7.
After apologizing profusely to West Lee who took the whole ordeal as a splendid adventure, Harry also spoke with Brock after practice. "I don't know what came over me," he mumbled. "I'm terribly sorry about that."
"Just realize that these people are just players, not Aurors," Brock responded with a good-natured jibe. "Don't be too hard on them."
"O-of course. I wasn't… I mean, I… It just sort of slipped out and I'm sorry for disrupting the game. It won't happen again."
"I don't mind if it happens again," he laughed. "I am always happy to see a passionate player."
Once he was back home, Harry told his friends about what had happened that day. Upon seeing their unconcerned expressions, he bristled. "What do you mean?" he frowned at them. "Have I always been like that?"
"Well, yeah," Ron answered after a moment of hesitance. "Um… Didn't you realize it?"
Harry pulled a face. "I was making a conscious effort to keep to myself," he groused, "and turns out that I've forgotten how to be normal. Yes, I realize that now, Ron. Thank you."
"Whoa, whoa. I didn't mean that in a bad way," Ron was quick to say to appease his irritated best friend. "You were the one who was going to turn the team around. Isn't this the best way to do it? By being team captain?"
Harry threw his hands up in defeat. "I'm not even on the freaking team yet!"
"Okay, okay," Hermione interjected. "This isn't anything to be upset about, Harry. Coach Lightmead is right. You are just passionate about the game. You have been that way ever since you started playing at Hogwarts. And if you don't want to be the captain, then don't. No one is forcing you, right?" She then tilted her head. "But you have to face reality. There is no way you can just sit back and pretend to be normal. Because you aren't normal."
"Tell me about it," Ginny remarked as she walked into the living room while shoveling dessert into her mouth. "You two won't believe the offers this moron's turning down." She settled down beside Harry on the lumpy couch. "The Wasps are throwing money at him and the Tornados said they'd even give him his own locker room on top of even more money."
"I'm trying to fit in," Harry bemoaned. "Is that so wrong? Just let me play in peace. I'm not even doing anything."
"Yeah, yeah," Ginny drawled. "Quit your promising career, try out for a spot in the weakest team in the Quidditch League, and you're trying to 'fit in'? Get real. You may not know it, but you love the attention."
While Harry gritted his teeth at her, Hermione tsked to make her shut up. "This is his life and he should be allowed to do what he pleases," she championed for her friend's decision. "And you know something else, Harry? I think you are a great role model for the players. You are a hard worker and you obviously care about how well you do, which will help the team in turn. Don't over-think this."
"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered.
At practice after the weekend, a shift in dynamics was definitely apparent. As much as he fought it, there was no denying that the other players kept glancing at him for approval during games. After a couple of hours of trying to ignore them, he simply had to cave in. How could he not respond to them? He couldn't be so heartless.
Brock was glad to see his players' focus honing. It was always good to have multiple trainers. He could only be in so many places at once. If Harry was willing to take some control of at least a few players, it would help greatly.
"Hold it like this," Harry told the Chasers on his team during their two-minute time-out. He demonstrated with the Quaffle, holding it against his right ribs, tucked under his arm. "And roll into the attack." He tilted his broom to show what he meant. He used his shoulder to defend the Quaffle. "Whatever you do, don't give them an opportunity to smack it away from you." He glanced at Mallory. "Now you're a bit smaller, so you've got to twist more, okay? Use your back to keep them away and then pass. If you pass too soon, you'll lose the ball."
During the game, instructions flew in from all directions. Riley would be pacing in front of the hoops impatiently, egging his Chasers on. Hector would bark short commands to his Beaters. Harry could quickly calculate the other players' attacks and shout out formations whenever possible. And Brock simply yelled at them for making stupid mistakes. This was starting to look like a team practice.
After a few hours of matches, the players were split up into positions to run some drills. Feeling a bit lenient, the coach didn't push them as hard as usual. The Keepers practiced blocking techniques with the Chasers who ran zigzag patterns across the length of the field. Below them, the Beaters were working on their partner shots. And above all of that were the Seekers doing what they did best, Seeking.
"I guess you need to evaluate risk versus the reward," Harry told his fellow Seekers. "I mean, is it really worth getting past the players to get the Snitch when it's on the other end of the field?"
"You do that all the time," Caleb reminded him.
"Yes, well… That's after making sure that I can reach there in time without causing any trouble. See? Risk versus reward."
"So you just happen to take bigger risks that us, is that it?"
Harry smiled drily. "To be fair, I have been flying longer than you guys. I think my background gives me a certain edge." Then he shrugged it off. "In any case, you need to stay sharp through the entire game. It's the only way to win. In a way we have the easiest and the hardest position, right?"
"Tell me about it," Angelo grumbled. "Makes it even worse when I'm play against you though."
"Oh, there are much better players out there," Harry scoffed. "I'm sure I'll get my arse handed to me at some point."
"That would be the day."
Toward the tail end of the day, he was taking a breather near the hoops when he saw a lone black figure trudge towards the pitch. Scouts hadn't shown up in a week, not since he had made Ginny talk to them and reject their offers. It wasn't often that they got visitors to tryouts, so he watched curiously, floating downwards without really realizing it. He was trying to figure out what that small nagging sensation in the back of his mind was.
When he suddenly recognized who it was that he had been staring at, he pulled back and raised his brows. Then he narrowed his eyes, leaned forward and shielded the sun. That can't be right. "Huh."
After a vague wave at his fellow players, he flew towards the sidelines and touched down on the grass. "Can I help you?" he asked Draco Malfoy carefully.
"No." The pale man continued writing on his clipboard without sparing a glance up. He wasn't dressed for the weather, most likely sweltering in the black suit and tie. He didn't show any discomfort. That would be unbecoming of him. He merely kept his lips pursed and attention on the paper.
Harry stepped in and tried to peek by craning his neck over the top of the clipboard.
That prompted Malfoy to finally lift his eyes while shifting the clipboard against his chest. "What?"
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.
"Working."
"Oh…" He paused for a lack of words. "Um… Okay." He couldn't be sure what Malfoy had meant. "On what?"
Draco stifled a sigh and didn't say.
"Are you scouting us or something?"
"Sure."
Before Harry could fall into his interrogation mode, he heard a quiet swish of a broom behind him, prompting him to turn. Riley was hovering a little away from him, a bright expression on his face and one hand raised in a wave. He was about to respond in kind when he heard a muffled grunt behind him, making him glance back in astonishment, just in time to see Draco hide behind the clipboard and pretend to scribble busily.
That's when he realized that Riley wasn't waving at him.
"Oh?" He whipped his head forward to ogle the Keeper. "You know him?" he exclaimed.
"Of course." Riley stretched his arms above him. "He's the one who keeps slashing our funds."
"A bookkeeper?" Harry realized. His eyes widened in wonderment. "Oh!"
Riley floated towards the men, his lips quirked up into a gloating smile. "You came here to see Harry Potter, didn't you?" He clicked his tongue and snapped at the celebrity. "Well, here you go. Happy?" He flew in wide circle above them. "We weren't lying. You have to give us more money now. This guy is really expensive. We have to stock his personal locker room with loads of stuff." He started numbering off all of the Golden Boy's 'demands' with his fingers. "He's asking for antique brooms and leather gear and beautiful women to feed him grapes and he only drinks tea made from water that you get at the Alps. Very picky. Gotta keep him happy, you know? What do you say?"
Draco unclenched his jaw for just a moment to mutter, "I'm sure Potter can handle tap water once in a while."
"Potter?" Riley gasped theatrically and came to a halt between the two men. "Is that any way to talk to the almost Head Auror?"
Harry figured it was time to intervene. Malfoy looked like he was about to have an aneurism. "You should probably head back, Riley," he said. "I'll be right behind you."
Riley straightened up and saluted him. "Whatever you say, boss." Then he zoomed away without saying another word.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and turned to Draco again. "Sorry about that." He gripped his broom tighter. "Well… I'll let you work." He started to mount the Firebolt.
"How does it feel reliving the glory days?"
He stilled for just a second. He had forgotten all about Malfoy's grating voice until now. "Feels great," he answered coolly before pushing off the ground.
A little later, back at the locker room, Riley had many more questions. "How do you know Draco?" he asked conversationally. He had just gotten out of the shower and was in the process of drying his hair while loitering around Harry's locker. "He's such a hard arse."
"We went to school together," Harry said without elaborating.
"He seems to hate his job," Riley snorted with a shake of his head. He headed to his locker, raising his voice so Harry could still hear him over the general noise in the room. "I mean, what gives him the right to work on our budget, huh? He's just a pencil pusher. Probably thinks flying is a 'dangerous and appalling mode of transportation'." He used his fingers to quote his words.
Harry looked up at him in astonishment. "Oh, don't you know?" he wondered.
"Know what?"
"He's a Seeker…"
Riley's jaw dropped. He was genuinely shocked. "No way." He scurried to Harry again. "You mean that dork's played Quidditch?" he gushed.
"Yeah…" Harry continued sorting through his bag. "A long time ago."
"Is he any good?" Riley pressed on. He had to dig up some dirt on the bastard who had been pulling funds away from his team.
"Nope," Harry said, feeling some satisfaction that he wasn't altogether proud of.
"I don't doubt it." The Keeper huffed and puffed. "If he knows Quidditch, then why's he being so hard on us, huh? He should know how important good funding is to make a good team."
"Beats me."
"I'm sorry… He wants to what?"
Brock gave a sheepish shrug. "Believe me, I am as surprised as you are," he mumbled. The past two weeks had been surprising. He examined the piece of paper in his hands. "Of course, this is completely within the rules. We don't close our doors to new players under the end of this week. It's just… well… I honestly did not even know that he played Quidditch. Usually Mr. Malfoy shows up every few months to audit the team, but that's… that has always been the extent of his involvement."
Harry exhaled and sat back in confusion, pressing a hand to his mouth absently. What was Malfoy doing?
"I figured since you two have played together before, perhaps you could give me some insight."
He shook his head and glanced away, folding his arms against his chest. "We weren't on the same team. He isn't nearly aggressive enough to be a Seeker. He's quick, but-"
"Chaser."
He paused.
"He's trying out as a Chaser," Brock elaborated.
"Oh."
"What do you think of that?"
Harry wasn't sure. Malfoy as a Chaser. He had to try quite hard to push aside all the feelings that came with remembering Malfoy on the Quidditch field. "I'm… I can't say," he murmured distantly. "I've never… Hmm…" He looked up at Brock. "Is he coming in for tomorrow's practice?"
"Yes."
"I see."
Brock shifted in his seat. "You can imagine my concern, Harry. Given Mr. Malfoy's history and… all the shit that comes with it, could we keep this between us?"
"Yeah. Sure, of course."
"Just another player."
"Mhm."
"Thank you."
