Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter Two
Harry glared at his watch. Sirius had given it to him on his seventeenth birthday. He tapped the glass twice, swearing that it must have stopped working. It hadn't. He frowned and sat back in his seat, tugging the half-Windsor knot on his tie, before running a hand through his hair.
The shuffling of parchment broke the tense air momentarily. Harry inspected his fingernails and absently tried to thumb his fore and middle fingers clean of ink stains. It didn't work.
Harry stifled a yawn, before crossing his arms and looking to the heavens, exhaling loudly.
A quiet, covered up snort caught his attention. He glanced to his right and saw Megan Jones grinning at him. He thought it only polite to offer his best grin back.
Around the Great Hall, most of the students still had their heads down, furiously scribbling as the clock ticked down to the end of the test. Fingernails were being worn down by some, while others, like Gregory Goyle, had given up altogether.
In fact, Harry thought, peering at Goyle, the Slytherin looked like he was sleeping. His arms were crossed on his desk and he'd rested his forehead on his large hands.
Harry caught Megan's attention and nodded towards Goyle. She brushed aside her wavy auburn hair, quickly covering her mouth with a small hand as she stifled a laugh. She half-heartedly glared at Harry, her lively hazel eyes narrowed but shining, her shoulders shaking softly with mirth.
"Five minutes remaining," the examiner announced from the front of the hall. He was rewarded with a surge of noise, as quills were suddenly worked even faster.
Goyle didn't so much as twitch.
Harry turned in his seat to see how his friends were getting on, his thoughts on anything but the written exam he'd just finished. Two desks directly behind him, Ron was still writing, ink splashed over his arms and smudged across his cheek and the tip of his long nose.
Seamus wasn't fairing much better three seats to Ron's left, although he looked less frantic. Dean gave a thumbs-up from the other side of the hall when Harry caught his attention. He was sat back in his chair, arms crossed comfortably over his chest, looking as confident in himself as usual.
In the front row, Neville had finished before anyone, but he was checking his answers yet again. He was expected to excel in this exam, Herbology being his best subject. Not even Hermione had ever been able to get close to him, something which frustrated her to no end.
Deciding that there was nothing better to do, Harry fingered the pages of his own work, barely taking in his scrawled handwriting. There had been a time when Harry had hoped to achieve a perfect 'O' in every exam, just to live up to his name and prove himself, but that had changed over the years. He'd proven himself countless times and some things just weren't worth the hassle.
Harry's focus had always been more on the practical side of magic, which had always intrigued and excited him so much more. He knew better than many that it wasn't just about learning the incantation and movements and then doing it. You also had to understand what you were doing to really master a spell. Dumbledore had imparted that piece of wisdom.
None of that applied to Herbology, so Harry had never put much effort in to the theoretical aspect. He hadn't cared for plants and gardening ever since Petunia had made him prune her rose bushes, so he wasn't very keen on the practical side of Herbology either.
He'd mostly gotten by in the subject because there was one, rather large part of Herbology that really enthralled him. He'd had his first taste of dangerous magical plants when he was eleven, with Devil's Snare, and it was because some plants had the ability to murder in a number of ways that he'd stuck with the subject.
It was also the main reason he'd continued Potions. Because Harry was who he was, he simply couldn't take any chances.
He also didn't fancy his death being at the hands of a plant or a Potion, of all things.
"Time's up." The examiner's wand was already summoning the parchments to his desk before he'd finished speaking. They flew through the air, landing in three neat piles on the desk in front of him. "Thank you, that's the test concluded. You may leave."
Without pause, Harry grabbed his bag from under the desk and shot up from his chair. He was about to bolt from the Great Hall, when a small hand grabbed him by the crook of his elbow.
"Hold up a minute, will you, Harry?"
Harry shifted the bag onto his back as he turned around, his scowl already fading but turning into a genuine smile when he saw Megan looking up at him. He took a good look back at her. Her face was spotless, barely tanned from the recent good weather. Her cheeks were slightly rosy, as they always were during summer.
"What can I do for you?" Harry asked, leaning against the desk behind him and shoving his hands inside his deep pockets.
Megan wet her lips, drawing Harry's attention specifically to them. They appeared to be almost peach-coloured. "I was, um, just wondering…"
Harry reflexively leaned forward, slightly amused and more than a little curious to see Megan's already rosy cheeks turning a darker shade of red by the second.
Megan seemed to come to an internal decision, for she stared at him defiantly. "I was just wondering what happened after the match."
"Oh," Harry said, slightly taken back. "Well, I guess you've heard what happened between Malfoy and myself?"
"The whole school watched, Harry. I meant what happened after we left. Did McGonagall give you a month of detentions?"
"Not exactly," Harry said, motioning for Megan to walk out of the hall with him. "We were sent to Dumbledore's office. Not together, obviously. Malfoy's staying to complete the exams and then he's finished. He's probably already gone, come to think of it."
"Okay… but what happened to you?"
Harry paused momentarily as the cool breeze blowing through the Entrance Hall caught his neck. "Err, Dumbledore docked some points away for what I did during the match, and I've got detention Sunday night."
Megan turned to face him by the doors leading out into the grounds, looking mightily relieved by something. "Oh, that's good."
Harry's eyebrows lifted slowly. "Err, it is?"
"Well, not that you've got detention, obviously," Megan said quickly, blushing in such a way that made her quite adorable. "I just mean you won't miss the party tonight. That would've been just dreadfully unfair."
"Dreadfully unfair, indeed," Harry said with a small smile, spotting a familiar group over Megan's shoulder, waiting for him with suggestive grins. "I'm sorry, I'm on my way to Hogsmeade. Fancy coming along?"
Megan blinked, looking up at him under long eyelashes. "Oh," she said, as if she'd just figured something out and she was delighted with the outcome. Her lips parted, only for them to close quickly a second later. She swallowed. "You're, um, going with friends, are you?"
"Err, yeah. You're welcome to come, though."
Megan hummed, biting her lip. "Um," she said, for the umpteenth time, shaking her head. "No, I'd best not. I have to go and get ready for tonight."
"I'll see you tonight, then?"
"Yes, tonight," Megan said, and the smile was back in full force. "I'll see you at the party, Harry."
Harry nodded and half-turned, leaving with a parting comment, "We'll most likely be in the Three Broomsticks. Just in case you change your mind."
Scotland had been receiving more sun than it knew what to do with, and it beat down upon Harry as he walked out of the shade and towards his waiting group of friends. He was glad he'd had the insight to forego his robes.
"Took you long enough, Potter," Seamus called to him.
"I can find my own way to the village, you know," Harry said as he jogged the last few meters to catch up with them.
"Not without getting into some sort of trouble, you can't," Dean said.
Harry rolled his eyes as he twisted his shoulders to relieve his aching muscles. "I'm not as bad as people make out."
Neville turned to him, a look on his face that clearly stated he thought otherwise.
"Let's just go," Harry muttered, and the three of them fell into step with him.
"How was that for you, Potter?" Seamus asked. "I give up halfway through, myself. Should never have carried on with the subject."
"Well, Neville's got us beat, we know that," Harry said. "I tried for a while but just got bored."
Dean nodded in agreement, the toe of his shoe kicking up dirt. "Same here. I mean, whose bright idea was it to put the written Herbology exam last?"
"Well, I tried," Neville said casually, receiving three blank looks.
Seamus patted him on the shoulder. "We know you didn't really try, Longbottom. You didn't actually have to, did you?"
"You actually like bloody plants," Dean said in disgust.
Neville grinned, a hint of his natural shyness shining through. "Well, I thought I did okay."
Harry snorted. "Don't give me that bollocks. You can caress the vines of a Venomous Tentacula about as well as Seamus thinks he can caress a woman."
"Only with gloves," Neville assured them with a smile, then paused as Hogsmeade came into sight. "Where to first?"
"Three Broomsticks," Harry said. "We can stop off at the Hog's Head before we go back to the castle."
"Sounds good," Seamus said, leading the way.
"Oh, we're not going to be here for long, are we?" Neville groaned. "Can't you just, I don't know, wait until later to have a drink?"
"Nothing wrong with an early start, Nev," Dean said cheerfully.
Neville shook his head with a long, drawn out sigh. "You do what you want, I'm waiting until tonight."
The end-of-exams euphoria started to kick in as the group walked into the pub. A few other seventh years had travelled the well-beaten path into Hogsmeade, happier than they'd been in weeks as they relaxed in Madam Rosmerta's Three Broomsticks.
"Have you heard anything from Puddlemere yet?" Neville asked, resting his forearms on the bar.
Rosmerta currently had her hands full with another group, but signalled to them she wouldn't be long.
Before Harry could reply, Seamus instead said, "I have no idea why you want to play for them, Potter. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Kenmare is the way to go."
Harry ignored him, turning to Neville instead. "I haven't, but I have heard from other clubs."
"Oh, yeah?" Dean asked.
"Chudley offered me a place in the squad straight away, but I turned them down."
"Nice," Seamus said, tipping his head in agreement. "I'm sure Weasley will be thrilled with the news."
"Falmouth and Wigtown offered me trials," Harry said, pulling a face. "I've got a month to get back to them, but I'm waiting for Puddlemere to get in touch."
"And if you don't get an offer from Puddlemere?" Neville asked curiously.
"I don't really know what I'd do, Nev," Harry said honestly, trying not to think of such a thing happening. He pulled his moneybag out of his trouser pocket and dropped it on the bar, where the coins clattered and jangled inside. "I guess I'd try my luck with another team, but I haven't got a clue who."
"Kenmare," Seamus muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Same as usual, boys?" Madam Rosmerta called down the bar.
"Just the butterbeer for me, please," Neville said.
"Same as usual for the rest of us," Seamus added quickly.
"Cold?" Madam Rosmerta asked. Receiving four emphatic nods, she placed four glass tankards on the bar, before pulling out four chilled bottles of butterbeer. She popped them open and placed them next to the tankards. "Just the three glasses of Firewhiskey, then?"
"Two each, so six," Harry corrected.
Madam Rosmerta nodded and quickly got to work. Harry busied himself with pouring his butterbeer into his tankard while they waited.
"Have you heard from the twins since the match, Harry?" Neville asked, taking a small sip from his butterbeer and smacking his lips together in appreciation.
"Nope. It hasn't been long, and I doubt they'd find out before me anyway. The season's over."
"You could always ask them, I suppose," Neville said. "You never know, do you?"
"Or you could just sign for Kenmare," Seamus put in.
Harry chuckled, taking his time to take a long, large gulp of butterbeer. "Not that there's anything wrong with Ireland, Seamus, apart from the fact that there clearly is, but I don't want to go and live there."
Seamus just looked at him.
"I've lived in Scotland for the past seven years, I want to live in England for a while," Harry explained. "London, preferably. You know, Puddlemere isn't too far from London, at least not when you can Apparate, so it'll be handy if I do manage to get a contract."
"You could Apparate over the water easily enough," Seamus argued. "You've got the skill to Apparate long distances. Hell, you Apparated both of us over there last summer."
Madam Rosmerta stalled the conversation, placing six glasses of Firewhiskey on the bar. Harry was glad of the interruption.
"My round?" Harry asked, already taking a few coins from his moneybag.
"Thanks, Rosie," Seamus said, throwing a grin to the barmaid.
"Glasses in," Dean said, pouring the Firewhiskey from one of his glasses into his butterbeer.
"Two seconds," Seamus muttered, taking a quick drink from his butterbeer before copying Dean and Harry.
"Drink up," Dean said, holding out the second glass of Firewhiskey. Harry and Seamus clinked their glasses, before knocking them back in one.
It was three minutes before they'd stopped pulling faces and the urge to splutter and cough had died down.
"Table by the back, next to the window," Neville said, pointing it out. "Shall we?"
"Lead the way," Dean said.
"Why Puddlemere anyway, Potter?" Seamus asked, moving a chair from his path. "You never told me how you started supporting them."
"A number of reasons, really," Harry said. "Wood and Fred and George support them, and they were who I played Quidditch with every day. As much as Ron's always thought he'd be the next great coach, I played with people who could, err, play? You know what I mean."
"That's it?"
"Sirius supports them and my dad did," Harry said. "I was born near Puddlemere as well."
Seamus eyed him suspiciously. "There's a couple of teams down that way. You could've picked the Cannons. You didn't always know who Sirius and your dad supported."
Harry scoffed. "The Cannons? I don't care what anyone says, nobody decides to support the worst team in the league."
"Ron did," Dean called, and Harry realised he and Seamus had stopped walking and were stood in the middle of the pub.
"Actually, he didn't," Harry said, strolling over to the table, trying not to wince when he saw one of the other occupants. "Ron just liked the colour orange. All his other brothers support Puddlemere."
"Ginny doesn't support either of them," Susan Bones supplied, waving cheerily at Harry, despite him being all of a few feet away from her. "Hey, Harry."
"Finally caught him, then?" Harry said, nodding at Dean, and more specifically her hand resting on his thigh.
Susan blushed, beaming at Dean as she stroked his knee. "You bet I did."
"Sickening," Seamus said, pulling a face.
"Oh, let her have her fun," Hannah Abbott said, giggling around her hand.
Seamus grumbled to himself, pushing Harry into the booth and sliding in next to him. As luck would have it, Harry raised his head, and looked straight into the small, pale eyes of someone whose mere presence managed to irritate him.
"Potter," Zacharias Smith said, halting the casual conversation around the table.
Harry's fingers tapped an uneven beat on the old wooden table. Smith's eyes lowered to them, a small smirk playing on his lips a moment later.
The unsteady beat stopped. "Smith," Harry eventually said, lifting his glass as if to say cheers.
A tapping noise sounded, although it wasn't Harry making it this time. It was ignored. Smith finally looked away, and Harry let out a breath. He managed to gulp down half of his butterbeer a few seconds later, attempting to ignore the uncomfortable silence hanging over the table. The Firewhiskey, as potent as it was perfect, burned its way down Harry's throat, but he ignored that as well.
The tapping suddenly got louder, as if whoever was making it was agitated.
"Will someone open that bloody window before that owl manages to break it?" Seamus looked at Sally-Anne Perks pointedly.
Sally huffed, reluctantly turning around and stretching to open the window. Harry paid no attention to the owl trying to squeeze through the tiniest of openings, his focus on the shirt riding up Sally's back instead. Her skin was very tanned and looked very smooth.
Sally placed the barn owl on the table, where it glared at everyone for making it wait.
"It's for you, Harry," Sally said, holding out the letter to him.
"Typical." Smith snorted.
"Thanks," Harry muttered, taking the letter and ignoring Smith. He frowned as he read his name, which had been written in full.
Seamus raised his eyebrows. "Sounds a bit formal, doesn't it?"
Harry couldn't agree more. The only mail he ever received, apart from letters from friends, was usually fan mail, job offers, journalists asking for interviews, and proposals on the odd occasion. Proposals probably counted as fan mail, Harry conceded to himself.
"Smart owl to deliver that without an address," Seamus muttered.
"Oh, please." Smith scoffed, nearly spilling his drink down his pristine shirt. "I'm just surprised it wasn't hand delivered."
"What?" Hannah asked, looking completely bewildered, expressing what everyone was feeling.
"Oh, come on, we all know what Potter's fan girls are like," Smith said. "How many more times will we have to put up with girls running up to him in the middle of breakfast and handing him love letters?"
"Jealous, are we?" Seamus asked.
"Me? Jealous of Potter?" Smith scoffed again. "Who in their right mind would be jealous of him?"
"I could think of quite a few reasons why people would be," Sally said, jumping in to the conversation. "I'm not surprised so many people are jealous of him. How many people crave the attention that Harry has just by being who he is? People actually worship him for what he's done for us, and while I'm not saying that's right, I do think more people should be thankful. And if that's still not enough, just look at him. He's gorgeous."
There was a sudden pause as everyone looked at Sally, but she sniffed at them, refusing to look in Harry's direction. "What? He is! You can't deny it."
"You actually like him?" Smith asked furiously, flinging an arm in Harry's direction and nearly knocking over multiple empty glasses.
"That's not what I meant!"
"Then what the hell did you mean?"
"I think Sally means she'd choose Potter over scum like you any day of the week," Seamus said wryly.
"Is that true?" Smith asked, looking at Sally, disbelieving. "You'd pick him over me?"
"Who wouldn't?"
Smith's jaw dropped. "But he's a fucking criminal!"
Harry sat up and entered the argument for the first time. "I'm a what?"
"You heard me, Potter. The rest of the world may have forgotten, but I can still remember everything you've gotten away with over the years."
"What in Merlin's name are you ranting on about now?" Sally asked.
"Err, let's see…" Smith said sardonically. "Where shall we start? How about the countless temper tantrums he used to throw? Remember them, Potter? What about during the war? Let's discount the fact you disappeared for weeks and left everyone in the fucking dark, what happened? You-Know-Who shows up! And what did we do? You know, the people you left behind? We held him and his damn army out. Only then Saint Fucking Potter shows up with half the Ministry's fighting force and an illegal vigilante group behind him."
"I didn't hear you complaining too much about that when we did show up," Harry said, feeling the butterbeer bubbling in his gut. "In fact, I can't remember even seeing you there."
"That's because he fucked off and hid like a coward," Sally said, glaring so hard at Smith even Seamus leaned away from her.
"Where were you hiding for months, Potter?" Smith demanded, completely ignoring Sally. "What the hell could have been more important? You just showed up at the end and took all the glory. You don't deserve a bit of the credit."
"I'll tell you where he fucking was, shall I?" Seamus fumed, looking ready to strangle Smith with his bare hands. "He was with Dumbledore. He was holed up in a house, preparing to fight. I don't know half the story, and you can be sure that you'll never know it all either, but he was learning."
"Why don't we just fucking drop it, yeah?" Justin Finch-Fletchley said forcefully. He was usually one to keep out of arguments, so much so that Harry hadn't registered him being at the table.
"I'd like to fucking drop him," Seamus said, nearly growling.
"Been taking lessons from Potter on extreme violence to sort out your problems, have you?" Smith scoffed. "It's not unexpected. I don't expect Irish scum such as yourself to know proper etiquette in duelling."
Seamus launched himself across the table, sending half-empty glasses flying as the table flipped. Harry managed to rip him back by his shirt, tearing the sleeve clean off at the shoulder.
"Calm down." Harry growled, noticing Dean and Neville were ready to back him up, waiting to intervene. "You don't want to get barred, do you, mate?"
"I've had enough of that prick!" Seamus raged, struggling against Harry's grip pushing him back into the booth. "I say we finally put him in his place."
"Personally, I don't see what he's trying to do," Neville said, his words clearly directed at Smith. "He'd run a mile if Harry ever went after him again. You know he can't fight, he's too scared for that."
"Big speech for such a snivelling, worthless piece of shit such as yourself, Longbottom," Smith spat.
"Oh, fucking hell," Harry said, shaking his head in dismay. "You sound just like Malfoy."
Smith sneered in a way Purebloods must have been taught, clearly sensing an opportunity. "I heard he had a go on Patil after me, Potter. Do you think they laughed about you just as hard and she and I did?"
All eyes turned on Harry, suddenly wary of his reaction.
"Listen," Harry said, stopping Smith from continuing. "While I find myself quite fucking flattered that you and Malfoy couldn't please her without bringing my name into it, you really don't want to start this shit again. Not to sound arrogant, but you've pissed me off one too many times already. I don't know about you, but I don't fancy a round two. So do yourself a favour, before I actually do lose my temper."
Smith chewed the inside of his cheek. The girls fidgeted, Justin winced, and Seamus chuckled darkly.
"I'd say you've already lost your temper, Potter," Seamus muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Harry glared at him, before turning back to Smith and waiting for a response.
"Come on, mate, let's just go," Justin said, turning Smith away from the table.
Smith allowed himself to be led out of the pub, not looking back once, and leaving behind a subdued atmosphere.
"What a prick," Sally said, summing it up perfectly in Harry's mind. She seemed to be more riled up than Harry was.
"Come on, let's clean this mess up," Susan said, clapping her hands together.
"Yeah, Rosie's glaring our way," Seamus muttered.
With a combined effort, the table was placed back the proper way, the glasses were fixed and taken back to the bar, and Madam Rosmerta somehow let them stay in her pub.
Harry was about to sit back down when he spotted the letter that had arrived before the argument. He turned it over to break the seal, when he suddenly stopped short.
"Another one from that old gal down in Liverpool?" Seamus asked with a suggestive grin.
Harry couldn't find it in himself to share Seamus's amusement. For the past year, the unnamed woman had been sending pictures of herself in provocative poses. She was nearly always stark bollock naked, and when she wasn't she wore costumes that Harry knew weren't designed for the activities the woman had in mind.
Harry was highly suspicious of the whole thing, even if his friends took great amusement from his situation. It could have been a big practical joke concocted by Sirius for all Harry knew, but his Godfather had denied any involvement, although he didn't help matters by cracking up whenever the issue was brought up.
"No," Harry said at last, finally looking away from the seal, still disbelieving. "No, it's from Puddlemere."
The group leaned in. The whole school knew of Harry's desire to join up with the Weasley twins and Oliver Wood at Puddlemere. With Seamus constantly mentioning it during his Quidditch commentary, it had been difficult for anyone not to hear.
The letter's seal was Puddlemere United's crest of two crossed bulrushes in front of a navy background. Harry only waited a handful of seconds before tearing into the letter, his earlier trepidation turning into nervous determination with every single word.
"Well, what do they have to say?" Seamus asked, looking utterly dejected.
"They're, uh, offering me a trial," Harry mumbled, well aware his hands were shaking. "Next Thursday."
"Damn it all to hell and back!" Seamus said, throwing Harry a smile despite his obvious disappointment. "Don't listen to them, Potter! Get yourself across the water. You'll have a grand old time."
"Oh, shut up, Seamus," Sally said, glaring at Seamus, before turning to Harry with a bright smile. "Well done, Harry. You deserve it."
Harry looked up and grinned a little nervously. "Thank you. Uh, yeah, wow."
"Congratulations," Neville and Dean echoed, their voices quickly joined by Susan and Hannah.
"Come on, let's start the celebrations," Seamus said. "Maybe I can convince you if you're sloshed enough. You usually agree to things when you've had a bit too much."
"Celebrations?" Harry asked dumbly. "I haven't done anything yet. They're only offering me trial. I have to actually get through that, you know. I haven't got a contract yet."
Seamus made a shooing motion and scoffed. "Don't worry about that. You'll walk it easily."
Harry stared at him. "You're barmy, mate. This isn't a school game."
"Well, start worrying about it in the morning," Seamus said simply. "Tonight, we'll celebrate."
"We'd better be off, actually," Susan said, getting to her feet. "The party starts at seven. We've got to go and start getting ready."
"I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall, yeah?" Dean asked.
Harry turned away from the couple. "Come on, Seamus, we've got to go and pick up the bottles from Abe."
"You're picking up the booze for tonight, then?" Sally asked curiously, although it sounded more like a statement.
"We are," Seamus said, draining the last of his second tankard of butterbeer.
The group walked out of the Three Broomsticks with an apology to Madam Rosmerta. Susan whispered something in Dean's ear, before she and her friends parted ways after exchanging goodbyes to the boys.
"I've got a feeling there's going to be some trouble off that prick tonight," Harry muttered.
"Ah, don't be so downbeat, Potter," Seamus said. "It can't be any worse than the fiasco that was the Yule Ball, can it?"
"I'll be surprised if Smith doesn't try something, and you know Malfoy will end up trying to sneak back in."
"What can either of them really do?" Dean asked. "I mean, Malfoy would get thrown out the minute he's seen. Smith won't start a fight."
"Eh, maybe," Harry muttered. "Doesn't mean I feel entirely comfortable, though."
The rest of the walk down to the Hog's Head was completed in silence. Despite Smith's tendency to back away from physical fights, Harry knew that after copious amounts of alcohol had been consumed, even the laidback Neville Longbottom could ruffle a few feathers.
Ruffling a few feathers, it turned out, was the last thing on Harry's mind later that evening. The Great Hall had undergone a makeover by the prefects and teachers, looking fit to host a Ministry Ball. Dumbledore had obviously worked on the decoration, as even Luna Lovegood looked surprised by the clashing of colours, from dark purple tablecloths covering the dozen round tables to the bright orange napkins.
A banquet had been prepared for the seventh years. The elves had really outdone themselves yet again, cooking a feast fit for a king. Harry would miss the food, if nothing else.
Harry had finished munching on his steak, drank the last remnants of red wine in his glass, and was currently waiting patiently for the speeches to finish up. Dumbledore had handed the stage to the Head Boy and Girl – Terry Boot and Hermione Granger, respectfully. Terry had thanked his fellow students, told a quick joke about his first night in Ravenclaw Tower, and let Hermione start speaking.
Which was mistake, in Harry's opinion.
The students had been rather comfortable after such a large meal, although looking forward to the after party. Hermione had started off from the very beginning. Literally. She told the story of her first experience with magic, when she hadn't known what it was, when she was seven. It had taken her half an hour for her to reach a conclusion, which had been something to do with her fretting over the exams. Most people had been in a slight slumber by that point, but they'd erupted into a cheer when Hermione stepped off the stage. Harry felt slightly sorry for her as she beamed at the response, offering her a small smile, which she returned.
Dumbledore smiled down at his students, a twinkle in his eye, his hands clasped in front of him. He winked at Harry, and Harry felt his stomach drop.
"I am aware you're all eager for the party to start in earnest," Dumbledore started, "but first, it would be my pleasure to welcome Mr Potter onto the stage."
All eyes turned to Harry, who had dropped his head onto the table with a loud thud.
"Get up there, Potter," Seamus whispered.
With a grimace, Harry lifted his head off the table and stood, shooting a half-hearted glare at Dumbledore, who only smiled serenely back at him. Harry walked to the stage, his head down and his shoulders drooped, as though he was walking to the gallows.
"If you would like to say a few words to your peers, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, so only Harry could hear him.
"I have a few choice words in mind for you," Harry muttered, scowling as he turned to look out at the familiar faces. Most people were watching him in amusement, while others looked like they were decidedly less happy to see him on stage.
Harry cleared his throat. "Err, hi."
Without so much as word in warning, Dumbledore had completely thrown him to the wolves. Deciding that there was nothing else for it, Harry figured he's just go for it and serve Dumbledore right for not giving him any warning.
"So," Harry started, clicking his tongue and cringing. His foot started tapping the stage. "So, I guess Hogwarts is over for us now, isn't it? Oh, bugger it. You know what, I haven't got a bloody clue what to say."
"Just open your mouth, Potter, that usually lands you in trouble," Seamus called out, producing a few laughs.
"Thanks for the advice," Harry muttered. "Right, where was I? Um. Oh, I don't know. I can't really remember my life before Hogwarts, and I'm not sure what it's going to be like when I leave. It'll be different, there's no getting away from that. I'll miss this damned place more than I probably should do, especially when you consider the number of attempts on my life that have happened here."
The students laughed, nodding together.
"I'm serious!" Harry insisted. "If it's not a possessed teacher, it's a giant basilisk. If it isn't a deadly plant, then it's a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Sorry, Hagrid, but they were deadly!"
Hagrid's booming laughter could be heard over the student's chuckling.
"Fine." Harry hurriedly tried thinking of something else to say that didn't involve death. "I'll miss Albus Dumbledore's poetic yet decidedly backwards speeches."
Dumbledore and most of the students tittered at that. Harry vaguely wondered what a career in stand-up comedy would be like, but he had an idea that he was being laughed at, not with.
"I would say I'd miss Quidditch, but I'm hoping to play professionally, so let's hope I won't," Harry continued. "I'm looking forward to the higher class of opposition, truth be told."
The Quidditch players scowled something fierce as Harry blatantly looked in their direction with a grin.
"No offence to everyone I've faced on the pitch, of course," Harry said, holding his hand up in apology. "Right, let's see, what else? Oh, that's right. I won't be missing potions at all, but I think most of us can say that, can't we?"
Harry didn't need to look around to see that Snape would be would be scowling at him more harshly than usual
"I'm pretty sure that's all I've got to say, I'm not exactly one for the lovey-dovey bullshit that Albus likes to–"
"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore intervened quickly as the students chuckled. "If you could please give a warm welcome to our first band of the night, The Biting Fairies."
The Biting Fairies began their new song, Deadlier Than Dragon Fire, just as Harry stepped off the stage. There was a surge of students that rushed towards the band, but Harry headed straight in the opposite direction, in desperate need of a strong drink.
Dumbledore had roped the four Heads of House in to serving drinks for the night. Three of them had welcomed the opportunity, glad to keep check on the quantity of alcohol being consumed. It was no surprise to anyone that Snape looked more furious than the other three Heads did.
"Firewhiskey, please," Harry said.
"Do try not to drink yourself into a stupor, Mr Potter," McGonagall said.
Harry held up his hands. "At least I'm of age if it does happen, right?"
Quickly picking up his Firewhiskey from McGonagall, who gave Harry a stern warning to be on his very best behaviour, Harry strolled back towards the crowd. The floor itself seemed to vibrate out of sync with the music, not that anyone inside the Great Hall really cared. Hyped up on all the last two years of nervous energy finally being released, along with the fact that nobody was quite yet ready to bid goodbye to Hogwarts, the seventh years were working themselves into a frenzy.
Seamus and Dean were right in the middle of the crowd.
"Hell of a speech, Potter," Seamus said, his voice barely heard over the powerful music.
Instead of bothering to shout back, Harry instead decided to pull out his bottle of Firewhiskey. Seamus and Dean held out their glasses expectantly for a top-up.
"I can't believe they're serving this," Dean said, lifting his glass to take a small sip.
"They don't have a lot here," Harry said. "Just don't forget to use the refilling charm before you run out."
The band continued to play their deafening set; the lyrics the lead singer belted out were indistinct for the most part, but Harry found himself enjoying the rhythm. Many a poster of the lead singer adorned teenage girls' bedroom walls, so it was no surprise that most of the girls had forced their way to the front.
Susan shoved her way back through the mass of girls, greeting Dean with a sloppy kiss. The distinct sound of an acoustic guitar suddenly had the girls cooing.
"I love this song!" Susan declared, pulling Dean with her to the front. Dean shrugged at Harry and Seamus, making no attempt to stop being tugged away from them.
"I need to learn to play the guitar," Seamus said with a nod.
Harry felt the urge to learn as well as he watched glazed eyes staring up at the lead singer.
"I'd fight for you like Potter fought for freedom."
Harry abruptly stopped listening, scowling as he drank straight from the bottle. Seamus seemed to find the whole thing amusing.
"Would you look at that, Potter, you're in a song," Seamus said gleefully, and it was only then Harry noticed Seamus was staring behind Harry's shoulder. "And you're not the only one who doesn't like it, it seems."
Harry turned around to see Smith looking downright furious. Parvati was next to him, arms crossed over her chest.
"Trouble in paradise, you reckon?" Seamus asked with a laugh.
"I thought Smith said she and Malfoy were going at it?"
Seamus shrugged. "Who knows? Oh, look, he's looking our way. Be polite, Potter."
Harry looked dubiously at Seamus as he started to wave, grinning smugly. Smith managed a glare, which intensified tenfold when he spotted Harry copying Seamus. He turned and stormed out, Parvati rushing after him.
There was a time when Harry would have gone after him as well, but he laughed the whole thing off as a lucky escape.
"She used to chase you like that, you know," Seamus said.
"I know. Smith's welcome to her. She drove me up the bloody wall."
"Selective memory, Potter," Seamus said.
"If you say so."
The stirrings of something were rumbling inside Harry's stomach, but he brushed them away easily enough. It wasn't jealousy. He'd been there once.
"Like I said, he's welcome to her, mate," Harry said, chugging the last of his drink. "Let me know if he wants another go, though, won't you?"
Seamus chuckled darkly. "I'd advise you to take your frustration out in a better way."
"I'm not frustrated," Harry muttered.
"Well, whatever it is, here's someone who'd probably be more than willing to give you a helping hand."
Harry's forehead creased as he tried to work that out, but his thoughts were interrupted.
"Harry!"
In a quiet room, Sally drunkenly screaming his name would have been deafening. In her defence, the new band on stage were playing as ferociously fast as the last one.
"You've had a few, darling," Seamus said, appraising the blonde with a lecherous grin, and making no attempt to hide that fact.
"You fancy some more?" Harry pulled out the half-empty bottle of Firewhisky, shaking it in front of her, where it sloshed against the glass.
"Why not?" Sally said, her already glazed eyes widening slightly. "It can't hurt."
Harry poured a generous amount into her glass, catching Seamus's eye and grinning.
Sally took a long drink, and Harry eyed her much like Seamus was still doing.
A thin layer of sweat had built up on her exposed shoulders, evidence of the amount of dancing – if it could be called that – she'd done. Her dark blonde hair had been curled for the evening, giving her a completely different look, although a few strands were sticking to her clammy forehead and neck. Parts of her make-up had smudged around her blue eyes, the same shade as her hip-hugging dress.
Harry had always thought she was pretty, and though he thought it made him sound shallow, she'd always bordered on the plain side. He was quite happy to be proven incorrect, though, and chided himself for not taking a better look before. Sally-Anne Perks wasn't one to flaunt what she had, but she certainly had the ability to turn heads when she wanted.
"I think I'll leave this one in your capable hands, Potter," Seamus muttered in Harry's ear, clapping him on the back before blending in with the crowd.
"I liked your speech," Sally said. She swayed in front of him. Whether it was from the alcohol or the music, Harry wasn't sure.
"Thanks," Harry said, wondering if she was lying.
"Enjoying the party, Harry?"
"It's not bad, I guess," Harry said. "I preferred The Biting Fairies to these, though. Until they put my name in a line, that is."
"Oh, that's one of my favourite songs!" Sally said, grinning lazily at him.
"Is it really?"
Sally nodded, seemingly unable to stop. "Do you mind if ask you a question, Harry?"
Harry only just heard her speak over the music. Sally spoke quietly at the best of times, which he had always found ironic considering the girl usually had enough to say when she really got going on a subject.
"Go for it."
Sally took a step forward, leaving barely enough room for the bottle of Firewhiskey to fit between their chests. "How do you it, Harry?"
"Do what?"
"Stay so bloody calm and in control! You never used to be; how are you now? Everyone could always read you like an open book, but you've changed. You don't suddenly lose your temper anymore. Do you even get angry anymore?"
"Wow, okay," Harry said, shaking his head. "Do you fancy having this conversation sitting down?"
"Oh, please," Sally said, pulling on his arm and directing him to the nearest free table. "Now, answer the question."
"Well, Dumbledore taught me a little technique," Harry said, and he wasn't going to explain what it actually was. "It helps to keep my emotions in check. Don't get me wrong, I get bloody furious sometimes, but I can control myself a bit better these days."
"Except when you're on a broom, right?" Sally grinned.
"I have been known to lose my cool."
From the corner of his eyes, Harry spotted Seamus making a complete fool out of himself. Harry was glad he'd sat down. He'd thought he'd had enough to drink to get away with a dance or two, but he probably had less rhythm than Seamus.
"With everything's that happened in your life, how come you never let it get to you?" Sally asked, cocking her head to one side. "I can remember you blowing your lid before."
The conversation was heading near Lord Voldemort territory, a subject Harry hardly liked to think about, let alone talk about. Speaking about it at a party felt even worse, somehow.
"I don't know," Harry lied.
"I thought you'd become an Auror after Hogwarts, you know," Sally said, placing her glass down on the table.
"Most people did," Harry said.
"Why didn't you? Was it just because you wanted to play professional Quidditch?"
"No." Harry shook his head. "That was only part of the reason. I didn't fancy catching petty criminals. I didn't fancy having to constantly be looking over my shoulder either. I'm never going to be completely safe as it is, and I didn't want to make things ten times worse for myself."
Sally frowned. "I thought you liked the danger, though? You used to say it was exciting."
"That probably wasn't the best way to explain it," Harry said reluctantly. "It's not the same sort excitement as flying a broom, for instance. It's more the adrenaline buzz that keeps you going."
"I can understand that," Sally said.
"Too many people in this room can."
"So, you and Smith still have problems, then?" Sally abruptly changed topics, welcomed greatly by Harry.
"You could say that," Harry said dryly.
"You know, I had a thing with Smith once," Sally said.
"Really?"
Sally nodded, her blue eyes surprisingly bright. "It ended a while back."
"Why's that?" Harry asked, filling Sally's glass with more Firewhiskey before filling up his own.
"He got jealous, I suppose."
"Of what?"
"Oh, it was silly really. It was just us girls constantly talking about you."
Harry paused. Sally was looking at him far too innocently for his liking. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn't stop fidgeting with the hem of her dress.
Harry sat forward. "You were talking about me?"
"We were."
"About what?"
"Well, you know, the usual stuff," Sally said, picking up her glass and taking another long drink, wincing when she realised it was pure Firewhiskey. "We used to talk about how brave you were. Things like that. Now I come to think of it, that war never really got started like we all expected, did it?"
"Nope," Harry said quickly. "That's beside the point. So, he got jealous because of me, eh? What could you have possibly said to make him break up with you?"
Sally missed Harry's grin. "Oh, well, it's a bit embarrassing really."
Harry's grin grew wider as he urged her to continue. "I won't judge you. I'm quite flattered, really."
"Well, we all said the same thing," Sally said, cringing. "The moment you arrived with help on that day, we hadn't really thought it at the time, but that was the topic of most of our discussions."
"It was?" Harry asked. He couldn't really remember too much of that day, and he didn't really have any real urge to suddenly recall any of it.
Sally blushed, acting completely different to what Harry had seen in the past, which admittedly hadn't been all that much. "It was that you just looked so… powerful. Everyone had always heard the stories, but that was the first time we'd really seen you in action. You were completely different. I think most girls had a crush on you after that. You were so irresistible. You were like the knight in shining armour that every girl had been told about before they went to sleep when they were little."
"It wasn't anything like that, though," Harry said, feeling a little confused. "Thank you for the compliment, of course, and I mean that, but there was nothing knight in shining armour about it. You saw what happened. I can't remember a lot, but it wasn't, err, very nice."
"No, it wasn't," Sally agreed. "That's probably why so many girls did fall for you, though. None of us really knew what was happening. We'd all had an idea of what war was like, and although it never actually got that far, the battle really hit home. We didn't really stand a chance and we knew that. None of us could do anything. Our spells just weren't coming out. We froze, we were terrified, and then you turned up looking like you'd just rolled out of bed."
"I'd actually been in the shower," Harry muttered.
"You gave us hope, Harry." Sally smiled. "You didn't look like any of us. You weren't too scared to try. You started casting like you'd been doing it for years, and I guess you had been."
"Um, yeah…" Harry said, finding himself way out of his depth. "So, why are you bringing this up now?"
Sally pointed to the doors. Harry looked up and wasn't at all surprised to see Dean leaving the hall, hand-in-hand with Susan, the couple barely restraining themselves until they could find someplace quiet.
"Oh, let's hope they don't forget like Seamus usually does." Harry groaned.
"What's that?"
"He keeps on forgetting to put a silencing charm around his bed," Harry said, earning a laugh from Sally.
"Well I think they have the right idea," Sally said.
"You do?" Harry asked. "Why? Do you realise how annoying it is?"
"No, not Seamus, I'm talking about Dean and Susan." Sally looked at him expectantly.
"Oh, I see. So– wait, what?" Harry eyes widened ever so slightly. "You don't mean…"
Sally nodded quickly, covering her smile.
"I hope I'm not being too forward," Harry said, his voice catching in his throat, "but do you want to–"
"Merlin, you've finally realised!" Sally suddenly said, jumping out of her chair and straight onto Harry's lap, her lips crashing in to his, nearly sending them both sprawling over the back of Harry's chair.
For a brief moment, Harry found himself stumped, but his brain completely shut off a moment later.
Sally pulled back slightly, keeping a tight grip on Harry's shirt. "Were you ever going to try and sleep with me?"
"I was planning on trying later," Harry said honestly. "Well, I was until you brought up the damn war."
Sally nodded, her eyes on his lips, and Harry had the distinct impression she wasn't listening to a word he was saying. "The subtle approach doesn't work at all on you, does it?"
Harry had to wonder how talking about Lord Voldemort could be interpreted as a come-on, but the thought was forcibly removed as Sally kissed him again. It started to get sloppy when it stopped again.
"Didn't the hints about you being all powerful give it away?" Sally asked, taking another break from Harry's lips.
"As soon as you mentioned jealousy, then yeah," Harry said, allowing himself to be led out of the hall. "To be honest, though, when you brought Voldemort into the conversation, sex was the last thing on my mind."
"I don't normally do something like this," Sally said seriously, and confirmed to Harry that she wasn't listening to a word he was saying. "I've wanted this for a few years, but what girl hasn't?"
Harry let the comment slide, feeling quite bewildered by the whole conversation. He wasn't a stranger to girls and their often confusing ways, but he'd never had a conversation quite like the one he'd just had.
As Sally led him out of the hall and Seamus threw him a thumbs-up, Harry could only wonder why the same type of thing hadn't happened on a more regular basis.
Harry soon took control of their path, leading them to Gryffindor tower. His earlier worry of impending doom seemed to be mistaken after all. Sometimes, alcohol didn't have to mean a bad night for all involved.
Harry stepped forward out of thin air, somehow managing to maintain his balance, although it wasn't at all graceful. Next to him, Albus Dumbledore looked out across the scenery, a small smile adorning his lips and a sparkle lighting his eyes.
Dumbledore sucked in a large breath, letting it out slowly. "I find there is nothing quite like the smell of fresh air on a summer's day. Don't you think so, Harry?"
Harry eyed his Headmaster's rosy cheeks with some amusement, still feeling far too giddy from the moment he'd received the letter and everything else that had come afterwards.
"It's wonderful."
"Shall we proceed?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing to the dirt path that cut through the grass.
Harry nodded and started walking with his Headmaster turned Mentor, and who he now considered a friend. Dumbledore seemed happy to admire the scenery surrounding them, which Harry admitted was somewhat striking.
As far as the eye could see, the landscape consisted of rolling valleys, with grass of seemingly all shades of green. Small patches of trees dotted the hills. With the sun shining high in the sky, the scene was perfectly picturesque. Despite the stunning beauty on show, Harry's attention was on his upcoming trial.
The path they were following led directly to the entrance to Puddlemere United's training facility.
Dumbledore had been standing outside the school gates when Harry made out his way out. Apparently, because Harry was still at Hogwarts, someone from the school or a guardian had to accompany him. Harry knew it was bullshit, as Dumbledore was just a big Puddlemere fan.
A short while later, Dumbledore stopped. Harry looked up. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but Puddlemere's ground wasn't what he'd had in mind.
An old manor house sat majestically in the middle of nowhere, with a high stone wall surrounding the property. Inside and outside the wall, tall trees stood like skyscrapers, creating large areas of shade. A gap in the wall gave way to wrought iron gates, which, due to a gap in the leaves, glistened in the sun. In the middle of the gates, the club emblem of two crisscrossed bulrushes against a blue background was proudly displayed.
Near the top of the gates, numbers had been woven into the iron. The gold numbers '1163' demanded attention.
"The year the club was founded," Dumbledore informed Harry, who already knew.
As if they sensed their presence, the gates clicked, opening away from Harry and Dumbledore. The emblem and numbers split directly in half, allowing way for the two visitors.
Harry followed Dumbledore inside, where the path had turned into a smooth, stone finish. On either side of them, flowers and herbs of all kinds blossomed brilliantly. At a guess, Harry thought they were used by the club's Healers so expenses could be cut.
"I think you'll find yourself having a splendid time here," Dumbledore said, obviously enjoying himself. He turned to Harry. "Lemon drop?"
"Please," Harry said, taking one of the sweets gratefully and popping it into his mouth.
The manor looked much taller now, now that he was closer. The old stone wouldn't find itself out of place at Hogwarts. It occurred to Harry that the two buildings were built around the same period, give or take a few years. Three steps led to a large oak door, nestled under a low archway.
Dumbledore took the initiative, knocking the door with an old, brass knocker. He took a step back and beamed proudly at Harry. Harry could only offer a weak grin. The lemon drop was all but gone already, and he could feel sweat building on the back of his neck, where his hair was sticking uncomfortably.
"Oh! Professor Dumbledore, sir!" A young woman smiled widely at them, showing perfectly white teeth. Dressed in smart, navy robes, which hugged her figure in the best way possible, Harry was aware he was ogling her.
"How are you, my dear?" Dumbledore said, stepping through the threshold with Harry following behind.
"Oh, I'm very happy, sir," the girl gushed, wringing her hands nervously.
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Is Philbert Deverill here, by any chance?"
"He's in a meeting at the moment, sir," the girl said hurriedly. "I'll let him know you've arrived."
"Thank you, Miss Richards."
Miss Richards hurried away, giving Harry time to inspect the place. They were obviously standing inside a large entrance hall. Two chandeliers sparkled from the high ceilings. A large, velvet rug of the deepest red had been laid out in the middle of a marble floor.
"Miss Richards is an old student," Dumbledore explained at Harry's unasked question. "A very popular young woman."
Harry nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. It wasn't hard to spot why Miss Richards had been popular at Hogwarts.
Directly opposite the doors, a desk had been placed near the back wall, with two doors on either side. Gold plaques were at eye-level, which read 'Pitch' on the door to the right and 'Inside Training Facilities' on the left.
Paintings, which were oddly quiet and unmoving, all seemed to be staring at the ceilings. On the right wall, the stone cut off, leading to a grandiose stairway where Miss Richards had ran off to. On the left wall, three doors were all shut, again with plaques on them, saying 'Press Room' on the one furthest left, 'Dining Room' on the middle door, and 'Portkey Travel' on the right.
A large, leather sofa was situated along the right wall, which was where Harry and Dumbledore chose to sit and wait.
"Do not judge on your first impression, Harry," Dumbledore warned, having spotted the frown marring Harry's features.
"I'd expect someone like Malfoy to live in a place like this," Harry said in disgust.
Dumbledore ignored the tone of Harry's voice. "Just imagine, Harry, what the press would say if they walked in and saw your type of decoration. I daresay they would be horrified!"
Harry took the insult against his style without batting an eyelash. "It's the press, though!"
"You may not care for the press, and I find myself agreeing with your views on them, but the club has its image to protect," Dumbledore explained. "Puddlemere United prides itself on style, passion, and above all else, modesty."
"This is what you call modest?" Harry asked dumbly, pointing to the chandeliers above.
"Of course not," Dumbledore said, looking aghast. "This is just a first impression, but first impressions are not always the truth."
"Then why make the club look so… posh?"
"Compared to the Malfoy home, Harry, this is living in squalor."
Harry nodded to himself, hardly understanding a word. The people within the club were supposed to be humble, but the club itself gave the impression of grandeur. Harry figured the press would be satisfied with how everything was presented, but Harry thought it was highly hypocritical.
"There is a rumour circulating that the Malfoys have peacocks," Dumbledore said quite suddenly, his moustache twitching.
"I'm not surprised," Harry muttered. Dumbledore, for all his quirks, bad habits, and mastery of magic, was quite the gossip when he wanted to be.
Thankfully, Harry and Dumbledore didn't have to wait very long before a man Harry instantly recognised, having seen him enough in the sports section of newspapers, greeted them. His name was Philbert Deverill, and he was the manager of Puddlemere.
He had short, black hair, and held himself with a purpose, his hands clasped behind his back and his head held high. With small, dark eyes, he looked between Harry and Dumbledore, before he smiled, extending a hand.
"It's nice to see you back at our club, Professor Dumbledore," he said, before he turned to Harry. "You must be Harry Potter?"
He surprised Harry with how soft spoken he was, but there was an authority behind his words that Harry fully expected. Harry discreetly attempted to wipe his sweaty hand on his jeans before he shook Philbert's hand.
"I am," Harry said. "It's nice to finally be here."
Philbert chuckled softly. "Welcome to Puddlemere United, Harry. Good luck today, I've heard nothing but good about you."
"Really?" Harry blurted out.
"In Quidditch terms, at least," Philbert amended. "Anyway, on to business. Shall we proceed outside?"
A delighted Dumbledore followed Philbert through the door with the sign that said 'Pitch', and after a deep breath, Harry walked in after them.
The simple corridor surprised Harry. He had expected the décor to be just the same as the entrance hall. Instead, candles lit the way, showing a well-worn floor. Doors were a few meters apart on both walls, every one of them shut tightly, giving no indication what lay behind. At a guess, Harry thought maybe they were store rooms, containing the kits, equipment, and whatever else was needed.
"Is Harry the only one taking part today?" Dumbledore asked up ahead.
"I'm afraid so," Phil said. "I've had scouts looking all over Europe for months, but not many players want to make the trip over to England. We're not the only team that can't get any foreigners just yet. We were hoping that would change now that English teams are in the European Cup every season instead of every four, but we've had no such luck."
It wasn't until they reached the very end of the corridor that Harry finally figured out the whole place had been magically expanded. There was simply no way for everything to fit otherwise. At the end of the corridor, glass doors were already wide open, where Harry caught his first glimpse of the pitch. Before they could continue outside, Philbert stopped.
"The twins and Wood have told me a fair amount about you, Harry; the player as well as the person," he said. "I expect you'd fit well within my team and around the club, so I wish you the very best of luck."
"Thank you," Harry said, smiling nervously.
"It's true that you support this club, correct?" At Harry nod, Philbert continued, his tone suddenly a bit more demanding. "Then I expect you to listen. If you make your way into my team, you must follow my orders. Question my tactics all you want, I like to see someone who can think for themselves, but you never refuse to play. Is that clear?"
Harry didn't care too much for rules, but he always found a way around that by getting friendly with whoever was in charge. He suspected it wouldn't be quite as simple as that with Phil.
Harry nodded, suddenly feeling like he was being tested.
"Speak up, if you would," Phil ordered.
"Yes, sir," Harry said automatically.
He felt like a first year all over again. Dumbledore looked like he was thoroughly enjoying watching Harry comply with rules.
"If you do make the team, you'll have to vocalise a lot better on the field, although I suppose I can forgive you for now," Phil said, looking like he wanted to write that down on a notepad and remind Harry every other day. "You are new, after all, I suppose I can let it go."
Harry stayed silent, not trusting his brain or his mouth. They usually got him in trouble, and there was no way he was going to mess this up before it had even begun.
"Professional Quidditch is a lot different than how it's played at Hogwarts," Phil said, a commanding tone in his voice that demanded Harry listen. Harry was used to that from certain members of the Order of the Phoenix, but if you didn't listen to orders there, it usually meant a horrible injury or death. It had been an incentive to listen and learn.
"You'll find even our training games are faster than what you're used to, so I don't expect you to keep up with our squad," Phil continued. "The Snitch is faster, more agile, and can best even the very good players. The Bludgers come at you with more power, with more speed, and if they hit you, you'd best learn to deal with the pain. You'll also find that the fouls you're used to being called will not be fouls here. However, I do want to see effort and composure today. I've watched you play, Harry, and you wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were good enough."
"I'll do my best," Harry said for lack of anything better to say.
"Don't worry too much about fitness levels today," Phil said. "If you're under the usual level that the squad are, which you will be, that can easily be worked on."
"I'm not unfit or anything," Harry said before he could stop himself.
"I never said you were," Phil said after a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "My team just happen to be athletes, ones who work hard day in day out to get where they are."
Harry found himself nodding. "I've seen the difference in the twins. My apologies."
"To the changing rooms, then," Phil said, brushing off the apology. "Everything will be explained if you make it, but I much prefer getting the warnings off before we start."
The first thing Harry noticed was the smell. A mixture of sweat, mud, grass, and lemon assaulted his nose. The lemon smell he knew well from the Hospital Wing, as that was the odour that accompanied most cleaning and disinfectant charms.
The high arched windows bathed the room in sunlight. There were five rooms in one as far as Harry could tell. The first room had benches lining the walls, with robes hanging from hooks, and clothes scattered across the benches. It was during the off-season, so why there were still clothes hanging around, Harry didn't know.
"As you can tell, these are the changing rooms," Phil said dryly. "There are two rooms, one each for the witches and another for us lads. Showers are behind me, and in there is where you don't want to end up."
Harry glanced to where Phil pointed, grimacing slightly. The treatment room didn't look very inviting.
"Your training robes are already hanging up," Phil continued, pointing to the end of the bench. "Meet us outside when you're ready."
Harry nodded, darting towards his kit as soon as Dumbledore and Phil left the room. The robe was a dark blue with two yellow bulrushes across his chest, starting at his hips and ending at his shoulders. Harry started on the protective equipment first.
There seemed to be protective gear for his entire upper half, with his chest and forearms covered well. There was a bit more than what he was used to wearing, but the beauty of magic ensured his manoeuvrability wouldn't be compromised. In fact, everything seemed to melt into his skin; he could hardly tell he was wearing much. Harry had been told that as much protective kit as players wore, it didn't really do all that much protecting.
With his shin guards on, Harry pulled over the simple white t-shirt and trousers that all Quidditch teams wore under their robes.
As soon as his boots were tied, Harry looked at himself in the mirror on the back of the door. He was about to try to earn a contract for a professional Quidditch team. He couldn't quite believe it.
Harry hurried outside and his breath caught in his throat. He took everything in eagerly, spinning on the spot to look at as much as possible.
The oval pitch was bigger than the Hogwarts pitch, with small stands surrounding the outline of the field. Men and women were sat up in the seats, laughing at an unheard joke. Harry recognised one of the men as Phil's assistant, but the others were completely new to him.
Huge blackboards hung in the sky near to the actual building, currently wiped clean and not full of plays and tactics.
There were other pitches, too, although not all of them looked strictly like they were used for Quidditch. Some were completely free of anything to do with Quidditch. Harry suspected they were used for other training routines.
Phil looked up as Harry approached. "As I'm sure you know, we've just finished the season. As vice-captain, Wood offered to come in and help with your trial."
Harry glanced around, unable to spot his old captain.
"He'll be around the side, getting the equipment ready," Phil said.
"Oh, I brought my Firebolt," Harry said quickly, pulling out his shrunken broomstick.
Phil raised an eyebrow. "Very well, un-shrink that. The twins should be here any moment now. Merlin knows where they've got to."
"I'm not going up against another Seeker?"
"Ackerley's with Wood now," Phil said.
Harry's stomach dropped at the name. Stewart Ackerley was the starting Seeker for Puddlemere and considered one of the best in the league. He was also in his mid-twenties, an experienced player at the top his game.
"Huh," Harry said.
Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth, looking inordinately pleased.
"Albus," Harry said.
"Hm?"
"Could you un-shrink this, please? My wand's in the changing rooms."
"Certainly, Harry," Dumbledore said, un-shrinking the broom before Harry had time to blink. He hadn't even seen Dumbledore move his hand, let alone his wand.
"Thanks," Harry said gratefully.
"Coach!"
Harry stiffened at the shout, recognising it immediately as Fred Weasley, who pushed open the double doors theatrically. Harry was sure the door had been open when he'd walked out. George was by his side, grinning as widely as his twin. They shot Harry a thumbs-up.
"Weasley!" Phil barked, pointing at George.
"I haven't done a thing," George protested immediately.
Phil narrowed his eyes. "I don't mean that! Go and find what's taking Wood and Ackerley so long. They're in the broom shed."
George paused, as if unsure to go where everyone knew his mind had wandered off to. Never one to back down from anything, he went there.
"In the broom shed, gaffer?" George said suggestively. "I never knew they swung that way!"
Phil looked like McGonagall usually did when dealing with the twins and Harry; as if he was about to be struck by a severe migraine. "Just go and get them!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" George literally saluted, marching off to the right. Where he'd learnt of saluting or marching, Harry didn't have a clue, as the magical world didn't have any equivalent to Muggle soldiers.
Dumbledore's chuckling turned everyone's stares on him.
"I must say," he said to Fred, "it feels wonderful to watch you two when you're not under my authority."
Fred brightened even more than his twin, if that was at all possible. "Thank you, sir."
Phil growled. "How you never expelled them, I'll never know!"
"They amused him too much for that," Harry said.
Phil turned to him. "From what I've heard, you should've been expelled more times than them."
Harry gulped, thankfully saved by George sauntering back to them, returning with a confused looking Oliver Wood and Stewart Ackerley.
"Harry, it's good to see you again!" Oliver greeted, smiling brightly as soon as he saw Harry. He nearly crushed Harry's hand when he shook it, showing just how much training Oliver had gone through since he'd joined the club. He hadn't grown taller, but he now looked somewhat menacing with his broad shoulders.
Harry winced at the pressure Oliver had applied in the handshake. "You've been on the weights, I see."
Ollie just laughed, scratching the light stubble on his chin. "I look like a proper Keeper now, don't I?"
Harry pulled a face and flexed his fingers.
"Let me introduce you to Stewart Ackerley," Phil said. "Quickest catch of the Snitch last year, as well as capturing the little bugger over twenty times."
Harry didn't bother saying he already knew.
"Heard a lot about you, Potter, but who hasn't?" Ackerley said, looking delighted with himself. Despite being bigger built, his handshake was surprisingly gentle.
"So, you're the poster boy of Puddlemere," Harry said, eyeing the taller man up and down. "Can't see why, myself."
Ackerley looked momentarily taken aback, before he clapped Harry on the back, his blue eyes sparkling. "You'll fit right in here, Potter!"
There was a reason Stewart Ackerley was the poster boy of Puddlemere. With his arm slung over Harry's shoulders, Harry had a close-up view of what the ladies deemed to be the sexiest man in Quidditch. It wasn't hard to see why, really. The fact that women all over Britain would kill to be in his position right now. Not a strand of his blond hair looked out of place, and his natural good-looks and easy grin had made him an instant hit.
"I've got to get through this," Harry muttered. It was a matter of pride.
"HA!" Ackerley waved his hand as if to shoo Harry's worries away. "These trials are just formalities. You'll do fine, Potter."
With Ackerley's aftershave threatening to get Harry high before he'd even been in the air, he could only smile and breathe through his mouth.
"All right, enough flirting, you two," Phil called, earning a chuckle from the twins, but they never needed a reason to laugh. "Wood, I want you to act as Chaser today. Block him off like Bradley's so good at. Don't let him rest for a moment."
Oliver grinned at Harry, looking delighted at the prospect of going up against the younger man. Oliver Wood had always been an easy-going type of guy until he stepped over the white line. As soon as game time came around, it was like he was a completely different person.
"You two," Phil continued, nodding at the twins. "Make yourselves useful with the Bludgers. Give him hell."
Oliver's grin was matched by the twins. The three of them flew off to the main pitch, the chest clutched under Oliver's arm.
Ackerley still had his arm around Harry's shoulders as Phil turned to them. "Don't go easy on him," Phil warned. "I want you to test him to his very limit."
Ackerley nodded, sliding on to his broom. He patted Harry on the back, winked for good measure, and kicked off.
Harry's whole body seemed to tense up. He could feel his hands shaking and his eyes were wide, but his adrenaline was starting to kick in. His foot tapped a beat on the hard ground beneath him.
"I only want to see how you handle flying and basic tests today," Phil said. He smiled encouragingly at Harry. "If you get on the team, you'll have plenty of time to get up to speed on your fitness, you'd learn the drills, and you'd get better with hard work and playing time. Just try and keep up today, and enjoy yourself."
Bolstered by Phil's words, Harry swung his Firebolt around and jumped on. His hands were steady on the handle of his broom, which vibrated in anticipation. He knew he had it in him. He'd flown against Krum before. He may not have come anywhere close to beating him, but he'd done better than a lot of professional Seekers.
"Good luck, Harry," Dumbledore said.
Harry nodded in thanks, before he joined the others in the air, determination filling him. Harry felt decidedly out of place. He took a deep breath, forced a smile, his anticipation at its maximum. He had to enjoy today, otherwise he'd never get through the test.
"What's first, then?" Harry asked.
"Warm-up," Ollie said. "We'll show you our usual routine."
For the next five minutes, the five of them flew around the pitch, gradually picking up speed after each lap. Phil watched on from the stands, seated next to Dumbledore, who looked ready to join the players in his excitement. The rest of the Puddlemere staff were sat around them, their quills and parchment ready.
"Normally," Fred said after they'd stopped, "we run a few laps around the pitch, but you don't need to worry about that today."
"Just copy what we're doing, Harry," Ollie said, proceeding to lead in the team in different stretches involving their whole bodies.
Harry had a difficult time keeping up. One stretch involved grabbing his hands behind his back when one hand was over his shoulder and the other under his arm, which he thought was impossible until he managed to touch the tips of his fingers. After another few minutes of Ollie correcting him, Harry finally had his chance to prove himself.
"This is just a straight out race," Ackerley said. "You're obviously quite comfortable on a broom, but this is about speed and agility."
"This isn't around the pitch," George chimed in. "This is from the goalposts, straight line down the pitch, and turn at the other posts."
"You can use whichever part of your body you want to turn, but you need to do it fast," Ollie said. "After every two lengths, whoever's in last position drops out of the race."
Harry nodded in understanding, joining the four of them at the posts. The five of them lowered themselves to their broom, each of them using a different technique, apart from the twins, who did everything basically the same. Harry's grip was similar to Ackerley's. Both hands firmly gripped near the tip of the handle. It was known as the Seeker's Grip, an unimaginative name but one that was a starting point for any Seeker. You could loosen it at any time, and both hands were in prime position for the catch.
It was at that exact moment that Harry realised the people he was about to fly against were all members of the England National Squad. All of them were going to Greece in a few months to compete in the World Cup. Harry couldn't believe it. His trial was against the promising talent of England, the players that were quickly becoming stars and grabbing the sporting headlines.
Ollie led the countdown.
"3… 2… 1, GO!"