6.
Over the next few practices, Brock started weeding out the candidates, starting with the weakest Beaters and Keepers. Come Thursday, what used to be twenty-two players was down to sixteen. Now more manageable, practices catered to the remaining players. It wasn't long before the two other Seekers who were trying out realized that their chances of getting into the team were slim at best.
"He's too good," Angelo panted at the end of one of their games. He was stretched out on the grass, staring up at the cloudless sky. "Man, this sucks." He had yet to win a match against Harry. "It's like I'm always just behind him, you know? How is he so fast?"
"Beats me," Caleb groaned. "At least you can keep up with him. I can't even find the Snitch as fast as he can."
"Kind of scary how he just goes for it, huh? It's like he doesn't care if he barrels someone over."
After continuous days out in the field, the players had formed vague alliances and friendships, whether it be over technical skill training or physical conditioning. It was very important to strengthen ones body both before and after games to ensure that a wrong twist doesn't lead to a pulled back or sore arms. And even if a player is injured, they are required to play out the game in whatever condition they find themselves in. Quidditch wasn't for the faint of heart. So Brock had been pushing the candidates with exercises that worked their core, balance, and endurance. If nothing else, he wanted his team to be tireless. As long as steady power was available, he could help them mold their game according to the team they were playing against. His players need to learn to conserve their energy and then let it burst out of them when the time called for it. He wanted a team that could understand all aspects of the game so that their timing was just perfect.
His team was nowhere to be seen at that moment…
"Ah," Mallory gasped when Brock pressed down on her bruised temple where her fellow Chaser had whacked her with an errant elbow. He clicked his tongue at her, prompting her to sit still.
"Forward, right, then back," Riley harrumphed for the umpteenth time in the past three minutes. "Are you deaf or something, Fink?"
"No," Mallory murmured.
"And you," he continued on after turning in a blink of an eye towards the offender, Rita. "Forward, right, then back. For God's sakes, it's not that hard!" Rita nodded meekly at him, prompting another harrumph.
Hector was having his own trouble from where he was at in the air with the rest of the Beaters. This position required almost as much coordination as Chasing. The two Beaters need to work together to both avoid the Bludgers as well as target the right player on the field. This meant having great aim and good communication. Unfortunately, Beaters have never been known for having great discussions. This was the third fight Big Heck had to break up. Despite his size, he did not think much of confrontation. So while he could pull two Beaters apart without breaking a sweat, he wasn't very good at making them stay apart.
And that's how a bat was flung across the field and landed square at poor Parker's hip. The young Chaser hadn't been doing anything at all. One second he was drinking water, and the next second he was stumbling to the ground. He was too shocked to make a sound.
Not that he had to say a word.
"OI!" Brock yelled. Mallory clapped her hands to her ears while those who weren't helping Parker out jumped a foot in the air. "GET DOWN HERE! NOW!" He got up and stomped off to the side with his arms folded against his chest firmly. The Beaters flew down in a sheepish line and stood in front of the fuming coach. He exhaled loudly in frustration. "What the hell was that?" he barked. "Hector?"
Hector was at a loss. He hadn't even seen one of his players fling his bat down in anger. He didn't know what had happened. He simply shrugged.
While the veteran had been oblivious, Hank was more than fed up with the childish games his fellow Beaters played. "These two can't keep it together," he said gruffly while jerking his thumb at the guilty party who were glaring murderously at him.
"Wow," West commented from the bench. "Way to rat 'em out, man."
"Shut up," Hank and Brock snapped at the loud-mouthed Chaser who should honestly be minding his own business if he knew what was good for him.
"I'm okay," Parker added to the 'discussion'. He too earned an abrupt snarl, making him purse his lips shut.
"This is not a joke," the coach lectured heatedly. "I've seen way too many incidents where these sort of tantrums have cost a limb. If you can't work together, then you may leave. Now. All of you need to understand that I am not at all obligated to pick a player who can't play fair. No matter how good you are," he glowered at the Beaters, "I can always find a replacement. So decide now if you are going to take this seriously or not. I don't have time to waste putting you in your corners under timeouts. Grow the hell up."
The players appeared contrite, most of them staring at their feet and picking at loose threads on their gloves. Brock's speech was allowed to linger for a minute before he exhaled loudly again and said, "Take a break. Five minutes." He stormed off towards the locker rooms to cool his head. This was just the first of his many explosions that would come out during the next few months. He figured he should give the players some time to mull over things.
Mallory was nervously pushing at the skin around the goose egg on her forehead when a small white towel was thrust towards her. She looked up in confusion at Harry who was kneeling beside her. "For your head," he indicated. She hesitated for just a moment before accepting the damp and cold towel from him with a shy smile. "The swelling should go down in a little while," he assured her. "You don't feel funny, do you?"
"A little sad maybe," she joked.
He didn't seem to get it. "Ah, well. Um."
"I'm fine," she was quick to add. "Thank you."
Riley, in the meantime, had picked up where Brock had left off. "That was the most disrespectful thing I have ever seen," he exclaimed, his arms waving all about to accentuate his vexation. "You got Hector in trouble and wouldn't even speak up about it? You guys are unbelievable. Why can't you be more like Hank, huh? He follows orders to a tee. Do all of you need special instructions or something?" He scowled. "If something happens on the field, it's on Coach's head! So stop acting blind and start taking responsibility for your actions!"
"Riley," Harry interjected.
"What?" the young man said abruptly.
"I think they get it…"
Riley seethed and gritted his teeth. If there was one thing he despised, it was lack of discipline. "Whatever," he growled before grabbing his broom and flying off.
Harry returned his attention to Mallory who was sitting put with the towel pressed to her forehead. "Maybe you should sit out for a bit, hmm?" he advised her.
"He's sort of scary, isn't he?" she mumbled as she darted her eyes up to look at the Keeper zooming about.
Harry followed her gaze. "Oh?" He let out a short snort. "It's a bit tough to be scary when he keeps trying to cop a feel." Mallory laughed behind her hand appreciatively.
By the time Brock walked onto the field, all of the players were in the air, picking up where they had left off. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little happy about that. He knew guilt trips worked on everyone but his wife. He strolled along the sidelines. He had another two weeks to finalize his team. He had a fair idea on who to pick. He took a seat beside Mallory who was also watching from the sidelines. "Feeling alright?" he asked her.
"Mhm." She pulled the towel away from her head. "How does it look?" She tilted her head down so Brock could examine it.
"Looks alright."
"Yeah. Harry gave me this." She held up the towel. "It took away some of the heat."
Brock could smell some menthol on it and figured that Harry had put some anti-inflammatory potion in it. "Hmm. That's good." He motioned for her to press the towel against her head again. "So what do you think of him?" he went on to ask.
"Of Harry? He's pretty cool."
The coach couldn't help his smile. Everyone he spoke with had just that to say about Harry Potter. 'Pretty cool'. "I meant as a player," he clarified.
"Oh, of course." She blushed. "Um, he's really fast and sharp. He's great at avoiding the rest of the game when he's trying to catch the Snitch. He keeps out of the way. He's a good sport about winning. I don't really know how he is when he loses though. And I always see him giving tips to the other two Seekers."
"Calm under pressure?"
"Oh, definitely."
"So no flaws?"
She shrugged.
"Alright." To this day, Brock had yet to see a Quidditch player without a flaw. He had a good hunch as to what Harry Potter's could be. He kept his comments to himself, however.
Riley swooped towards Harry, coming to a smooth halt in front of him. "What's the big idea?" he frowned.
Harry wasn't sure, so he said, "I don't know."
Riley harrumphed. "Fine. I'll be bad cop if you want to do good cop," he grumbled.
"Uh…"
"But you've got to back me up once in a while, okay?"
"Um, okay."
"Say, were you almost a Head Auror?"
Harry shifted on his broom. "What's that got to do with anything?" he asked in turn.
"Well, I'm usually the team captain," Riley said importantly. "But if you're around, I'll be shafted. You're a leader type, you know?"
Harry sighed. "Look, I'm not even on the team yet… And besides, I'm not looking to be the captain of anything."
"Then what?"
"I just want to win some games."
Riley beamed abruptly.
Harry was glad to see the change in the Keeper. This man had so many swinging moods that it was quite hard to keep up with them. "So we're all good?" he wanted to make sure.
"Of course." Riley thumped his back twice before taking off towards the goalposts again.
A few more drills later, Brock flew up toward them to start off a match. For the next hour, the players played quick successions of games, each lasting about twenty minutes each. The goal was to score as many points as possible. In contrast to the fiasco from earlier, everyone played quite well during the matches. There was no more trouble from the Beaters and the Chasers used their routes to the best of their abilities to evade the opposition. The Seekers were allowed to catch the Snitch as many times as they wanted to, Brock and Hector keeping score as required.
In the back of his mind, Harry heard Riley's little quip. He knew he was the leader type. He couldn't help it. He had learned to lead at a very young age. But he was trying to get away from all that responsibility. He had led enough on his Auror team. Right now he just wanted to sit back and worry about nothing else but catching the Snitch at the correct second. On days like today when the sun was beating down and everyone was both dehydrated and cranky, he was glad that he didn't have to deal with attitude. For once in his life, he just wanted to follow the crowd. He surely did not miss having to put the Beaters in their place whenever a fight broke out. He had to do absolutely nothing about the uncoordinated Chasers. Coach Lightmead had it all under control. So what if a few Keepers let through some easy goals? It was no skin off his back. He could focus on Seeking and that's that. If Riley wanted to be the captain, then Harry had no qualms about it and there would be no good cop, bad cop routine going on. He had left all that behind with his badge. This was supposed to be a relaxing midlife crisis.
"Oh, for God's sake, ROLL INTO IT, LEE!"
He clamped his mouth shut in horror, but not before he had startled West into fumbling the Quaffle and made two distracted Beaters fly into each other, pretty much bringing the game to a stand still.
Brock tried to hide his amusement behind his whistle.
Ever since the first day, he had noticed Harry keeping a close eye on the game below him, watching the players, frowning at mistakes, quietly mouthing swears, and grimacing at each lost goal. The mounting annoyance was hardly noticeable, but it wasn't entirely hidden either. He had seen Harry clench his hands against the staff of the broomstick more than once, oddly enough coinciding with all the times a Chaser dropped the Quaffle due to a careless grip. It had only been a matter of time before the Quidditch captain in him came out.
"Roll into it, Lee," Brock echoed Harry's barking order in a kinder tone, addressing West who was gawking in bewilderment. "Here, give me that." He took the Quaffle from the Chaser to demonstrate what he meant.
"HEY!" Riley yelled from his side of the pitch. He pointed accusingly at Harry. "WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?"
"Sorry, sorry," Harry apologized sheepishly.
The other players were quietly chuckling. That had certainly been unexpected. Harry Potter had hardly said a word over the past two weeks. To the say that the outburst had caught them completely off guard would be an understatement.
"At least stick to one role," Riley complained under his breath as he flew around his hoops grumpily. "Am I the good cop or the bad cop now?"
