Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

A/N: This apparently didn't take long at all, though it's admittedly a bit shorter (just under 4,000). I have several fluffy plot bunnies hopping around for the next couple of chapters, then back to BtD. I literally sat down at about ten o' clock last night and wrote for two hours. Then I went to bed, got up, did some stuff, edited, and now I am posting, just a few days after the last post. I hope to get at least two chapters in on this story before I return to BtD, but no promises. It all depends on how the plots line up.

I do realize that I have been shamelessly ignoring OKFY in favor of Brother to Dragons, and for that, I am very sorry. However, if you add an Alert for me or both stories, you'll get a friendly email every time I post a new chapter of either!

~%%~

The familiar scarlet fabric felt heavy that night. It was the same shade of crimson it had always been, the same thick cotton designed to block the wind and rain, and the same gold threading still read 'POTTER' across the shoulders. Even the loose thread in the 'E' was exactly as he had left it the previous year, his Quidditch season having been cut off by Umbridge before he could mend it.

Flying on a broomstick had been the first thing at Hogwarts that had truly come easily to Harry, the first subject where he hadn't felt a million miles behind his peers who had grown up knowing about magic and witchcraft. It had been his refuge from people like Malfoy, whose taunts and threats had held no weight when they were both suspended in the air. Learning and playing Quidditch had always held his mind together, given him a focus of time to come as he prepared for exams, learned new magic, and fought constantly against looming dangers. The previous two years with little or no Quidditch had been difficult, at best, though he realized with a wry smile that having Hermione there had helped him a great deal. After all, she had been the one to make sure he prepared for his Tri-Wizard Tasks, and who had been the initial catalyst in the formation of the D.A. the year before, which had admittedly fueled his sense of purpose.

Even with Hermione's help, though, time had seemed somewhat sluggish compared to the adrenaline rush of each new match, the rush of wind through his tangled hair as he raced toward the distant glint that was the Golden Snitch. Captaincy or no, Harry had been looking forward to Quidditch this year more than almost anything else.

But tonight, Harry's first practice as Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, he felt drained of energy. He supposed the fact that he had been up with Hermione for the past two nights in a row had contributed to his feeling of exhaustion, and he smiled with the realization that it had been more than worth it. Harry's first kiss with Cho had been nothing like that heated encounter in the classroom, and even less like the tender kisses in the library. It had been awkward, almost painfully so, and had not ignited a spark the way every brush with Hermione had.

His mind once again derailed by thoughts of his new girlfriend—his gut still twisted enjoyably to even think the word—he found himself wondering, yet again, if she would have allowed him to go farther. It had been flitting through his mind all evening; brief fantasies of Hermione in his bed, Hermione crying out his name, Hermione's head falling back in all-consuming pleasure, provided by him, of course. Each time he had caught such images floating through his mind, his stomach had clenched in shame for thinking of her that way and he quickly put the idea from his head.

Now, alone in the locker room before Quidditch practice, he was finding it much more difficult to ignore such wicked thoughts. Pulling his Quidditch robes onto his shoulders, he glanced at the door leading to the showers, and wondered if he could perhaps find some time alone later in the evening to relieve some of his Hermione-related discomfort. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of using her—even incorporeally—in such a debasing way, but he didn't know how much longer he could stand to be around her without some kind of respite, and he didn't want to lose one second of time he could spend with her.

With a sigh, he pulled the key ring Professor McGonagall had given him from his pocket, and slipped through the door connecting the locker rooms to the broom shed. A small closet at the far end of the broom shed held the practice equipment, accessible only by Madam Hooch and team Captains, each with his own set of keys. Harry selected the large rusted iron key and pulled the trunk of practice balls from its position in the bottom of the closet, dragging it through the locker room and out onto the field.

Harry had gone down to the Quidditch stadium by five-thirty, wanting to make sure that he was fully prepared for his first practice in his new position. He had stacked the benches against one wall to give them room for warm-ups. He had already pulled out Oliver Wood's old easel and markers and had roughly sketched some of the positions that Ginny had discussed with him over lunch that day. He had plotted a general idea of what they would do that evening, spending the remaining hour or so of daylight in the air, seeing how they worked together as a team, and once it got too dark to see the balls, they would retire to the locker room, where he would explain their strategy for the season. He felt suddenly much worse for ever having ignored Wood's pep talks now that he was on the other end of them, and wished that he had paid more attention. Perhaps then he would have a better idea of what he should tell his team.

He judged that it was nearing six-thirty and, gripping his Firebolt tightly in the hopes that it would lend him some extra courage, he leaned against the wall to wait in what he fervently hoped was a nonchalant, authoritative sort of way.

~%%~

As the group of Gryffindors saw themselves out of the castle, Hermione naturally fell behind the chatting players. It had been a life-long habit of hers in situations where she knew she was not strictly wanted. When it was just she, Ron, and Harry—her heart squinched painfully at the memory of how easy it all used to be—she felt like a true third of the Golden Trio, as they had been dubbed. But even in primary school, she had held behind her classmates in the hopes that she could feel like a part of the group, if a trivial one, without risking being too close for someone to notice her and tell her to go away.

Ginny noticed her friend and slowly fell behind the others to keep her company. "Knut for your thoughts?" she offered, seeing Hermione's furrowed brow.

She started slightly and muttered, "Oh, nothing important." She was surprised when Ginny held her forearm, deliberately slowing their pace to give them a hint of privacy.

"Thinking about your mystery again?" she asked mischievously.

Hermione didn't have to ask what 'mystery' she meant, and honestly replied, "No, not really." She pictured Harry as she had last seen him in his Quidditch robes and grinned, wondering how they would fit him after so long. A slow smile grew on her face, recalling that wonderful muscled frame she had somehow never noticed before. She would have to keep a weather eye for any signs of that delicate flex-and-release motion she had enjoyed so many times the night before.

"Now you are." A sly grin spread across the red-head's face.

"Yes, now I am." All thoughts of an unpleasant nature fled at once, leaving Hermione excited for the coming practice. "What should we call them?" she whispered, though the others were far enough ahead, they were unlikely to be overheard.

"I don't know," Ginny admitted. "I suppose we should call them something, shouldn't we?"

"Yes…" Hermione mused. "It'll have to be something subtle, so we can't guess, obviously, and so no one else can if they happen to overhear us."

"And it wouldn't hurt if it were something innocuous. You know, so we can talk about them with other people nearby. Like I could say, "Would you like to go to dinner?" and that means I want to talk boys."

"But," Hermione argued, "it has to be something we wouldn't normally talk about, so I don't think that every time you say that, that's what it means. What if you really do want to go to dinner?"

"That's a good point."

They walked in silence for several minutes until they reached the edge of the stadium, where the tall double admittance doors loomed, with a nondescript wooden door on either side, which Hermione knew, though not from experience, led to the team locker rooms.

"Well, I suppose I'll see you later," she said awkwardly, realizing this would have to be where they parted.

"Yeah, just go pick a seat," Ginny replied brightly. "It'll be great, really! We might not do anything too exciting tonight; I don't know what Harry's got planned. I hope you get to see something fun!" She reached out for a quick hug and added quietly, "And I'll keep thinking about…you know what."

"Okay, me too," she whispered in response, though there was no one around to hear them. With an uncharacteristic giggle, Hermione separated from her friend and began the long climb up the stairs leading to the spectators' stands.

Hermione hadn't noticed how empty the common room had been upstairs, but it must have been, she thought as she rounded the top of the staircase, because nearly all of Gryffindor House was sitting in the stands, waiting for practice to begin when she arrived. There were even a few dozen she didn't remember seeing in the common room before, who must have been from other houses. Having shown up with the team, there were few seats left, so she had to settle for a spot on the edge of the group, just behind a group of first-year girls, who were giggling and whispering amongst themselves.

It didn't take long for her to realize that the bulk of their giggles were resulting from whispers about a certain team Captain. She scowled lightly at them, ready to tell them off for disrespecting a fellow Gryffindor in such a way, but had to stop herself. Hadn't she been doing that very same thing only hours before? Glancing around to make sure no one was looking her way—no one ever was—Hermione allowed herself a small, naughty grin. Without someone to talk to while she waited, she amused herself by looking around at the crowd and the stadium. Her eye caught on a small bit of moment from the field, and she saw a flash of orange as someone with red hair slipped back into the locker room.

~%%~

Harry's moments of quiet contemplation in the locker room were interrupted by the sound of the exterior door banging and several footsteps moving up the hallway toward the main room. A large concrete corridor separated the changing room from the door, to give players and faculty alike enough time to announce themselves before walking in on anything indecent. The thought made Harry wonder how quickly Hermione could pull her robes back on, if necessary.

This line of thinking was quickly put on hold by the explosion of his team around the corner of the separating wall. His team. It was a foreign notion, and one that brought not a little bit of mixed fear and excitement to the forefront of his mind.

The Gryffindor team grabbed their robes, the boys changing in the same room, while the girls went behind another separating wall into an identical room. The excited chatter was deafening as it echoed off the stone walls of the small space.

In the cramped space, Ron approached Harry, moving as one who does not want to be seen. He scuffed his shoe uncomfortably against the floor and looked up to mutter, "I saw what you were writing in Lupin's class today."

Of anything Ron could have said, Harry would never have guessed such an odd statement. His mind reeled as he tried to remember that far back in the day, cringing internally as he remembered his half-notes, half-ranting scribbles that he had been working on throughout the class. "Ron, I—" But Ron cut him off.

"I'm still angry," he began, in a tone that suggested he had planned this out and was not going to stop talking until he had said it. "But I just want you to know—I'm not jealous. That's—that's not it."

"Er, thanks," Harry said, entirely unsure whether this was an appropriate answer or not.

"And I want you to know, too," Ron added as an afterthought, "that I won't let this affect the team."

"I appreciate that." It was the truth, and this time he knew it was the right thing to say. Ron might be an idiot sometimes, and he might be a hot-head…well, all the time, but he was still man enough to own up to his commitments and prove to the school that the last year's Quidditch championship was only the beginning.

The girls began trickling back into the main room, and the group fell quiet as they turned to Harry, waiting for him to begin the practice.

"Alright," he started, feeling a delicate tremble in his left knee, "you lot," he added lamely. "I'm not going to lie; this is new for me. I've never been the leader in Quidditch before, and I've not played with most of you yet. This will be our first practice as a team, so we're just going to test the waters, and see how it goes.

"What I have planned for tonight is simple. We should have about an hour and a half of daylight left, and in that time, I want us to first do some warm-ups exercises. Nothing too harsh, just push-ups and sit-ups for tonight. Next time, we'll have a day practice, and I want you to know now, we will be doing laps. For now, though, I don't want to waste daylight on our first practice." He had been working on this compromise while doing his lines earlier in the evening. He hoped that it was a decent settlement for Ron and Ginny's argument at lunch.

"Then, we'll go out on the field and split up—"

"What, no scrimmage?" Demelza interrupted indignantly.

"Captain's talking," Ginny barked over her, effectively silencing her protests.

Harry grinned at her gratefully, and continued, "We'll split up. Ginny is going to work with the Chasers, and Ron will be with the Beaters. I'll circle around and keep track of everything. Any questions?" he added, looking pointedly at Demelza, who was now blushing furiously.

"Hey, get a load of this!" Ron exclaimed from somewhere to his right. Harry turned and saw that Ron had stuck his head out the door to peer into the stands. "Looks like the whole house is here!"

"Well, we knew they would be," Ginny responded blithely. "Have any of the other houses shown up?"

"I can't tell," he replied. "But that definitely looks like more than just Gryffindors, and—blimey, I think that's—is that? Harry, come have a look."

Harry poked his head out the door, hoping as he did so that he was imagining how very many people had shown up to watch their first practice and were now sitting in the stands, eagerly awaiting their arrival onto the pitch. He remembered what Hermione had said the day of the team tryouts, about them being there to see him, rather than Quidditch. He flushed lightly as he remembered her other words, that he had never been more fanciable. A different color fell over those words as he compared them to the past few days. It seemed Hermione had not only been speaking of the other Gryffindor girls. "What am I looking for?" he asked Ron.

Ron joined him in the doorway, jerking his head toward one of the unoccupied stands. Or so Harry thought. Squinting, he could see a pale figure tucked into the shadows.

"Is that…?"

"Malfoy," he confirmed darkly. "Spying, no doubt."

"But why would he spy on us?" Harry wondered. "Practices are open to anyone."

"Because he's a slimy git," Ron snapped, as though that settled the matter. Which, when talking with the hot-head, it usually did.

"Well then, we'll just have to practice twice as hard, so Malfoy can take the news back to his team that they've got no chance and they should just give up now," he said bracingly, though it privately made him a bit sick inside to know that Malfoy could be witness to his greatest failure as a Hogwarts student. If this practice didn't go off without a hitch, Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to show his face in the common room the next morning.

"We should do something," Ron said suddenly.

"What are you on about?" Ginny asked. "We're about to go out and practice."

"No," he said hurriedly, now that he had their attention. "I mean we should do something really cool, to get the fans revved up for the season. Fly out there in style. Remember the teams at the World Cup?"

"Yes, but that was at the Quidditch World Cup," Katie responded. "We're no Ireland."

There was a moment of silence, and Ginny looked to Harry for his response, the others quickly following suit. The sudden shift of attention made Harry rather uncomfortable, as he realized they were all waiting for his decision on the matter.

Deciding to go for the more democratic approach, he said, "What do you all think of it?"

"I say let's do it!" Demelza pronounced, leaping to her feet, apparently ready to make up for her previous misstep.

"We've never done anything like that before," Katie said doubtfully.

"Could be fun," Ginny said to her, shrugging. "We're a whole new team, more or less. It might do us some good to show ourselves as a united front."

"I agree," Harry nodded. Turning to Ron, he said, "What did you have in mind?"

Ron looked surprised that the design had been left to him. "Well," he began slowly, "we could go back outside and take off from the outside of the stadium, sort of surprise them a bit, you know?"

"And then zoom straight toward the stands, and veer off at the last second!" Demelza added enthusiastically.

"Yeah!" Ron's response was instant and excited, and the feel of giddy anticipation began spreading through them, even infecting doubtful Katie.

"What if we flew straight toward them, and then all took off in different directions?" she offered. "You know, explode out like fireworks on brooms!"

Harry looked around at his excited teammates, and reminded himself to thank Ron for such a spectacular idea. If they could pull this off, he was certain that the boost in morale would improve this first practice tenfold, and perhaps give them the momentum they needed to keep going all season long.

So they grabbed their brooms, making sure their robes were fastened only on the top third—Ginny's idea, to ensure that their scarlet robes would fly behind them like capes—and followed one another out of the locker rooms.

They all looked to Harry as they mounted their brooms, but Harry looked to Ron. "Your lead," he said.

"What, me?" Ron replied dumbly.

"I'm just the Captain," Harry reminded him, grinning widely. "You're the King."

~%%~

The Gryffindors in the stands were getting restless, and besides whichever of the Weasleys Hermione had seen peeking out of the door, there had been no movement for several minutes, and no sign that the team would be appearing anytime soon. She remembered hearing Fred, George, and Harry discussing Oliver Wood's long pre-practice talks, and wondered if that was what Harry was doing now.

Shrieks and screams of delight came from the other end of the stands, and it took only seconds for them to spread to every Gryffindor—and most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who were in the stands as well—as they realized what was happening. Seven streaks of bright crimson were cresting the top of the far end of the stadium, hurtling toward the onlookers. Hermione could just pick out Ron's red hair in the lead, and Harry's and Ginny's telltale locks just behind him. She was impressed that Harry had chosen to allow Ron to lead. As the hero of the Gryffindor team the year before, she knew it would mean a lot to Ron to be recognized so openly by the best friend who had always outstripped him, and so simple a gesture on Harry's part might go a long way in easing Ron's feelings of abandonment and…whatever else his problem was.

Harry knew Ron was eating up the attention as the head of their rough V-formation, and he was so entranced with the feeling of once again being in the air, being part of a team, that he didn't particularly care that someone else was going to get the credit for this little stunt. The wind whipped through his hair, whistling in his ears, and though he felt the urge to go as fast as he could, he stayed dutifully in formation, letting Ron keep the pace.

As they had discussed before taking off, they dropped altitude as they approach the spectators' stands and tightened their formation as much as could be safely managed. Following Ron's lead, they swept up the sides of the stands at a near vertical angle. He could see those in the front rows peering eagerly over the sides to watch their ascent, and laughed aloud when they scampered backward to avoid being struck.

The screams of the crowd were like a drug, egging the whole team on He saw Hermione leaping to her feet with the rest of the crowd, cheering them on. Cheering me on, he reminded himself, enjoying how his heart seemed to skip a beat at the notion. He urged his broom on a bit faster, flying straight toward her—and, he noticed vaguely, a group of shrieking younger girls. Just before he was close enough that he could have reached out to touch her, Harry wrenched his broom upward, spiraling into a dizzying upside-down arc that left the whole crowd roaring his name as he dropped into the line beside his team. But the one voice he sought out filled him with elation as he heard Hermione screaming for him, looked up and saw her jumping, dancing, kicking, hugging the girls in front of her, pumping her fists in the air, all with a distinct lack of poise and dignity.

It was wonderful.

~%%~

A/N: So, if any of my fellow HP fans moonlight as a Gleek, like I do, I may need someone to restrain me if I inject too much Kurt into my Ron. It's a slim chance, but I've been reading a lot of Klaine fics lately, because canon hasn't provided me with enough fangirl fodder, and it might manage to sneak into my writing. Plzkthx.

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596