A/N: A thousand apologies for such a late update, but I just couldn't bring myself to write. A few important OC's have been introduced in this chapter. Like I said, this is one fic that will have quite a bit of OC's, so please don't give me grief about it.

The Tryouts begin

Hogwarts (September 2-1994)

The sky still hadn't cleared when Harry, Hermione and Ron walked in for breakfast. Dark clouds threatened to overshadow the first day of the Quidditch tryouts. Harry wondered what would happen if the rain decided to come down hard. Not that it seemed to matter to a lot of other people. The Great Hall was filled with people talking excitedly about the day ahead. Harry saw Cedric Diggory laughing and chatting animatedly with his fellow seventh-years at the Hufflepuff table. As they took their seats, he glanced at the other end of the room towards the Slytherin table, just in time to see Malfoy frown at the sky.

"Eat up Harry." Ron said loading his plate with sausages. "You're gonna need your strength today." Harry however, was distracted from the weather by the arrival of hundreds of owls in all shapes, sizes and colour carrying todays post. He couldn't suppress a slight feeling of disappointment as there didn't seem to be any white among the mass of grey. He had really thought that Fleur or Jasmin would have written back to him by now. Maybe they had already reached Beauxbatons when they received the letter and were too busy to reply. Of course, he mused, two veelas like that must be very popular there. That didn't cheer him up at all.

He was so lost in thought, he didn't notice Colin Creevy make his way to him. Colin came over, as excited to see Harry as always, and introduced his brother, Dennis Creevy, to Harry. Harry just smiled and nodded at what seemed to him like Colin from two years ago.

"Can we sit here, Harry?" Colin asked, pointing at the empty space next to him and before Harry could say anything he hopped on to the seat. Dennis followed suit next to him. Both of them seemed to be quivering with eagerness. "Are you ready for the tryouts, Harry? Are you nervous?

Harry wondered about that. "A little, I guess. But a little nervousness can do a lot of good."

"Do you think "Little Mac" will pick you?"

Next to him, Ron picked up his ears. And so did Harry. "Wait. What do you mean "Little Mac"?"

Colin looked surprised. "Oh, I thought you knew Harry. I just read it in todays Prophet." He said waving his hand towards Hermiones copy.

"Read what?" Harry asked, wondering if it was possible. There had been talk in the boys dormitory last night about who might get to coach and manage the Hogwarts team. Harry and Neville thought it would be Madam Hooch. Dean had maintained that the Quidditch team wouldn't need a manager and that it would be coached by the captain. But Ron and Seamus had had a lively debate about the many viable candidates who might be selected to lead the Quidditch team. After all, it was a matter of school and national pride.

Ron snatched "The Daily Prophet" from Hermiones hands incurring an indignant- "Hey!" and flipped through the pages until he found the relevant article.

Colin seemed more than a little pleased to have caught Harrys attention. He drew himself up importantly and announced, "Maxwell Marlowe has been appointed as the official coach and manager of the Hogwarts Quidditch team."

"It's true." Ron breathed from behind Harry, pointing at the paper with his eyes almost popping out. "Harry, do you know what this means. If you are selected, you will get to train under one of the best Quidditch managers in the world. This is insane."

Harry had to agree. Maxwell "Little Mac" Marlowe had been a good seeker in his time. But he had discovered his true talent only after retiring from professional Quidditch. He had become the Manager of the Holyhead Harpies, remained so for ten straight years, winning the league four times. But his greatest accomplishment came three years after he had left the Harpies, when he had led the English national team to the World Cup Finals. Although they had lost the finals, it had been the best performance by England in their World Cup history. He was widely acclaimed as one of the shrewdest and talented coaches to grace the game. The fans fondly called him "Little Mac" for his short stature. The players who trained under him called him "Trigger" for his short-temper.

Harry turned back to his plate of sausages, but he had lost his appetite. It wasn't until now that he had realized the magnitude of what he was getting into. Until now, he had thought of the Quidditch tournament as similar to the competition between houses. Sure, it would be between schools instead of houses and a failure on his part would mean disappointment for all of Hogwarts. But this was an international-standard manager. And Ron, Dean and Seamus had talked about nothing but the many clubs that would be coming to scout new talent. This was more than a tournament between schools. This was a tournament between countries. At least, that's how everyone else seemed to look at it.

Meanwhile, Prof. McGonagall was walking down the table handing out what looked like timetables. Ron swore indignantly. "Hey, what's going on? I thought we had no classes until all the other schools got here."

They watched as Hannah Abbott, at the next table, received a piece of parchment from Prof. Sprout and started whispering excitedly to her neighbor. Just then, Ginny walked through the double doors, looked around, caught sight of Harry, blushed and sat next to Hermione anyway. It was the first time she had voluntarily come and sat with them when they were at Hogwarts. Harry tried giving her a gentle smile to put her at ease. She saw the smile and blushed harder than ever.

McGonagall reached them and started rifling through the rolls of parchment she was holding. "Potter…Potter…Hmm, let's see. Only two tasks for you, Mr. Potter." She handed him a piece of parchment and added, "You are one of the lucky ones." Harry glanced down at the parchment which read-

Tuesday - Help the Groundskeeper with a minor assignment inside the forest. Report to Groundskeeper Hagrid at 7.00 P.M. at his place of residence.

Friday - Check whether the rooms arranged for guests in Hogsmeade are in order. Report to Auror Tonks at the Main Gate at 4.00 P.M.

Harry looked up to see Ron staring at his chore-list with a growing expression of horror. Prof. McGonagall said, "Prof. Hagrid specifically requested you for the job, Mr. Potter. I daresay he thought your familiarity of the forest would come in handy." Harry thought he heard a slight undertone of disapproval. "In either case, your slight workload should enable you to concentrate on your tryouts. You are planning to participate in the Quidditch tournament, aren't you?" Even if he had decided not to tryout, the look she was giving him would have changed his mind. He nodded solemnly.

"Good." She said, trying to find Hermione's chore-list. "And I would suggest you participate in the Dueling tourney as well. Yes, Mr. Potter." she added, looking at the bewildered expression on Harry's face. "It's not every day that such an opportunity is made available to you. Besides, there is no guarantee that your attentions may be required…elsewhere." So she knows, thought Harry. Wonder who else does.

"That goes for all of you too." She barked at everyone within earshot. "I don't want to see any Gryffindor, or for that matter, any students of Hogwarts slacking this year. You may never again get a chance to showcase your talents in front of the entire world like you have now. And as for you Mr. Potter, precious few are blessed with the skill you are. You will do your very best at the Quidditch tryouts and you will try to gain a spot in the dueling tournament. Is that clear?"

Harry uttered a meek, "Yes ma'am." He didn't think anything else would have satisfied Prof. McGonagall. She, in return, gave him a hint of a smile and walked on to the next student. She was barely out of earshot when Hermione pounced. "Harry, this is perfect. You can participate in the Quidditch and Dueling tournaments. You don't have to bother with the Triwizard anymore. If you can perform well in these tournaments, then everyone will know you truly are skilled. Isn't that why Dumbledore wanted you to participate? So you could…" She stopped when she saw Harry wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Ginny, who hadn't shown the faintest trace of shock, but was now staring back at Harry, her expression set.

Hermione stumbled. "Oh…erm… and I told Ginny about what Prof. Dumbledore asked you to do." Harry turned towards her, surprise showing on his face. Hermione had never once betrayed any of his secrets, except for the time when she had told Prof. McGonagall about the Firebolt. It wasn't in her nature to gossip. Why then, would she divulge something like this to Ginny? Hermione seemed to read his thoughts.

"It's not like it's a secret Harry. If you decide to participate, everyone will know in a week anyway."

Harry regarded her. True. But the less people that knew…And why Ginny?

"If? It has already been decided Hermione. I am participating."

"But Harry," Ginny began timidly. "Decided by whom? It looks to me like you're being asked to risk your life again. And…erm…well, all for what? So you could learn to protect yourself. That makes no sense. Besides, the Triwizard is not some kind of a…a test to be passed. People die in this tournament." She was out of breath and looked like she wanted to do nothing more than get as far away from Harry's penetrating gaze as possible.

Ah, so that's why Hermione. Are you really so desperate you are seeking Ginny's support to inhibit me? Harry put a small piece of sausage into mouth and chewed, contemplating his answer. It was important he convince Hermione that this was necessary. "There was once a student at Hogwarts who studied where we study, who ate where we eat and considered this castle his home. Today, long after he is considered dead, people still fear to speak his name. Dumbledore believes that a war is coming and that Voldemort will return. If that happens, I will fight. And for that, I need to be prepared to risk my life. And everyone else needs to know that I can lead, that I can succeed where others cannot." He turned and spoke to Ginny. "You may not understand this, but I want to compete. I want to prove myself. This may be Dumbledore's idea, but it is my choice."

Hermione and Ginny just looked at him, completely lost for words. Harry threw the last piece of toast into his mouth, swallowed and washed it down with pumpkin juice. "Time to go to the Quidditch pitch, I think. You guys go ahead. I'll meet you there, ok? Ron?"

But Ron was still staring at his chore-list like it contained his exam scores. "I have five tasks to complete. Five. And that's not even the worst part. Two of them are with Snape and the other three with Filch. It's like I have detention for the entire week."

-#-

Beauxbatons (September 2-1994)

The Dueling Hall of Beauxbatons, set on the ground floor, was overflowing with students and teachers. It was the biggest room in the entire castle, a testament to the importance given to dueling at Beauxbatons. It was normally used for hosting the annual Dueling competition. However, Jasmin had never seen so many people gather there. People rarely turned up to watch the competition if they or their friends were not participating. But today was an exception. Almost everyone had turned up to see who would be selected to represent their school at the Triwizard.

Jasmin felt Fleur's hand slide into hers and smiled at her. They hardly ever left each other's side when they were at school. They watched together as Prof. Emmanuel, the oldest teacher at Beaubatons, slowly made his way up one of the five wide, circular dueling stages. His withered form was covered by the saffron robes he always wore. No one knew how old he was or what his full name was. He had been in Beauxbatons longer than anyone cared to remember and was well-respected for it. He was hard of hearing, his sight had diminished greatly and he moved very slowly indeed. He had also never lost a duel he'd been in.

Silence swept through the crowd as he began to speak in his slow, halting fashion. "The tryouts will take place under same rules and regulations as will be used at the actual tournament. Any spell that has even the slightest chance of causing death, permanent decapitation or any major injury to your opponent is banned. All forbidden spells such as reanimation, unforgivables, etc., are banned. The referee has the freedom to stop a duel whenever he feels necessary." He stopped speaking as the huge form of Madame Maxime made her way up the stage. He didn't resume speaking until she had reached near him and nodded for him to continue. "The duel ends when one of the following four happens: If you obtain possession of your opponents wand, if the referee decides to disqualify your opponent for any reason whatsoever, if you decide you don't want to continue and throw down your wand or if you are thrown off the stage and both your feet touch the ground. Is that understood clearly?" He repeated the rules once more to make sure everyone had heard.

Madame Maxime stepped forward and spoke, "In accordance with the rules agreed upon by the heads of each school, the dueling tournament will be a team event." Whispers broke out among the students, each wondering what that meant. Madame Maxime continued unperturbed, "There will be three people in a team and each school will be fielding 20 teams. You may have to fight against your schoolmates as well as those from other schools. The prize money will be evenly divided between yourselves. As for the tryouts right now, form groups of three and show us what you can do. Those selected will be later allotted into teams that we feel are evenly balanced."

Fleur and Jasmin looked at each other in surprise. Dom had mentioned that the Dueling tournament was going to be a team one. Normally, a dueling team consisted of two participants. So, Fleur had convinced Jasmin to participate along with her. She was tired of avoiding all the events in her school out of fear of what everybody else would think. She had decided that was not going to be the case with her or Jasmin anymore. That was something she had noticed and admired in Harry. He hadn't cared if he looked stupid trying to escape without a wand or driving a bus that he didn't know how. He had simply ignored everybody else, did what he thought was appropriate and had got the job done. But somehow, the prospect of having to ask someone to join her and Jasmin in their team seemed daunting. Besides, what if she was selected? There was no guarantee; she would be teamed with Jasmin. She would have to duel alongside strangers who probably hated her. She felt her fear grow- the fear of humiliation and rejection.

Suddenly, Jasmin's arm snaked around her waist and squeezed her comfortingly. "It's okay, Bell. We have to get over our fear sometime. We agreed to participate in the tournament and that's what we'll do." She cupped both of Fleur's hands into hers and pulled, laughing playfully. "Come onnn…Don't tell me you are afraid of a dueling contest more than you are of the Triwizard tournament. I'll even help you find the third person for our team."

"But do you think anybody might want to team up with us?" Fleur asked doubtfully. The truth was, none of their classmates liked them and the older students wouldn't want to participate in a dueling contest with fourth-years. She tried to think of someone from their class who might be interested. All the boys were ruled out by default. And there were only two, maybe three girls who didn't hate their guts. Elise was afraid of dueling and Laure had decided to drop dueling so she could concentrate fully on qualifying for the Quidditch team. The only other girl from their class who might agree was Odette. She wasn't exactly a friend and she was always hanging around a bunch of girls who thoroughly disliked Jasmin and Fleur. But she had never overtly exhibited any signs of dislike and at least spoke civilly to them. So Fleur decided to give it a try.

"Let's ask Odette. She might agree."

Hand-in-hand, they searched the vast room, amassed with people as it was, trying to spot Odette. Heads turned and eyes stared at them as they made their way around the room. They were used to it by now. The male population, and in a few cases female, just could not seem to resist gazing at such beauty. An ordinary girl would have given anything for that kind of attention, but only veelas could comprehend the danger that lurked underneath. Occasionally, a boy would "accidentally" brush one of them or in some cases loose balance and fall on them. But somehow, they never seemed to be able to make contact. Right at the last second, Jasmin or Fleur would dodge them or one would pull the other out of the way.

There were those who understood their plight, of course. Most of the girls preferred to leave them alone or ignore them and a few of the boys were decent enough to do the same. But nobody was ever interested in getting to know them. Either they were hated or adored for their beauty or ignored and pitied.

An older girl with blonde hair gave them what looked like a sympathetic smile when they passed her, prefect badge glinting. It was always the same. Either it was malicious rumors or understanding smiles. Jasmin returned the smile politely, Fleur didn't bother. If people really understood, they wouldn't ostracize Jasmin and her like they did.

Fleur recognized the tiny, bespectacled form of Odette standing near one of the dueling stages and pulled Jasmin in her direction. They were but inches from her when they caught sight of who she was standing with and stopped abruptly. But it was too late. They had been spotted. Odette had been standing with a group of fellow fourth-year girls that particularly disliked Fleur and Jasmin. From amidst them came a grating voice that they both recognized, and hated heartily.

"Well, look who it is girls." Some of the people standing around turned to look too. "It's Queen Strumpet and her pet Trollop."

Marcelle was one of the more popular girls in school. She was barely fourteen and constantly boasted about the numerous boys she had dated, all of them older than her. She was also one of the smartest students in their year. For a reason that no one really knew, she had hated Fleur and Jasmin with a vengeance from the moment she had set eyes on them. Jasmin attributed it to jealousy. Fleur said it was arrogance and Marcelle simply called it the natural order of things.

On most occasions, they simply chose to ignore Marcelle and walk away. But they couldn't do that this time around. It was absolutely crucial to Fleur that they obtain a third member for their team and qualify for the tournament. She still wanted to submit her name for being selected as the champion of Beauxbatons. But she also realized now that it was a pipe dream. There were wizards and witches far more skilled than her, even at her own age. Meeting Harry had proven that to her. But she was good at dueling and she knew she had the ability make a mark on the dueling tournament. Above everything else, she wanted to prove her mettle and especially show everyone that she was more than just a pretty face. And Jasmin was, perhaps, the only one who understood how important this was to Fleur. Otherwise, the normally timid Jasmin would not have agreed to participate in any public event, let alone an international dueling tournament.

Fleur didn't bother to acknowledge Marcelle, but turned and spoke to Odette. "Erm…I was wondering if you'd want to join our team Odette. We would like to have you as our third team member." She was slightly nervous. After all, she had no idea how Odette would react.

Marcelle laughed disdainfully. "Why on earth would she want to join up with two freaks like you?"

Fleur clenched her fist, but managed to maintain her composure. "I don't recall asking you anything Marcelle. I think Odette can speak for herself."

Odette was twisting her hands uneasily. "Look…erm…I would have liked to, but…" Fleur's heart plummeted. "I've already promised to be on Marcelle's team. I'm sorry." She ended apologetically.

Marcelle laughed her shrill laugh, the kind that none but those who were enamored with a girl found attractive. More people were turned to watch. "You can't even find one other person in the entire school to team up with you two? I can't believe you're actually walking around begging people to join you two. You two are pathetic." Some of the boys watching this seemed ready to jump in and offer to join Fleur and Jasmin's team. Marcelle didn't miss it. "Maybe you should do what your kind does best and seduce a boy into joining. That's the only way anyone is going to be around you anyway."

Jasmin's eyes almost welled up, but she restrained herself wonderfully. She reminded herself that she was not a child anymore when she used to cry for every little thing. Slurs on their character because of their lineage were nothing new. She had endured them for as far back as she could remember. But it still hurt to be called "pathetic" in public for no fault of theirs. She tried to catch hold of Fleur's hand and draw her away. But Fleur wasn't going to have any of it. She drew herself up proudly. "We have never once begged for anything in our life. Nor have we ever had the need to offer ourselves to boys, unlike you. I suppose that makes you the pathetic one."

Fleur thought she saw Marcelle's eyes flash red. "You sure are one to talk. But everyone here knows what your kind is. Veelas are nothing but sluts." There was a sharp intake of breath from almost everyone watching. And as if on cue, an authoritative voice sounded behind Fleur, "That's enough."

Fleur turned around, expecting to see a teacher, but was surprised to see it was the blonde-haired prefect they had passed before. Close by, Fleur noted that she had haughty brown eyes that went well with her blonde hair. She stepped in between Fleur and Marcelle, eyeing the latter with distaste. "First of all, that kind of language is unbecoming of a student of Beauxbatons. Secondly, in case you have forgotten, we here do not discriminate against any particular race. Do you want me to report you to Madame Maxime?"

Marcelle replied insolently back, "I'm not the only one here who thinks so. Do you see anyone else here wanting to be on their team?" She spat the last word out with contempt. Fleur couldn't help casting a look around. None of the girls seemed even remotely interested and she didn't trust any of the boys to behave themselves around her. It occurred to her that she might not be participating in the dueling tournament after all. Even if she were to find someone today, there was no guarantee that the same person would be chosen as their team-mate for the actual tournament. Fleur couldn't stop her own disappointment from showing in her face. What had she been thinking?

"I'll be the third person in their team." It was the prefect who had come to their aid. The older girl turned towards Fleur and Jasmin. "I hope that's ok with you two." She hadn't initially planned on participating in dueling, wanting to focus all of her attention on the actual Triwizard where she was hoping to be chosen as champion. But the plight of the two veelas appealed to her. She had rarely seen such open discrimination against a particular race in her life, and never in France. More than Marcelle, it was the people standing around, doing nothing that she found disgusting. In her book, doing nothing was the same as agreeing and she wasn't going to stand for it.

Marcelle looked like she wanted say something more, but had the sense to keep her mouth shut. She just muttered, "C'mon girls" and stalked off, the other fourth-year girls scurrying behind her. The crowd too began to disperse slowly, although most of the attention was still centered on the three people in the middle.

Fleur didn't know what to say. The older girl had saved hers and Jasmins face by offering to join their team. But they didn't know her and strangers being friendly with her always set her alarms ringing. Jasmin smiled at her, but said dejectedly, "I don't think I want to participate after this. I mean, this will be around the school in no time. Even if we do get selected, no one might agree to team with us. It's better if we just forget about the whole thing."

"No, it isn't." The prefect said firmly. "Look, I wasn't joking when I said I'll be your team-mate. A lot of my class-mates wanted me to join their teams, I just didn't want to so I could concentrate on the Triwizard if I am chosen. And I'll talk to Madame Maxime. If we are selected today, I'll ask her to keep this team as it is. I'm sure she will understand. And finally," She turned to Jasmin, her normally haughty eyes softened to let kindness shine through. "You should participate, now more than ever. Prove that these people are wrong in judging you without really knowing you. Imagine if we actually win. Then you can stand in front of all these people proudly and people like Marcelle won't be able to criticize your race so casually."

Jasmin smiled uncertainly. Fleur, on the other hand, stretched out her hand. "Thank you, and sorry. I hope we don't let you down or that this gets in the way of your Triwizard chances."

"Don't worry about it. After all, there is no certainty I'll be chosen as champion. If I'm not, I will have something to do at Hogwarts. Anyway, I know one of you is Minister Delacour's daughter, but I don't really know much more about you" she admitted sheepishly, shaking Fleur's hand. "What are your names?"

"My name is Fleur and my dad is Dominic Delacour. This is Jasmin."

"Celestine. Pleased to meet you."

-#-

Hogwarts, (September 2-1994)

"I never realized that you disliked dueling, Harry." Dumbledore was saying, seated comfortably behind the enormous, claw-footed desk in his office. The large circular room was filled with the funny little noises that Harry had come to expect whenever he walked in. The portraits of the previous headmasters were slumbering away peacefully, also as expected. The bird-perch, however, was empty today- Fawkes being away on an "errand", according to Dumbledore.

"I do not dislike it. I never have." Harry said, not looking back at the Professor. He was examining the Sorting Hat in its shelf, trying to distinguish the folds that transformed into the mouth. "I just think that I might be trying to do too much. I don't want to overstrain myself and perform badly in any of the tournaments."

"And you want me to talk you out of it?" Dumbledore asked, looking shrewdly over his half-moon glasses.

"Not exactly. I want to know whether you think it's a good idea for me to participate in the Triwizard, Quidditch and Dueling tournament, assuming I am chosen in any or all. It seems like each will require a considerable amount of effort and I don't want to be found lacking. Prof. McGonagall made it clear that I was to try out for the dueling tournament. And she wasn't asking either. You know how she is."

"I do indeed." Dumbledore answered somberly. "But may I just say that you have fallen back to the habit of overthinking things. Talented as you are Harry, it is doubtful if you'll be chosen in all the tournaments. Don't forget that there is no dearth of talent either here at Hogwarts or in the visiting schools. And even if you do manage to qualify for all of them, an astonishing feat in itself, you have the option of pulling out of either Quidditch or Dueling." Harry was about to say that would be like abandoning his team-mates, but Dumbledore spoke over him. "But I advise you against it. While the events are spread throughout the year, they are by no means, overlapping. I am sure that you will have an ample amount of time to prepare for them all."

Harry was still unconvinced. "Alright, let's assume I can handle the workload. I don't think it's such a good idea for me to be dueling. I doubt any of my opponents will have had specialist training from their headmaster."

Dumbledore just chuckled. "Ah Harry, my dear boy. I never trained you to duel. I trained you to fight and to survive. Dueling and fighting are two different things, as you will doubtless find out. In dueling, there are rules that must be followed, spells and actions that are forbidden. Dueling is nothing more than, shall we say, an exhibition of sorts. It will be very different from an actual fight between wizards. And" the corners of his mouth twitched, "trained in combat you may be, but don't be surprised if there are those who are better at dueling than you are."

Harry turned to face Dumbledore. "Just answer my question without mincing words sir. Do you think it's a good idea for me to participate in the dueling tournament?" If Dumbledore was taken aback by this direct line of questioning, he didn't show it.

"I do indeed, for the simple reason that it is good practice. Although dueling and real-life combat have very little in common, dueling can improve your skills. You will learn to adapt to any situation quickly, reading your opponents mind and, not to forget, a wider range of defensive spells. All of these skills will be of great use to you in the coming years Harry." Dumbledore glanced at the ornate silver clock on the mantelpiece. "Perhaps you should postpone his decision for a later time Harry. If I'm not wrong, you are running late for the Quidditch tryouts and I hear Mr. Marlowe is not one to tolerate tardiness."

Harry glanced at the clock too and was off like a shot, pausing only at the end of the door to ask, "Aren't you coming, sir?"

"Not today, I'm afraid. But I'll make it a point to be present on the last day of the Quidditch tryouts. Good luck, Harry." But Harry had already bolted off for the Quidditch pitch.

-#-

Harry almost went into shock when he walked into the Quidditch stadium. It had changed, drastically. The raised stands that seated hundreds were gone. In their place was a huge oval stadium that was as big as, if not bigger than the one at the Quidditch World Cup. There were seats starting from a few inches off the ground to well above the golden poles with loops. The Quidditch pitch itself was dwarfed by the stadium. The banners that usually contained the colors of the Hogwarts houses had been replaced by the Triwizard symbol and the insignias of the participating schools. Nothing of the familiar, friendly Hogwarts pitch remained. It had been replaced by a highly commercial, albeit professional, pitch.

"Playtime's over, I suppose." Harry muttered to no one in particular. The Firebolt in his hand vibrated a little as if in response.

The rain had let up, if only briefly. But if the threatening, dark thunderclouds were anything to go by, it was going to be a very wet day indeed. However, the weather didn't seem to have bothered anyone. As it turned out, there were more shocks in store for Harry. He had been too distracted by the enormous size of the stadium to notice, but most of the school had turned up at the tryouts, half of them to participate in them by the look of it. Harry could see everything from a Comet 140 to the Nimbus 2001, their owners jostling about trying to find a spot their friends. Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry headed into the milieu. Familiar faces flashed past before being swallowed by the crowd. Harry thought he saw Seamus and a little later, Ernie.

On the other side of the pitch were a bunch of girls who didn't look like they were there for Quidditch. They certainly weren't dressed in any attire that Mrs. Weasley would have approved of. Clearly there were going to be cheerleaders at the Quidditch tournament, maybe even a cheerleading competition. Harry caught sight of Lavender and Parvati pointing at the crowd and giggling madly.

From between the many heads, Harry glimpsed a head of red hair. Thinking it was either Fred or George, he pushed his way towards whichever one it was. But instead it turned out to be Ron, clutching a very bent, much damaged Cleansweep One, clearly a school broom. He looked completely lost and caught hold of Harry's arm in a vice-like grip as soon as he saw him. "Harry, I don't know what I was thinking. Seamus was saying something about someone from the Chudley Cannons being here and I thought, "It's now or never." I didn't expect there to be so many people here…maybe I should just leave." He was talking feverishly, his nerves showing clearly. Harry adjusted the cloth on his forehead and looked towards the stands, then remembered that they didn't exist anymore. He examined all the seats slowly; all the while Ron was blabbering nervously next to him. He saw Hermione waving at him, waved back and continued searching until he caught sight of what he was looking for.

The stadium was divided into boxes, much like the one at the World Cup. In one of the more secluded and important-looking ones sat what could only have been scouts from professional teams. They sat in twos and threes, sipping from a goblet or looking through binoculars. And as if to drive home the seriousness of what was happening, there were even reporters with oddly shaped cameras. Well that's not going to help anybody's nerves, thought Harry. He turned, caught Ron by his shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. "Snap out of it, Ron. Whether you are chosen by professional teams or not is out of your hands. But you can get selected to represent Hogwarts and that's what you should be aiming for right now. What position are you trying out for anyway?"

Ron seemed to regain his composure a little. "Keeper. Fred and George always made me keeper when they played, so I figured I might have a chance."

"Well, that's good. Most of the good keepers from Hogwarts left at the end of last year. So you have a good chance. Just concentrate on your keeping and nothing else." Harry was about say something else when the people around them started cheering and clapping. Madam Hooch was walking into the stadium followed by five others, all wearing casual blue robes. Next to him, Ron breathed in awe- "That's him. It actually is Marlowe." He was pointing at the shortest man in the group who was looking around without any sign of surprise. Harry could see why he would have made a good seeker. He was slightly built, with no hint of any extra meat on his bones even after being retired for so long. But it was the eyes. His eyes wouldn't have looked out of place on a hawk.

He stepped forward, put a whistle to his lips and gave a short blast. The applause and the cheering died away slowly. Harry felt a wispy sensation in his stomach. He would have to be the best seeker at Hogwarts to be chosen. And that would have been a whole lot easier if Cedric hadn't been around. Malfoy and Cho Chang weren't bad either. And there was always the possibility of some unknown new talent emerging unexpectedly. To his side, Ron looked like he was going to be sick.

"Listen up everyone. My name is Max Marlowe and I have been given the great honor of coaching and managing the Hogwarts Quidditch team. These are my friends and they will be assisting the players throughout the year." Marlowe pointed towards the four behind him who were setting up poles, hoops and flags around the pitch magically. They waved briefly at the crowd before returning to their work.

Marlowe clapped his hands briskly. Almost simultaneously, thunder rumbled in the dark sky where the sun could not be seen. It was daytime, but it looked like it was just before dusk. "Right, to business then." Marlowe was saying. "We will be starting of the tryouts with a particular favorite of mine. This," he indicated the steel poles, iron hoops and yellow flags that had been elevated to about 40ft in the air, on par with the middle goal hoop, "is "The Gauntlet". You will be divided into groups of ten and each group will begin their race at the large blue flag. You have to fly through the gauntlet, picking up at least three yellow flags and land at the red flag to finish. The first five in each group to finish will move on to the second round of the selection. I will be explaining the next stage of the selection process tomorrow. If you are not in the first five or if you cannot finish the gauntlet with three yellow flags or if you go way off course, you will be disqualified. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded unconsciously. It was an easy way of separating the good fliers from the rest. "The Gauntlet" looked almost intimidating, mainly because it encompassed the entire pitch. It was clearly designed to restrict free movement in the air. A mediocre flier would find it very hard to weave his way in and out of the poles and hoops, let alone acquire one of the many yellow flags, all of which were positioned in spots that could not be reached without a slight amount of skill. But there was also the chance that even a good flier might go off course by accident. The Gauntlet wasn't exactly confusing, but precise flying was no simple business either. All things considered, this was a brilliant way to start the selection process, thought Harry. He looked at Marlowe with renewed respect. It was obvious why he was one of the most successful coaches in the history of professional Quidditch. He didn't care if you were a good beater, keeper, chaser or seeker. First and foremost, you had to be capable of flying under extremely tough circumstances to be on his team.

The assistants set about dividing everyone into groups of ten, which took about quarter of an hour. Harry wished a very green Ron good luck and went to join his group. He sized up the competition as he got closer. Three of them were clearly third-years that had no clue what they were doing. The moment they saw Harry approaching their group, they put their heads together and started whispering. He didn't know four of the others, who were all clearly older than him. He recognized the remaining two though. One of them was a Slytherin girl from his year, Tracy and the other was Cho Chang. Harry smiled at Cho, who returned it almost immediately. Even Tracy gave him a small smile. Wondering whatever happened to house rivalry, Harry turned to watch the first group of people.

He didn't recognize most of them from the distance, but he did recognize four people. The pale, pointed face with hair to match could only belong to one person. Malfoy was standing at the extreme right, leaning casually on his Nimbus 2001. Two spots away from him was Ginny. Harry was more than a little surprised to see her there. He didn't even know she flew. She was looking nervously at the other end where her twin brothers were. Fred and George had already mounted their brooms and for some reason were playing rock, paper and scissor- an exhaustive process indeed as they both thought alike.

Marlowe stepped forward with the whistle in his hand. The noise around the stadium reduced considerably. "Get READY." Everyone mounted their brooms. "On my whistle." Malfoy flattened himself to the broom. The whistle blew shrilly.

Malfoy shot off into the air, ahead of everyone else. But he couldn't quite control his approach to the first hoop which he was supposed to pass through. He braked hard, trying to regain some manner of control and almost managed it too. But either by accident or on purpose, and Harry had a shrewd idea which, Fred clipped Malfoy on the side as he overtook him. Malfoy's broom spun out of control and he crashed into the second obstacle, a pair of steel rods. Almost four people had passed him by the time he managed to steady himself and get back into the race. Harry noted that his arm was bleeding and he was clutching the broom in an odd angle.

Fred and George were in the lead now and they didn't bother competing with each other at all. Instead they concentrated on obtaining the yellow flags. They would fly through the obstacles at a controlled pace pluck the flags when they came within reaching distance. They almost made it look easy. The rest of their group was a different story though. Most of them seemed to find it hard to even make it through the obstacles. Ginny was currently in third place and was doing alright, although she was having trouble getting the flags. As Harry watched, her fingertips grazed a flag which was knocked off its resting place and floated down. It was caught by a dark-haired girl behind Ginny before it hit the ground.

Suddenly, there was a yell and Harry turned just in time to see two brooms collide with each other. It seemed someone had turned back to retrieve a flag and hadn't noticed the oncoming broom. The impact of the collision had caused one of them, a freckle-faced boy, to be knocked off course and almost into the stadium. He stopped himself before he crashed head-long into the stadium, but he had gone way off course and was out of the race. Harry turned back to the race and was startled to see Malfoy and Ginny neck and neck. It seemed Malfoy had fought his way back in and was now giving Ginny a hard time. To her credit, she was holding her own. They both clutched a single flag each in their hands and were fighting over the possession of another. Malfoy was tugging at it with all his might, but Ginny wasn't letting go. A steel rod right in the middle of their path forced them to let go of the flag and veer off in opposite directions. Once again, the dark-haired girl behind Ginny swooped down and gathered the dropped flag, her second.

Two short blasts of whistle sounded somewhere, one after the other. In the distance, Harry saw Fred and George dismounting by the red flag. They had finished the race, much ahead of everyone else with little or no effort, their quick finish surprising everyone. Harry clapped along with some others in the crowd.

Meanwhile, the rest of the race raged on. Malfoy had overtaken Ginny, but Ginny was right behind him. Malfoy may not have been the best flier at Hogwarts, but he was still good. To keep up with him was no mean task. Harry was a little impressed with Ginny. As he watched, Ginny accelerated and so did the dark-haired girl behind her. They were approaching the last obstacle before the red flag- a giant rotating fan with three huge hoops at the end of each pole. They were supposed to pass through one of the hoops for it to count. It wasn't particularly hard, but someone without practice would have found it difficult to time it. Malfoy passed through one of the hoops with ease, snatching a flag in the process, his last. He headed for the red flag at full speed and ended up skidding to a halt. Another short blast of the whistle told everyone else that there were only two spots left.

Ginny was now on level-pegging with the dark-haired girl. Everyone else was far behind them. They seemed to realize it and concentrated on finishing the race without any accidents. They flew through a different hoop of the last obstacle at the same time, gathered a flag each and finished at the same time. Harry shook his head. If someone had told him that Ginny was going to perform that well in Quidditch during breakfast that morning, he wouldn't have believed them. Suddenly, he saw Madam Hooch running across the pitch towards a fallen broom and its rider who was lying on the ground dazed. Even as the race was ending, it seemed, there had been another crash.

Harry felt a familiar sensation in his stomach. His group was next. They marched to the blue flag as the yellow flags were replaced by the assistants and took their respective positions. Tracy was in the spot next to him and who waving frantically to someone in the crowd. It was Daphne Greengrass. She waved back lazily to Tracy and shifted her gaze to Harry. There it was again- the calculating look he didn't like. He turned to face "The Gauntlet", shaking his head. Now was the time to be concentrating only on one thing. He thought he heard someone yelling his name, but didn't turn to look.

Marlowe stepped forward from where he had been standing. "Get READY." Harry put a leg across the Firebolt, anticipation coursing through him. To his left Tracy did the same on her Cleansweep seven and two spots to his right, so did Cho Chang. He couldn't believe that so many people had turned up for the tryouts. But he had the fastest, most expensive broom on that pitch. There had already been a few raised eyebrows here and there. The time had come to prove that he had the skill to go with the broom. "On my whistle." He felt the sensation in his stomach again. He had been waiting for so long to get back into the air, the need to finally do so was almost overwhelming. He saw Maxwell "The Trigger" Marlowe take the whistle to his mouth, almost in slow motion and felt a droplet of rain fall on his nose. He couldn't wait any longer. Harry's feet left the ground just as the whistle blew.

A\N: Phew. It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that. The next update will be considerably sooner, I promise.

I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. If you didn't find the Quidditch tryouts all that appealing, then don't worry about it. This is just the first round. There is so much more to come. And special thanks to those of you who kept pushing me to finish this chapter. This would've taken a lot longer if it hadn't been for you guys.