CHAPTER 24 - CAPTAIN

NOTES:

HELLO READER!

Here we go again with another instalment!

ENJOY!

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The following day, after breakfast, Harry walked up towards the Headmistress's office. He'd tried to convince Severus to give him at least some clue as to what McGonagall wanted with him, but he had only said his lips were sealed. He insisted and whined about it, but within he was shaking his head in amusement. Severus rather enjoyed teasing him.

Of course, seeing it retrospectively, Harry should've seen the clues in the special breakfast Severus had requested for him that morning. But clues as to what, he couldn't have guessed. Usually, Kreacher brought them a tray full of food and two plates, and each chose what they wanted to eat. Instead, this morning, a tray with different dishes already served appeared in front of Harry. A bowl of porridge and fruit; and a plate with sausages, scrambled eggs and beans. Along, of course, with Severus's own coffee brew. But this time, with significantly less sugar than Harry liked.

When he'd inquired Severus about it, Severus just replied he needed his energy for when school started again—and refused to say more.

Harry finally reached the gargoyle of the Headmistress's office, which halted his swirling thoughts. He whispered the password, walked upstairs and knocked on the door.

"Enter," said McGonagall's voice, who raised her eyes at seeing him enter, "ah, Potter, please take a seat. This will only take me a moment."

She finished scribbling her signature on several bits of parchment just as Harry sat on the chair in front of her. Then she left the quill on the desk, resting her back on the chair.

"How are you doing, Potter? Are you ready for the school year?"

Harry nodded, placing his hands on his lap.

"I am, Professor. It will be interesting to spend a year not worrying about that madman," he said with a smile. "I'm a bit worried about some classes, but Professor Snape has offered to help if I need it."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, a lopsided smile crossing her face.

"I'm glad he did. He came and spoke to me yesterday. Am I correct in assuming he did at your insistence?"

Harry nodded, blinking at her.

"It was obvious that the rift between you was bothering him. And I hate seeing him so dejected," Harry admitted, "so, I suggested speaking to you and telling you everything."

"I'm surprised you even noticed it," she replied, "he can be very... inconspicuous when he wants to."

Harry shrugged. "He's not as good at hiding things as he thinks. At least, not from me."

McGonagall hummed thoughtfully, her expression softening. "Well, I'm pleased to see you found each other." She adjusted her glasses and gave him a pointed look. "Now, what about your... extracurricular activities?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, confused momentarily, before the bulb went on in his head.

"You're talking about Quidditch," he finished for her, and McGonagall nodded.

"I am. How would you feel to return as team captain?" she asked.

Harry blinked at her, stunned for a moment, his throat dry. He then shook his head.

"But, Professor… wouldn't Ginny be the best option for captain? Her skills are better than mine and she has a way of keeping authority, which I don't."

McGonagall wrinkled her nose and pushed her spectacles up her nose.

"Are you, perhaps, thinking of quitting, Potter?"

Harry sighed, looking down at his hands on his lap as he nodded.

"I had," Harry said in a low voice, resting his back on the chair, "I had been thinking about quitting Quidditch altogether, I was pretty convinced. For once, I wanted to live a normal life and keep a low profile for a while. But flying…"

Harry looked away, through the large windows on the Headmistress' office, at the school grounds. He could see the Quidditch pitch from there, he'd only been flying the day before. The memory of yesterday's flight lingered in his chest, the wind against his face, the excitement as he stepped onto the broom. His lips curved into a faint, wistful smile. The kind that belonged to someone rediscovering a forgotten joy.

"Flying makes me feel free. It's something I'm good at, something I don't have to think about. And it calms me, makes me feel in control," Harry said, his eyes focusing back on McGonagall.

McGonagall nodded, a thoughtful glint in her eye.

"You know, Potter, that same control and freedom you feel in the air—it's not unlike what you brought to the battlefield. I've seen you flight and fight, and you act in similar ways. A balance of mind and instinct. Besides, you can handle pressure in a way few others do." She scratched her chin thoughtfully. "It's why I thought you might reconsider."

Harry kept silent, his thoughts jumbled in his mind. Part of him wondered if he even deserved to reclaim that part of his life. The war had taken so much, and moving on felt a bit like stepping into the unknown. But there it was—a flicker of excitement, a surge of eager anticipation breaking through the doubt, as undeniable as the wind on his face during a dive.

"If you enjoy flying, your return to the team is a fact. And believe it or not, you are a natural leader, not only on the battlefront. You ought to trust in your abilities," McGonagall said, "will you give it a chance?"

Harry took a deep breath and expelled it, his shoulders heaving. He knew the decision was made before he could open his mouth. He beamed at her and nodded once.

"Yes, I accept. Let's finish the last year with a bang."

"That's the spirit," McGonagall said with a grin as he offered him the red Quidditch Captain badge and handed it to him.

Harry felt the weight of the badge as he held it in his hand. The enamel shone in the light, with the letters CAPTAIN spelt in gold. Crimson and gold caught his eye, the tiny embossed lion roaring proudly at him. What he held in his hand was so much more than a badge.

For over a year, Quidditch had been at the bottom of his priorities—a relic of a simpler time. What once consumed his days and filled his dreams had almost been forgotten in the shadow of war.

And yet, here he was, sitting in the Headmistress's office, alive, whole, and holding this badge again. Not as the boy who dreamed of winning Quidditch Cups or Championships, not the boy who chatted endlessly with Ron and Ginny about Quidditch. But as the man who had survived. The man who could dream again.

A quiet laugh escaped him, soft and disbelieving. He hadn't just survived.

He could live.

"Make the most of this year, Potter," she whispered as her expression gentled, the lines around her eyes softening as she watched him quietly. "And please, do make us champions. I'm dying to see Severus's face if we win Slytherin this time round."

Harry smiled as he got up from the chair.

"I'll try," he said, "though I'm not sure I'll want to be around him if we win, he might not want me around his quarters for weeks on end if we do!"

"Oh, I think he might make an exception for you," McGonagall said as she winked. "Now off you go, I'm sure you're dying to let him know Slytherin doesn't stand a chance this year!"

Harry giggled as he left the office. He sprinted down, jumping the stairs by twos and rushing through the corridors, until he was in front of Severus's room door.

He paused for a beat, fingers tightening around the badge before he finally knocked.

When Severus opened the door, Harry immediately held up the badge, a grin splitting his face.

"I'm Gryffindor's Quidditch captain," he announced, his voice giddy and light. "I'm captain again!"

Severus raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a faint, mock smile as he stepped aside to let Harry in.

"Well, that I wasn't expecting," Severus said, his tone laced with an exaggerated cheerfulness as he shook his head. "Congratulations, Harry. I'm sure you'll be as good as the first time around."

"I wasn't that bad," Harry said, slipping inside, "except for the last match—I was in detention with… someone," he added with a pointed side-eye.

Severus crossed his arms, scoffing. "You know exactly who you were with and why. Detention was well-earned."

"I know, I know," Harry said quickly, holding up his free hand in surrender. "I've never held it against you, I know I did wrong. But now…" His grin returned, more mischievous this time. "Now I get to be Quidditch captain again. And we'll crush the other houses!"

Severus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sank onto the couch.

"Not this again, Merlin..." he muttered.

The words hit Harry like a Bludger.

He froze mid-step, the badge suddenly heavy in his palm. Cautiously, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch, his grin faltering.

"Severus," Harry began, his voice smaller than intended, "you're not… mad that I'm captain for Gryffindor, are you? Or that I'm back on the team?"

The insecurity in his voice made him cringe.

But the idea of Severus resenting him for this—for something so trivial yet so personal—tightened his chest. Memories of their old arguments flashed in his mind, sharp and bitter. He couldn't bear the thought of Quidditch—the one thing that had always been his solace—becoming a wedge between them.

Severus was a Slytherin through and through, Head of House no less. If Gryffindor beat Slytherin if they won the Cup… would Severus hold it against him? It seemed ridiculous, but families and friends had fallen into rows over far less.

The badge suddenly felt heavier in his hand, the enamel warm against his fingers. If it ever came to that, if it meant losing Severus—

A firm hand clasped his bicep, pulling him from his spiralling thoughts. Warmth replaced the tightening in his chest as Severus wrapped his other arm around him and tugged him into a gentle embrace.

"Calm your mind, Harry," Severus murmured, his voice low and steady, the vibrations grounding Harry like a tether to reality.

Harry froze, then exhaled slowly, his forehead dropping to Severus's shoulder. The tension started to drain from him as Severus's arm settled around his midframe, his hand on his back, firm and reassuring.

"I'm not angry or upset," Severus said softly. "Remember that I knew Minerva's plans before you did. If I'd truly objected, don't you think I'd have stopped her?"

Harry's fingers clutched the edge of Severus's robe, the fabric rough beneath his fingertips. He closed his eyes, letting the faint scent of herbs and potions ground him further.

"I just…" Harry whispered, shaking his head, a lump in his throat. "I don't want to fight. I couldn't bear it if we went back to…"

"We won't. You're not going to lose me over something like Quidditch, Harry," Severus's tone was low and soft, and his arm remained steady around him. "Even if your House wins the Cup—which, let me say, I find extremely difficult to believe—I can take losing. Seeing you insufferably happy makes the annoyance tolerable."

A quiet laugh bubbled up from Harry, soft and disbelieving. He pressed his forehead against Severus's chest, inhaling his smell. Severus's hand was steady on his back, rubbing gently between his shoulder blades. He felt Severus lowering his head, his hair brushing against Harry's temple.

"Besides…" he whispered in a mischievous tone, "you are a very skilled player. I even might find myself enjoying watching you play…"

Harry let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head up to look at him. "A compliment, Severus? Should I mark this day on my calendar?"

Severus smirked faintly, leaning against Harry as he gently ruffled his hair, "Enjoy it while it lasts, you brat. But yes. Provided your team doesn't annihilate mine."

The dry humour broke through the last of Harry's tension, and he chuckled. As Harry relaxed, memories of Gryffindor's triumphant matches against Slytherin bubbled up, and his grin widened.

"Severus Snape enjoying a Potter play Quidditch. Who would've thought!"

Severus shook his head, his smirk lingering.

"You are the only Potter I enjoy watching. Even if it cost me several bets with Minerva."

Harry stilled, his giggling fading into a curious silence. Warmth unfurled in his chest, spreading through him like the sun breaking through clouds. In Severus's arms, he felt weightless—like the rush of wind beneath his broom, soaring high above the pitch.

Severus hesitated, his hand lingering on Harry's back, his voice quieter now, almost unsure. "Harry," he began, unsure, as though the words were awkward on his tongue, "it would take something far more... monumental to make me angry with you, to drive a wedge between us."

Harry lifted his head, eyes searching Severus's face, but Severus wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Quidditch," Severus continued, his voice soft yet firm, "is just a game. And games—whether won or lost—are... meaningless compared to what we've built."

Harry's heart fluttered in his chest, something tight in his throat. He swallowed, and one of his hands went to Severus's cheeks, cupping it with utmost gentleness.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he whispered, reaching and nuzzling Severus's nose with his, "thank you, Severus."

Severus's breath hitched for a fleeting moment, before he returned the nuzzle, the slightest brush of his nose against Harry's. His hand on Harry's back pressed him a fraction closer, the touch subtle but firm, as though he were anchoring them both in the quiet of the moment.

They fell silent, the crackling of the fire and their mingled breaths the only sound in the room. And in the quiet comfort of the dungeons, in the calm of Severus's arms, Harry felt like he was flying.

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The next day, Harry took one of the school's brooms to the Quidditch pitch. It had been a while since he'd flown—since the accident when Severus was still in the Hospital Wing. A few minutes into flying, panting and sweaty, with his heartbeat ringing in his ears, Harry admitted he needed to get in shape before the House league started.

As he soared through the air, he thought about how he'd tell Ginny and Ron he was captain again, and about holding tryouts. He hoped Ron would try for Keeper, now that he knew his potential, and Ginny would probably aim for Chaser. With all the thinking, Harry couldn't deny he was eager to get back into it.

Flying alone, feeling the cool morning air in his hair and the speed of the broom beneath him, Harry was at peace. There was no fear, no worry—just freedom. And in that moment, he was certain: quitting Quidditch wasn't the answer.

Besides...

A flutter of warmth spread in his chest as he remembered Severus's words, telling him he'd always enjoyed watching him play. He hadn't expected that, and knowing that Severus—of all people—had found joy in watching him, left Harry humbled and touched.

Severus wasn't one for false praise, and Harry knew that well. Every compliment, veiled or sarcastic, was genuine. To know that Severus had appreciated his flying made Harry's heart swell in a way he couldn't quite express. It wasn't just about Quidditch anymore; it was about being seen—truly seen—by someone who mattered.

The thought of Severus in the stands, sharp eyes tracking his every move as he flew, filled him with pride. He'd always loved the freedom of flying, but knowing Severus admired that part of him made it feel different—more meaningful.

Harry gripped the broom tighter, leaning into the wind with a soft smile. For years, he'd craved recognition—not the fame, but to be seen for who he truly was. And now, he had it. Severus had seen him—not just as a Quidditch player or a Gryffindor, but as Harry.

And that, Harry realized, made him feel like he was flying higher than ever before.

After flying for some time, Harry set the broom aside and moved on to some strength training. Tossing the Quaffle back and forth to himself, dropping for push-ups, stretching... and finally, jogging three laps around the pitch. It all left him panting and sweat-soaked, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin. His body quickly reminded him how long it had been since he'd trained this hard.

Rather than trudging back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry leapt onto the school broom, gliding through the crisp air toward his dormitory window. He smiled as he ducked inside, savouring the cool rush against his overheated skin.

He showered quickly, smiling faintly as he poured a generous amount of cedarwood shampoo—Severus's shampoo—onto his growing hair. The scent of cedar filled the room, familiar and grounding. He couldn't help but smile at himself for nicking it. It wasn't like he didn't have his own, but something about the scent reminded him of Severus—of their strange, comforting connection.

When he finished, he descended the marble stairs to the Great Hall for lunch.

Most of the teachers were gathered around the usual round table in the middle of the room, with the four House tables still against the walls. Severus had left a seat beside him empty, and Harry wondered for a moment if Severus had been saving it for him—or if the others had collectively left it open. Either way, Harry sat down and greeted everyone with a smile, glancing up at Severus as he did.

As soon as Harry sat down, food appeared on the table, and the room buzzed with conversation. He dug in, ravenous, pushing his hair back from his face as he glanced at Severus, seated to his left.

"How was your morning, then, Severus?"

"It went well," Severus replied, taking a sip of water and serving himself some potatoes. "Revised the lesson plans for the year. There's much to do."

"I see your training went so well that you had to take a shower afterwards," Severus added. His eyes briefly scanned Harry before turning his attention back to his plate.

"I'm in such bad shape, Severus. I hadn't realized how much one year of not training could affect me," Harry said with a whiny edge as he served himself some bacon and eggs.

"Well, I suppose when one is out hunting a madman, training isn't exactly at the top of the list," Severus said, methodically cutting a piece of sausage.

"Yes, but I'm captain now. I need to be in at least decent shape by the time training starts," Harry replied, swallowing a mouthful of food.

"And you will be," Severus said, nodding as he set his fork down. "You've already gained a few pounds this summer."

Harry shifted in his seat, feeling Severus's eyes linger on him, an assessment that made him self-conscious.

"Eating three meals a day after a year of hunting my own food is bliss," Harry answered, taking another bite.

"You still have all this month and more to prepare," Severus continued. "Stick with your plan, and you'll be in acceptable shape for the start of the season."

Harry nodded, turning toward Hagrid, but still feeling Severus's gaze on him. It wasn't scrutiny, but something softer. Their eyes met, and heat rushed to Harry's cheeks as he realized Severus was watching him. The older man's gaze wasn't harsh—it was appreciative. Did he like what he saw?

For a moment, Harry was caught off guard. He'd never imagined he could fluster Severus, much less enjoy it. There was something endearing about it, and Harry smiled at him, tilting his head slightly, his eyes softening. Severus finally met his gaze again, his own eyes gentler now. A warmth spread through Harry, a sensation that had nothing to do with the lunch spread before them.

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NOTES:

WOOOOOO THERE WE GOO!

Harry is Captain again, yay! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

As always, thank you so much for your support, kudos, comments and messages. I appreciate every single one of you.