Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter characters.
Chapter Six: If you can't beat 'em…
Having succumbed to the exhaustion from the days preceding, Harry slept through the night and the majority of the next day. He probably would have slept through Sunday in its entirety, if it hadn't been for a rude awaking.
"You is not to be disturbing the master!"
"Out of my way, Dobby! Harry get your lazy arse out here, NOW! Ron's angry voice bellowed from the foyer below, waking Harry up.
Blearily he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, noting the clock on his bedside read just past eight, and the dim light outside told him it was past eight in the evening.
What woke me up? He wondered absently.
Angry and concerned voices from the foyer below answered his sleep addled mind.
"Damn it, leave off! Ron growled angrily.
"Master is asleep, he be sick." He heard Winky cry out, pleadingly.
"Sick my arse, the traitor! He'll wish he was only sick when I get through with him. Potter?" Ron shouted up the stairs.
"Ron, Please? Please, stop this?" Hermione's voice pleaded.
"Potter? Where are you, you rat bastard!"
"Ron!" Hermione wailed in shocked outrage.
Harry threw open his bedroom door to find a melee in progress on his stairwell.
Ron was in mid-step pulling one house elf,( it looked like Pixie), off his leg, while dragging three of other elves along while Winky tended to a very battered looking Dobby on the landing and Hermione pulled on her husband's arm in a futile attempt to make him see reason.
"ENOUGH!" Harry shouted, freezing them in their tracks.
"Now you finally show your face, you bastard." Ron hissed contemptuously.
"M-Master Harry, we's tried to stop his from disturbing your rest but he's wouldn't listen." Dixie interceded in the elves behalf.
Harry's irate expression softened as he smiled down to his elf. "Thank you for trying to take such good care of me. Please, go and rest a bit, all of you,.. and thank you. You're a treasure to me and this house." Harry remarked with sincerity.
Dobby swayed on his feet, supported by Winky with one arm, while she continued to fuss over him with the other.
"M-Master is sure he doesn't need his elvsies?" He glowered warily as Ron who was still visible seething, despite Hermione's best efforts to calm him.
"I'll be fine. Does anyone need a healer?" He asked worriedly, casting his gaze over each elf.
Grumbles of "no" answered him.
"Fine then, see to yourselves, and please, take whatever time you need to recover, be it an hour or a month." he offered kindly.
Though the elves looked scandalous at the notion of needing or wanting time off, they left without further comment, leaving Harry alone with a very angry friend.
Ron was dressed in his Chudly uniform. Sweat stained, bruised and a few hints of blood around his nose and mouth complimented his appearance.
"Rough practice?" Harry assumed.
"Rough Practice?" Ron bellowed indignantly. "Rough game, or had you forgotten?"
Harry's eyes went out of focus as he tried to organize his thoughts.
"Game,… was that today? Is it Sunday already?" he asked innocently in surprise.
"What're you playing at? You know damn well the first game against the Harpies was today!" Ron growled angrily.
Hermione, for her part, was watching their exchange with pensive eyes. She was worried for the both of them.
"Did we lose then?" Harry presumed.
"Did we lose?" Ron turned to Hermione and repeated himself incredulously. "Did we lose, he asks? Can you believe it?" Ron complained with exaggerated incredulousness to his wife, who for her part looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but in the middle of what was sure to be a train wreck.
Ron turned and shot back to Harry and bit out venomously. "Yes, we bloody well lost- thanks to you!"
Harry eyebrows rose at that. "Thanks to me? What did I have to do with it?" he returned with a puzzled expression, adding. "Travers' miss the snitch, then?"
Ron blew out an exasperated breath. "Travers was knocked out of it in the first hour. We had Grunner take over from reserves, the kid did all right for a bit, but Jones herself plowed him when he wandered into the playing area searching for the snitch. After that, the Harpies bullied and battered us till half the team was out injured. We never stood a chance without a seeker. Our seeker, our number one seeker, was M.I.A.!"
"I see" Harry returned with an impassive expression that only served to infuriate his friend further.
"That's it? I see? Ron nearly bellowed in outrage. "You had to go and make that stupid bet and what's the first thing that happens right after the match? Gwenog and her 'ladies', (Ron spat the word consumptively), started goading us about when they could expect us by to pick up our costumes for the photo op, completely oblivious to the damage they wantonly inflicted on our players, let alone show any regret or at the very least compassion?" he finished in exasperated rage.
Harry had to admit, Ron had a fair few points, but bottom line; Ron was in his house, railing about his team and mistreating his staff in the process.
Unconcerned over the negative reaction he would get, Harry calmly informed his friend:
"The photo op will be Tuesday morning, nine sharp at Dennis Creavey's studio in Diagon Alley, in lieu of scheduled practice that day. The team may take the remainder of that day off, pending the resume of practice nine a.m. on Wednesday. Please inform the entire team that their cooperation is mandatory, unless medically excused."
Ron stared blankly at Harry with his mouth hanging agape in complete consternation.
After a moment he regained his senses long enough to complain.
"You're not seriously suggesting we actually go thru with this dog and pony show after what they did to us?"
Harry glanced briefly at Hermione's resolved expression, knowing she already knew his answer.
"I gave my word on it. We lost- We pay."
Ron's face twisted into an angry snarl. "Your word? Your precious word? Oh, Merlin forbid that the great Harry Potter should go back on his word?" he scathed; pushing Harry farther than even he in his enraged state knew was prudent.
Harry sighed wearily, refusing to take the bait. "As I said; The photo op will take place 9 a.m. sharp, Tuesday. I expect everyone there, you included." he replied with firm resolve.
Ron's was livid. His face was so heated; he looked like he'd explode in a cloud of red mist.
"I'll quit first." he threatened.
Hermione gasped next to him, afraid for her husband and best friend as never before. Ron was furious beyond reason and she knew there was nothing she could say or do that would calm him. She only prayed that Harry would not let things degrade to Ron's level.
Harry stared blankly back at his friend. If he was surprised by Ron's stance, he didn't show a hint of it.
Hermione watched pensively, holding her breath as she half expected they might come to blows. If that happened, things might never be the same between them.
When Harry finally spoke, he said the last thing she would have expected, and said it with passive conviction.
"If that's how you truly feel then quit, Ron? You'll come to regret the decision, but if this is it, then so be it?"
Hermione was absolutely stunned to say the least.
Ron was outraged.
"Regret? Are you threatening me, Potter?"
"I see we've degraded to using last names now?" Harry pointed out Ron's angry formality.
"Not threatening, no, merely making a prediction. You're a terrific player, Ron. You're also a Chudley fan through and through. You'll have no trouble catching on with another team, but I really don't think you'll ever be content playing for any team but Chudley. I urge you to not make any hasty decisions in the heat of the moment. You've had a trying and ultimately disappointing day, but don't let it dictate you're entire future. Take a week off to mull things over. If you decide you want to be released from the team, I'll grant you're release without contractual penalty. You can start with some other team with a clean slate and Chudley's sincere best wishes. If you decide to stick with us, so much the better, as we'll need you for our continued run for a second cup."
"Second cup? Who are you kidding?" Ron sneered. "Without me in the lineup for Friday's game you'll never get past game two with the Harpies and its double elimination. One more loss and Chudley's out."
"You can take the week off with my blessing's Ron. You don't need to concern yourself with Friday night's game; we'll still be in the playoff hunt come Saturday morning." Harry predicted with cool certainty.
Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by the passively logical way Harry was defusing the situation with Ron. He'd grown so much over these last few years. It was all she could do to keep from snickering at the exasperated look on Ron's face when Harry flatly predicted they'd win Friday's game without the slightest trepidation. His eyes twinkled with inner knowledge and confidence like the former Headmaster's did. Every day, he reminded her more and more of a younger version of Dumbledore.
"Who would play keeper?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"If not you; than no one." Harry vouched.
"If you can pull off a win that way Friday night, not only will I stay with Chudley, but I'll play the rest of the season and all of the next for nothing! You lose and you double the top offer I can get from another team to stay and name me manager as well." Ron pounced with boastful incredulousness.
"Ron!" Hermione blurted out, stunned that he would gamble their financial future so callously just to assuage his own ego.
Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise at that. His eyes were twinkling like green fireflies when he turned his attention on Hermione's gob smacked appearance.
"Can you afford to lose that bet?"
"Course we can" Ron blustered, cutting off his startled wife before she could refute his claim.
"Done" Harry accepted the wager, sparing Hermione a sympathetic glance for Ron's sake, while throwing her a reassuring wink.
Hermione was near tears with worry, before she caught the wink Harry threw her way. After that, she knew Harry had something up his sleeve that would not only teach Ron a little humility, but would undoubtedly improve their lot as well.
In a far better mood than when he'd arrived, Ron enthusiastically agreed to go along with the photo op as scheduled this coming Tuesday. It was, after all, for charity.
Though Harry smiled and chatted casually as he saw them out, he left Ron with a warning that chilled the blood in his veins by the hint of menace in Harry's eyes when he warned his friend:
"Oh, and Ron?"
"Yeah, Harry?" Ron returned affably, failing to note the dark change in his friend'stone.
"I don't necessarily blame you for being upset over the way we lost today, but I can't say that I'm entirely thrilled with the way in which you displayed your disappointment here in my home today."
Before Ron even suspected that he was in trouble, Harry unceremoniously ushered him by the arm and bodily threw him out the front door, depositing Ron in a groaning heap on his front lawn.
"Merlin, Harry!" Hermione shrieked.
Harry rounded on her angrily. "He had it coming. Barging in here and hurting my family."
Hermione softened slightly, but returned firmly. "He was upset, he didn't mean it. You know he didn't mean it."
"Maybe not, but it happened all the same. Try holding your husband up to the same standard you seem to always set for me." he groused.
Perhaps feeling sympathetic to Ron's groans, Harry relented slightly. "A few bumps and bruises won't ruin your life Ron. Think -next time."
A blue aura winked into existence over Harry, who waved his hand sending a bolt of blue eldritch fire into Ron's battered form, healing him instantly.
Both Ron and Hermione gasped in surprise. He in relief and she in wonder at the amazing display of healing and the casualness with which Harry wielded such unprecedented power.
Before Ron could even think to thank him or she to vent her curiosity Harry turned and entered his home, slamming the door in their faces, venting his own displeasure.
Tuesday mornings photo op came all too early for Ron's liking as he slumped into the Cannon's locker dejectedly, finding his team not gloomy with dread over the impending humiliation of posing in naught but Harpies' colored towels with their rivals logos proudly displayed for all to see. No, he found his teammates laughing and cavorting with each other while Harry seemed to be arguing with Dennis Creavey who'd followed in his late brother's footsteps and started a rising photography studio of his own, aptly named "Creavey's" further honoring his lost brother.
Ron joined his teammates antics, but eyed Harry warily. Moments passed and the two seemed to come to some mutual agreement as Harry nodded begrudgingly to whatever reassurances Dennis' hand gestures seemed to indicate in a placating fashion.
Harry turned back to his team with a smile in place that seemed genuine despite his obvious displeasure of a moment ago.
"All right you lot." He summoned his team's attention. "I've got a lovely fluffy green towel for each, to which Gwenog Jones, herself, lovingly applied a warming charm."
His team chuckled at that as Harry passed out the towels, joking good naturedly as he went.
He paused briefly at Ron looking somewhat regretful. "Ron,..I"
"Sal- right, Harry. I was out of line." Ron apologized. "Besides that healing charm did wonders, haven't felt this good in months." He added appreciatively.
Harry nodded in relief and all was right between the two friends again.
With a great deal of good natured ribbing, the players changed into their costumes. Some of the larger players needed to use liberal amounts of sticking charms to hold their towels in place.
They'd just completed shooting a set of the entire team lounging about their locker room when the door to the Chudley locker flew open with a bang as the Harpies team stormed the men's locker, wearing naught but their opponents jerseys.
Jeers and catcalls from both sides gave way to startled gasps as the eyes of the Harpies' team fell on the person of one, Harry Potter.
Harry emerged from a shower scene, soaking wet with rivulets of water trailing down his well honed physique.
The ladies of the Harpy team had plenty of contact with male players over the years both on and off the field, so the well conditioned body of a professional athlete was certainly nothing new, but this?
Oblivious to the new arrivals' stares of appreciation, if not downright lust, Harry padded up to a gapping stupidly, Gwenog Jones and thanked her for accepting his invitation to join them today, but received no reply.
"Something wrong?' Harry asked in concern.
Jones shook her head mutely, her raven locks swishing back and forth as she did so.
Harry reached out and grasped her shoulder worriedly. "You're sure your okay, Gwenog?"
"F-Fine" The Harpies captain managed to finally squeak out.
"Alright then, here's what I had in mind…"
Harry outlined his ideas for the shoot today and then left to help his teammates set up for the next shoot with their female counterparts.
As soon as Harry was out of ear shot, the Harpies team as a whole rounded on their still gaping captain.
"How in the world are we suppose to keep our heads during a shoot with that?" Jillian Miller asked incredulously sweeping a hand in Harry's direction.
"Jees, Weasley, I thought you said Potter was scrawny in school?"
"H-He was." Ginny stammered, her own face flaming red.
"I've heard of guys taking their conditioning to a new level when they hit the pros but that's unbelievable!" Another gasped.
"Did you see those abs? That's not a six pack, it's a twelve!"
"And that chest, Merlin above!"
"Did anyone else notice the lightning bolt shaped scar on his right shoulder? It's just like the one on his forehead. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was from another killing curse, but I never heard of Potter getting hit with another Kedavra curse?"
"Me neither." another replied.
"H-He did, actually." Ginny interjected sheepishly.
"What?" Several girls shrieked as one.
"A-Alright, Alight settle down ladies." Gwenog interrupted, finally coming out of her stupor.
"Potter's just another player like the rest of us. I expect you all to handle yourselves like professionals." Gwenog scolded.
"Just another player, she says." Jillian groused incredulously.
"Yeah, one that's probably our country's most decorated hero, not to mention a multimillionaire and a singing star who just happens to be built like a Greek god!" One of the beaters added to the mutual agreement of most of her awed teammates.
"P-Please,…please don't make a fuss, he hates it when people see him as anything but just,… Harry." Ginny begged them to not make Harry feel uncomfortable.
"Well the rest of us didn't grow up with him being our brother's best friend, so pardon us if the shock hasn't worn off yet. I heard he fancied you at one time, Ginny. How did you ever let a catch like that get away? "
Ginny's face flamed. "I-It's c-complicated."
Jillian snorted. "Well no hard feelings, but every witch for herself, I say." she challenged fluffing her long blonde hair back over her shoulder, to bare her throat suggestively, it was one of her nicest features.
"Alright , you lot. Remember, this is for charity. It's not a contest to win the heart of,…, of,.., er… arguably the finest specimen of manhood that ever lived." Gwenog finally caved into her desires like the rest of them.
"H-He's really quite shy. Please don't embarrass him." Ginny pleaded with her teammates. She was secretly beginning to wonder if it was for Harry's sake that she was asking her teammates to leave off, or for her own.
"Don't worry, Gin, we won't break him." Jillian snorted, then added with a suggestively. "At least not unless he wants us to?"
The morning progressed into early afternoon. Both teams teased each other mercilessly, but everyone had a fun filled day, thanks to Harry's continued efforts to set everyone at ease by maintaining a playful atmosphere.
The beaters from both teams engaged in a towel fight for their shoot. The females were declared the victors when one particularly harsh crack caught Simmons on a particularly sensitive spot of his anatomy, but no lasting harm was done.
Ron and Ginny shot an endearing picture with a laughing Ginny wearing Ron's jersey whilst riding on his naked back and he looking back with the wistful smile of a proud older brother. The shot was titled: 'Weasley on Weasley'.
Everybody got in the act, everyone except Harry, who hovered about keeping the mood friendly and fun.
Dennis Creavey was nearly done for the day, much to the disappointment of the Harpies as Harry had yet to
participate an individual shoot with any of them.
Dennis ushered Harry off to the visiting team's locker and posted a sign on the door that said: No Admittance- Recording In Progress.
Though entry was denied either team they managed in their curiosity to sneak a pair of Weasley Wheezes new and improved -extendable ears, under the locker room door, and broadcast what Harry was recording over the Chudley facilities intercom system.
Harry was singing a fun filled ballad about falling head over heels over some unnamed Harpies player that had the entire team swooning one minute and eyeing each other jealously the next.
As the last strains of Harry's song echoed across the porcelain shower room, the girl's curiosity got the better of them and they bolted the door of the recording room.
Anxious squeals of anticipation turned almost instantly to startled gasps and muffled shrieks of dismay and piteous sniffling.
A naked a heavily scarred Harry Potter reached unashamedly for his discarded towel to cover his modesty.
It wasn't for disappointment over Harry's prowess that had initiated the response he now received as he was rather well proportioned and his physique was all that they'd enjoyed previously, except with the addition of a multitude of horrific scars that marred the perfection of what everyone perceived a story book hero to be.
Before the Harpies team stood the reality of a hero's sacrifice;
The gaping wound of Voldemort's spectral basilisk still festered cruelly into the left side of his torso.
Deep ragged claw wounds from some unknown beast marred his otherwise perfect chest.
The lightning bolt scar was now largely overlooked as more eyes were drawn to the jagged gash down his left jaw or the deep gouge in his right shoulder.
Harry's entire body was a testament to perpetual pain and sacrifice.
After long pensive moments of uncertainty, Harry was the first to break the uncomfortable stalemate.
"Are you all so naive as to believe that the cost of freedom is 'free'?" he asked incredulously of his shocked audience.
Harry turned his attention to a clearly embarrassed, Dennis Creavey.
"I told you this was a bad idea. There's your public's reaction Dennis." Harry's hand swept meaningfully across his gaping audience of witches.
"They all want the story book. The handsome Knight on his white charger." he spat disgustedly.
"I'm sorry that you find the reality less than your expectations. Go on, LOOK!"He snarled, spreading his arms and rotating in place to give them a fresh view of the scars that crisscrossed his back.
"Maybe I should sell tickets at the carnival. I could go on between the fat lady and the dog faced boy. Why even do a calendar when it's obvious that I could make so much more for charity if I just gave up what little dignity I have left!"
He closed his eyes in concentration and his body morphed back to its semblance of unblemished symmetry, changing all but the two killing curse scars- they remained unalterable.
"What's going on in here? What're you birds gawking at?" Ron snapped as he pushed his way through the shamefaced lot.
"What's up, Harry?" Ron nodded toward his friend for an explanation for the strange looks the Harpies were giving him.
Harry's face soured. "I suppose you might as well see too? Merlin knows, she'll have Hermione on me for it by the end of the day?" Harry snapped, shifting his eyes meaningfully in Ginny's direction. She shuddered under his scrutiny.
Harry relaxed his partial morphing ability and let his body reform naturally as he removed the glamours with a wave of his hand.
Ron's eyes widened, but otherwise he made no abrupt comments of surprise or revulsion.
"They're just scars. They don't reflect what I am in here." Harry thumbed his chest, his eyes softening, almost pleading with his unwanted audience to understand.
"I-I'm not a bad p-person. Ginny,.. I…" Harry took a half step toward Ginny, pleading her understanding, but stilled dejectedly when she shied behind her brother embarrassedly.
"I-I guess when you're told constantly growing up that you're a freak, y-you start to believe it,… and after awhile your body starts to mimic what your mind believes to be true. Things will never change. People will always believe what they want to believe. People see scars and they think monster. It doesn't seem to matter to anyone how the scars got there in the first place?" Harry cast a final tormented glance in Ron and Ginny's direction and before Ron could stop him, he left in a burst of smoke and flame that set off the sprinkler system dosing them all back to the reality out of their shame filled responses.