Chapter One Hundred and One - Quidditch Tryouts
Although Harry had assured his friends that they could get along fine without Professor Umbridge, he soon discovered that there would be little time for secret practice sessions. The second day of classes began with a lecture from Professor McGonagall about the importance of their OWLs. She managed to frighten Harry into a state of frenzied anxiety about his performance in her class so far, only to send him away to History of Magic, where his mood went from one of nervous energy to sheer boredom. Professor Binns droned on in his monotonous voice as usual, but even he did not fail to assign them all a lengthy essay by the end of class.
By the time he began walking across the grounds for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson, Harry's head was aching terribly. With a touch of sardonic humor, he told himself that it was a refreshing change of pace from the usual pain in his scar.
His foul mood only increased when he realized that Hagrid still had not returned. His cabin sat about ten yards away, looking dark and empty with no tendril of smoke rising from the crooked chimney. Harry found himself wondering about Fang. Who was caring for him now? Had Hagrid taken the dog on his mission? And what of the other creatures he had hidden in the forest? Was anyone tending to the gamekeeper duties while he was away?
In Hagrid's place stood Professor Grubbly-Plank. She was waiting for them behind a long table piled high with what appeared to be twigs. As Harry drew closer, he heard a loud peal of laughter and turned to see what had caused it. Crabbe and Goyle, flanked by two Slytherin girls, smirked at Draco. Harry's former adversary was on the ground, his books and papers scattered across the grass in front of him, his face splattered with mud.
Harry watched as Pansy Parkinson, once so fond of Draco, whispered something to Hertha Runcorn. The girls dissolved into giggles, no doubt at Draco's expense, before turning away with an arrogant tilt of their noses.
"They tripped him?" Blaise observed, "Rather pedestrian for a bullying tactic, isn't it?
"Pathetic," Millie agreed. She was staring at Draco as he began to silently gather the books he had dropped, though it was clear she was referring to his tormentors, and not to him, "I'd guess they aren't bright enough to remember any good curses, so they're acting like muggles."
Harry shook his head. "Even muggles have more creativity than that," he said, having plenty of experience with bullying while living with his cousin Dudley, "That's just low. Even for them."
"Should we help him?" asked Millie.
Harry glanced at Crabbe and Goyle. They had continued to chat with Pansy and Hertha, though their gaze was directed more than once at Harry and his friends. He wasn't sure if they were waiting for his reaction, but a part of him felt that any preferential treatment of Draco would only make matters worse for him. On the other hand, it felt wrong to just stand by and watch. Harry had never particularly liked Draco, but he felt responsible for him after the summer they'd had, and the message he'd received from Dumbledore.
He was still arguing with himself over what course to take when his involvement was rendered unnecessary. Ron Weasley had made his way across the grounds with his usual gaggle of Gryffindors. Judging by the looks on their faces, his friends were just as surprised to see Ron help Draco to his feet as Draco was himself. They were faster to recover than Harry, however, and soon two of the Gryffindors had picked up the last of the books while the third cast a charm to clear away the speckles of mud on Draco's robes.
"Let him be," Harry advised when it was already too late to be of service. He turned back toward Professor Grubbly-Plank as she announced the start of their lesson.
"Everyone here?" she barked, "Good! Let's crack on, then. Who can tell me what these creatures are called?"
What Harry had taken to be merely a pile of twigs suddenly jumped up, revealing themselves to be tiny, pixie-like creatures. They appeared to be made of wood, with knobbly arms and legs, two twig-like fingers at the end of each hand, and flat faces in which two beetle-black eyes glittered.
A hand shot into the air from the side of the class on which the Gryffindors had gathered. Harry craned his neck to see over the heads of other students and was unsurprised to see that the volunteer was Hermione Granger. Neville was at her side, peering at the interesting little beasts as Professor Grubbly-Plank called on Hermione to answer.
"They're bowtruckles," Hermione announced proudly, "They're tree-guardians that usually live in wand trees."
"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, "These are indeed bowtruckles. And yes, they are most commonly found living in trees whose wood is of wand-quality. Now, can anybody guess what they eat?"
"Wood lice," Hermione answered again, "Or fairy eggs if they can get them."
"Correct again, Miss Granger. Take another five points. The rest of you, take note! If you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of wood lice ready! They may not look dangerous now, but if angered they have been known to gouge out human eyes with their fingers! Now then, if you'll gather closer… Closer, I said! We have plenty of wood lice here. No one's losing their eyes today…"
Harry hated to admit it, but the bowtruckles were interesting, and their preference for wand-quality wood made it very likely he'd come across a few in the course of his wand-making class. But to admit his interest felt like a betrayal to Hagrid, and he wished the other students in class wouldn't seem so delighted by the lesson. They acted as if they'd never seen anything as fascinating in one of Hagrid's classes. Bowtruckles were merely twigs, after all. Hagrid had shown them hippogriffs and salamanders, not to mention the Blast-Ended Skrewts.
The Professor instructed them all to take a handful of wood lice each and bowtruckle to share, then set them in groups to begin sketching them. Harry naturally found himself drifting toward Hermione and Neville, and though they had already secured their own bowtruckle to share, the pair had soon settled next to Harry, Blaise, and Millie.
Draco's fall from grace had not been missed by Hermione's observant eye. Even as she focused on her drawing, Harry noticed that she kept darting glances at Ron's group. Draco had been invited to join them, and though he was unusually quiet throughout the class, he would smile now and then at some joke made by one of the Gryffindors.
"It's odd seeing them together, isn't it?" she finally commented, "But I suppose it must have looked strange when Neville and I first started having meals with you."
"But Malfoy, of all people?" Neville exclaimed, "I never expected to see him fraternizing with Ron Weasley. Did he have a fight with his friends or something?"
"Or something," Harry said quietly, realizing that of course Hermione and Neville had no inkling of what had happened over the summer. He found himself thinking of Daphne's ire when Blaise failed to write. Hermione certainly didn't seem angry with him, but had she also expected to hear from him over their holiday?
While Harry dithered over what might be safe to divulge to his friends in person, Blaise relieved him by revealing part of the truth himself.
"Draco's mum left his father," he whispered, leaning in close so others wouldn't overhear, "She came to see my mum for help when it happened. That's how we learned about it."
Hermione gasped, "That's terrible!"
"I wouldn't say so," Millie added dryly, "Since his dad's a Death Eater, I'd say Mrs. Malfoy made the wise decision."
Harry shushed them as both Daphne Greengrass and Lavender Brown turned their heads when they heard Hermione's gasp. Glaring at his friends, Harry hissed, "Be careful what you say! You don't know who could be listening…"
Hermione looked sorry, but leaned closer toward him as she asked in a soft voice, "Is it true, Harry? Is Draco's father really a Death Eater?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper. In her desire to keep their conversation private, she had leaned very close to him. He thought he could detect the smell of her perfume, or perhaps it was some new product in her bushy brown hair. Either way, Harry was powerless to resist her influence, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement of the question.
Neville, taking notice of this, shuddered as he said, "So it's all true, isn't it? All that stuff about You-Know-Who returning…"
"Of course it's true," Harry said, his irritation adding a sharp edge to his voice, "Why wouldn't it be true?"
"I didn't mean anything by it, Neville said quickly, realizing his error, "I believe everything Dumbledore said… When he gave his speech last year, I mean. My gran always said that You-Know-Who would come back one day. I guess I just never thought… I mean, when the term ended and everyone went home… And the paper started saying all those horrible things about Dumbledore and… And about you, Harry…"
"Which was all nonsense, of course," Hermione added with conviction, "Neville and I both spoke to Mrs. Zabini after Professor Moody died. We know the truth. It's just that…"
"You weren't there," Harry concluded for her, understanding the direction of her thought.
Hermione lowered her eyes and Neville nodded, clearly relieved that Harry wasn't angry with them.
"It's hard to imagine, you know? I thought it would feel different somehow, but everything's been the same."
Harry couldn't agree with him there. Perhaps at home with his grandmother or in the warmth of Gryffindor tower, it was easier not to believe, not to think about the danger that was growing every minute in the outside world. But Harry had spent his summer listening in on secret meetings and trying to figure out if Draco was a spy. It all felt real enough to him.
But he wasn't angry with Hermione or Neville. In fact, talking with them helped him understand what the rest of the school must be thinking. There had to be an alarming number of students who had their doubts about Dumbledore… And by extension, Harry.
With this discouraging perspective, Harry bid farewell to Hermione and Neville at the end of the class. While the Gryffindors made their way back toward the castle, Harry and the rest of the Syltherins trekked across the grounds to the greenhouses.
Nell was already waiting at their usual workbench for their first Herbology lesson of the semester. Only this time, she wasn't alone. A Ravenclaw boy Harry vaguely recognized sat on Nell's left. He scowled when Harry took the empty seat on Nell's right.
Harry, too preoccupied with his own concerns to notice this expression of dislike, moodily asked, "Does everyone in Ravenclaw think I'm crazy?"
The stranger scoffed. Nell drove her elbow into his side before quirking her brow at Harry, who sighed before he added, "Apparently, the word going around school is that Dumbledore is an old crackpot, and that he's lying about Voldemort being back."
"I don't know about lying," said the unknown Ravenclaw boy, "Perhaps he was just… misinformed."
"And who the hell are you?" Millie snapped, irritated by the insinuation on Harry's behalf.
"You remember Oliver Rivers?" Nell said quickly, cutting off her friend's retort, "Sorry, I should have introduced you all. Oliver, this is…"
"I know who they are," said Rivers shortly.
Nell offered Harry a small smile in apology for her friend's poor manners before she continued in a voice of forced cheerfulness, "Don't worry, Harry. There might be some who doubt what Dumbledore said, but at least in Ravenclaw Tower, you have one devoted fan."
"Let me guess," Harry said dryly, "You?"
Rivers scoffed again, but Nell's laugh drowned him out.
"Of course I believe in you, Harry! But I wouldn't quite describe myself as one of your fans. I was talking about Luna Lovegood."
"Loony Lovegood?" Blaise repeated, aghast, "What's she got to do with anything?"
"She's been defending Harry and Dumbledore against anyone who will listen," Rivers said. He was trying his best to remain standoffish and proud, but at the mention of Luna's antics, he couldn't help but betray a small smile. "She's even got to me a couple of times."
"And her name is Luna," Nell added, directing a sharp glance at Blaise, "Though in your case, I would refrain from getting too familiar, Zabini."
"Why's she defending me?" Harry asked. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, but he was curious to know what caused such determined loyalty in a girl he barely knew. He'd met Luna on the train a mere two days ago, and he hadn't spoken a word to her since.
Nell shrugged. "You must have made quite a quite an impression. That, or she'll believe anything her father writes in that magazine of his. The Quibbler has always taken an opposing stance to the Prophet. It's been very pro-Dumbledore these days."
Harry refrained from commenting on this for the present, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself as Professor Sprout began her instruction. The truth was, Harry wasn't sure he appreciated Luna Lovegood's support. If what Hermione had said about the Quibbler was true, then its articles were all rubbish. Harry wasn't sure it did much for his reputation to have the daughter of its editor vouch for him.
Then again, Luna could see the strange horse-like creatures that pulled the carriages to the school. Harry found himself wondering if she just made that part up for attention, only he and Neville could see them, too. Harry began thinking of Hagrid again, wishing his friend was there to tell him about those creatures, or even just to comfort him at the start of what was shaping up to be a very difficult term.
By the end of their first week of class, they had no time for private practices with Millie. Harry's personal goal of learning wandless magic had also fallen by the wayside. Between mastering the vanishing spell introduced by Professor McGonagall, reviewing summoning charms for Professor Flitwick, and writing an essay on the properties of the moonstone for Snape, Harry almost had no time for meals or sleep. And that wasn't even all their homework. They still had to complete their bowtruckle diagrams for Professor Grubbly-Plank and stop by the greenhouses between Herbology classes to tend their plants.
Harry began to hope for some relief when the weekend finally came, but before he could relax, he needed to attend the Quidditch try-outs.
It was going to be another long day. Harry made sure he was on the pitch at an early hour, dressed in his uniform. Warrington had warned him that they would run drills with the hopeful auditioners.
The veterans of the team stood behind Warrington, lined up to face the applicants as they marched forward, brooms in hand. Harry was stunned to see not only Crabbe and Goyle in the lineup, but Draco Malfoy as well. Crabbe and Goyle were no mystery. With their size, they would surely be trying for the open beater positions. Draco was another story.
"We already have a seeker," Warrington said dismissively the moment he spotted him.
Draco turned slightly pink, but he thrust his chin forward and announced loudly, "I'm trying out for chaser."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a dark look behind Draco's back. Goyle smirked. Warrington, not noticing this foreboding exchange, merely nodded his head and proceeded to march down the rest of the line.
"Alright, listen up," he said, pivoting sharply as he reached the end of the row, "Things are going to be different now that I'm captain. I don't give a damn what kind of broom you own or who your parents are. All I care about is how well you fly. If you're the best, then you're on the team."
Without further ado, Warrington instructed them to mount their brooms, hopefuls and veterans alike. First they would run a few warm-ups, then Warrington wanted to see a bit of mock game-play.
Bletchley flew down the end of the field, prepared to guard the goals against a handful of would-be chasers. While Warrington circled the sidelines to better observe, Montague assisted with passing the quaffle, testing the new players' ability to catch, throw, and complete plays.
Harry's job was a little different. They wouldn't need a seeker for a mock match. Instead, Warrington had him circling overhead, keeping an eye on the movements of the beaters. They swerved in and around the eager chasers, trying to outmaneuver one another in their pursuit of bludgers to hit.
It soon became obvious that Crabbe and Goyle were targeting Draco. They aimed every bludger their clubs could reach at him, even performing a few stunts that would have earned them a foul in a real match. One bludger narrowly missed Draco's head, causing him to drop the quaffle and miss a goal that would easily have slipped by Bletchley, who was guarding another ring.
Harry didn't think Warrington saw this interference. He was busy keeping tabs on the other players. Harry wondered if he should do something to intervene. Crabbe and Goyle were growing more reckless. They might actually hurt someone.
But it soon became obvious that Draco was fighting back on his own. After dropping the quaffle, Draco sped back into the thick of the match. His face was red, but it had a set, determined look that Harry had never seen on him before. Crabbe and Goyle increased their attacks, but Draco was getting better at dodging them.
Harry watched in awe as Crabbe cocked his arm back, swinging his club so that it connected with a bludger with incredible force. The bludger rocketed in the direction of Draco, who feigned not to notice until the very last moment. Without warning, he rolled his broom, allowing the bludger to pass over his head, hitting Goyle squarely in the chest just as he too was about to send a bludger Draco's way. Instead, the two bludgers ricocheted, taking out not one, but two other players in the process.
Bletchley, stunned by the impressive maneuver, was too distracted to realize that Draco had not stopped. The quaffle was still in play. Despite himself, Harry cheered aloud when Draco scored the point. He was the only chaser who had managed to do so that day.
Warrington blew the whistle he had hung around his neck, calling his team to the ground. The other players landed several yards away, their faces turned toward the team as they waited for the result of the try-out.
"Did you see that last play?" Harry called, feeling energized by Draco's victory over Crabbe and Goyle.
"I didn't know Malfoy could fly like that," Montague agreed.
"He wouldn't have got past me in a real match," Bletchley muttered grudgingly, "But that wasn't bad, for a beginner."
"I think it's clear Malfoy is a skilled flier," Warrington said, "But Crabbe and Goyle have the strength. We'll need that to replace Derrick and Bole."
Montague and Bletchley nodded their heads in agreement, but Harry was mortified.
"Are you mad?" asked Harry, "They won't fit the team! Not if you want Draco as a chaser. They targeted him the whole time!"
"They're the biggest pair we've got. And they're friends, so you know they'll work well together," Warrington insisted. "If they've got a problem with Malfoy, then we'd be better off picking a different chaser."
"If it's size you want, take Baddock or Pritchard!"
"They're only in second year!" said Montague.
"And they're already taller than me!" Harry persisted, "Draco was the best flier out there today! He dodged everything Crabbe and Goyle threw at him and was the only one who scored a point! Cass, you know I've never liked Draco, but you said yourself that you'll only accept the best. You're not going to find a better replacement for Flint than Malfoy!"
Warrington considered Harry's words while Montague and Bletchley looked on. They might all have their opinions, but in the end, Warrington was captain. His decision would ultimately prevail.
"Alright, Potter. Have it your way," he said, "Baddock and Pritchard can take the beater positions. Looks like Malfoy will be our new chaser."
