

"Um… He… He didn't want any publicity," Brock attempted to explain. "He said he wanted a fair chance."

"And have you been giving him that fair chance?"

"I'm trying."

"Good, good," Tynee said absently. He scratched his pink chins while examining the article in the papers. "Has he mentioned why he chose to play for Puddlemere United?"

"No, sir."

"Then he hasn't been approached by other teams?"

Brock paused. "Oh." He hadn't thought about that. "Uh, he… Not yet. I don't know. He hasn't said anything." He didn't want to give Harry Potter away. This was his chance to make something out of this team. "He wants to play for my team," he insisted after a beat. "He was adamant."

"Hmm." The director sniffed and pushed the Prophet aside. "Then shall we talk budget, Mr. Lightmead?"

Brock frowned. "Pardon me?"

"Well, you can't possibly be thinking of giving Harry Potter the same salary as the other players…"

"But the tryouts aren't over yet."

Tynee lifted a brow and smiled dryly. "Am I to believe you are not going to put Harry Potter on your team, Brock?"

All that had happened twenty-four hours ago. Now Puddlemere United suddenly had a brand new locker room and Coach Lightmead had a brand new office.

He clicked his heels in excitement. This was beyond incredible.

Harry had been dreading the inevitable brush with public. So he was pleasantly surprised when the Quidditch field was devoid of people when the players walked on. Riley said, "Sports reporters aren't allowed in until tryouts are over, so don't worry about that. Just worry about the scouts."

"Huh?" Harry gulped.

"If you ever decide to play for the Falcons, just know that I will put something awful in your coffee, okay?" The Keeper smiled bright before jogging out towards his coach. The players who had heard shared some chuckles at Harry's expense.

Sure enough, an hour into practice, a few men dressed in dapper suits and wearing sleek sunglasses wandered towards the sidelines, heads tilted upwards and hands in their pockets as they watched the potential Puddlemere United candidates. One in particular, of course.

"What did I tell you," Riley remarked as he zoomed by Harry who had been eyeing the men.

Brock wanted nothing more than to tell the scouts off, but he knew this wasn't against the rules. While tryout season was still in session, it wasn't uncommon to see team agents at practices. Often offers would be made to players they deemed 'worthy'. And often these offers were quite good. The only thought that kept Brock from losing his wits was that Harry wouldn't be easily swayed by offers. But he had to admit that there were many teams out there that would be better suited for the ex-Auror – strong teams with a better chance at the world cup. Harry would definitely grow in a team like Tornados or Arrows that were offensively capable. Brock wasn't about to go down without a fight though. He would do everything he could to make Harry stay on his team.

As he passed by the scouts in as nonchalant a manner as he could muster, he heard few passing comments.

"Strange flying style."
"Hmm, yes. Natural."
"Firebolt?"
"Quite an older model."
"Coach wants him at all costs."
"Money won't be much of a leverage."

Brock shook of his thoughts. He shouldn't be focusing on just one player. A team needed at least seven.

After the first two games, Harry had to sit out to let the other Seekers play. He approached the benches with a few other players. No sooner had he knelt down to retrieve his water bottle than two men walked up to him, prompting him to look up.

"Mr. Potter," the scouts from Chudley Cannons said in unison.

"Hello," Harry answered politely as he got up.

"It's an honor, sir."

"Ah, let's not go through the formalities," he hurried to say.

The men smiled and nodded in concession. "You have a very unique technique, Mr. Potter. Former law enforcement has never played for a Quidditch team before."

"I know… I'm taking advantage of that fact."

"If you are available this evening, perhaps we could have a chat about your future in the league?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly while swishing the water in his bottle without really realizing it. "Um, actually… maybe you should talk to my agent," he hesitated.

The men appeared surprised.

"I can pass on your business cards… if you have some handy…"

"Uh, s-sure." They patted their pockets a few times before procuring a small card. "We look forward to your call, Mr. Potter."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Riley sidled up to Harry. "Why, Mr. Potter," he gushed. "An agent? Look at you."

Over the course of the practice, he had managed to gather six cards. He was about to hand the dirty work off and he was more than delighted to do so. Muted taunting from the other players weren't appreciated. He frowned at them. He supposed he should be glad that they were becoming more comfortable with him, at least. The games ran all the way past lunch and into two in the afternoon.

After a quick shower in the locker room, he hurried to pack up and get out of there. He didn't want to hold onto those business cards for longer than he had to. He said a quick round of goodbyes before throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder and walking out of the building. He was still getting used to the hours of flying. His legs and back killed with every slight movement. Fortunately he didn't notice when he played a game. Adrenaline usually kept him on his toes.

Hermione kept bugging him about eating healthy too. He knew that she had a valid point. If he were expected to keep up with players who were much younger than him, he would have to shape up, starting with his stamina. Oh, how he would miss crisps and grease. He pulled an apple out of his bag, wrinkling his nose at it. This better be worth it. He disapparated once he had reached the outer gate.

He apparated into a heavily wooded area. He had been there often enough to forgo glancing at the signage. He took the fork to the right and walked through the cool forest. Shade was much welcome after being out in the sun for six hours. He picked his way through the protruding roots. He didn't have to walk long before he heard familiar shouts, indicating that he was getting close to the clearing. One small turn later, he found himself in a large green field, back out in the sun once again. He hung back by the shade though, walking around the perimeter of the Quidditch pitch. Drills were being run above him, each loud shout followed by players zooming from one corner of the ground to the next. They seemed to be practicing their braking. Braking was just as important as speed when it came to a game. A Snitch caught out of bounds was worthless. A Quaffle passed outside the boundary led to a loss of possession. Harry watched the ladies in matching green sweats work on their sprints and stops, sitting on the grass by the water bottles and snacks. His apple wasn't that great after all.

Once his neck started to cramp up, he tilted his head down and fished the cards out of his pocket. Shuffling through them, he noted the teams that were interested in him. Aside from the Cannons, the Tornados, Wasps, Magpies, Arrows, and Bats had an eye on him. Good teams. He sort of wondered what kind of perks they would offer him. Just curiosity. Puddlemere United hadn't really said anything yet. If he weren't so hardheaded, he wondered if he would accept another team's proposal. He wouldn't mind playing for the Tornados or the Bats. Both teams had very exciting players, both flexible and fearless.

But after hearing Ron's multitude of speeches over the past few months, he wanted to be a part of the crusade for the International Quidditch Cup, and he wanted to get there with the Puddlemere United. Call him sentimental. That team had been winning the cup for many years when he was young. At its prime, PU had been quite a big deal. He wanted to return the team to its former glory. And he knew he could do it. He was a pretty big deal himself, wasn't he?

"Hey, good lookin'."

He looked up with a wary smile. "Long time," he answered Veronica Gibble, Keeper for the Holyhead Harpies.

"What's this I hear?" the pretty bruntette hummed while wiggling her shapely brows and hovering on her broom a few feet above the ground. "Finally decided to give Quidditch a go?" When he shrugged, she laughed and shook her head in defeat. "Man, you sure know how to surprise a girl." She touched down lightly. "So… Puddlemere United?"

"Yeah…"

"How's the team looking this year?"

Harry couldn't tell, so he shrugged again.

Veronica winked. "Bet you're a sure thing, eh?"

He nodded after a beat. "One way or another, yeah," he figured.

"It's going to be a blast playing against you."

"Oh, I'm just a Seeker."

She laughed. "Just a Seeker? You never give yourself enough credit."

Harry waved her off. "You know that's not what I-"

The two of them started when a shrill voice from above exclaimed, "YOU SAID A WATER BREAK, GIBBLE! GET GOING!"

"Oops." Veronica hurried to grab a bottle off the ground. "Is she coming over here?" she whispered at Harry.

"Oh yeah," he said with an apologetic smirk.

Sure enough, a streak of green rushed in, jerking to a halt right behind the blonde Keeper. "How many damned water breaks do you need, Gibble?" Ginny blustered. She smacked the younger woman over the head.

"But look who's here," Veronica whined while pointing at Harry who was still seated on the grass.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him as though it was somehow his fault that her player kept breaking drills ever fifteen minutes. Harry raised his hands in surrender, saying, "I didn't do anything. Don't look at me like that."

"See? I'm gone already," Veronica added before mounting her broom and flying off. She couldn't handle another earful.

Ginny huffed at Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" He was affronted. "I'm not allowed to come over anymore?"

"Not if you're being distracting."

"I wasn't even doing anything. I was just sitting here."

"Oh yeah?" She then pointed up, prompting him to look.

The gaggle of girls quickly dispersed, trying to look as though they hadn't been staring for the past two minutes.

Harry sighed. "That's not my fault," he maintained. Then he held up the business cards. "Here."

"What's this?" She took it from him and looked through them. "Oh? Scouts?"

"Can you talk to them?"

She sputtered. "Me? Why?"

"Because you said you'd be my agent."

"When did I say that?"

"That one time," Harry said vaguely. "Remember?"

"No."

"When you got onto the team… That night. Remember now?"

Ginny widened her eyes for dramatic effect. "Oh, come on, Harry…"

"You remember, right?"

"Ten years ago?"

"… Yeah."

"When we got drunk a decade ago?"

"Now you're just being pedantic."

"Unbelievable."

Harry pressed his hands together and smiled angelically at her. "Please, Ginny? I will return the favor. I swear."

Ginny scowled. "Why can't you just say no?" she demanded to know.

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"I don't like saying no."

"You idiot."

"So you'll call them up?"

"Stupid." She then zoomed off without another word. She did pocket the cards though. Harry smiled after her. He could always count on Ginny as long as he was willing to stand the name-calling.