Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: Once again, big thanks to silentclock for looking over this, and to Nerox for continuing to help out with the story.
Chapter Four
Harry woke to the sound of the rain hammering against the Hospital Wing's windows. With a tired groan and a half-hearted glare at the grey skies, Harry sat up, wincing at the pain in his body.
"It's good to see you're finally awake," Daphne said.
Harry looked over to see the she was also still in bed, her blonde hair a mess and her vest crinkled. His eyes stayed glued to the vest for longer than was polite, if at all polite in the first place.
"What time is it?" Harry asked with a loud yawn, his head smacking back down on to his pillow a second later, the image of the vest burnt forever into his brain.
"Time for breakfast," Daphne said dryly. "You'll need to be checked out as well."
Harry chuckled to himself. "You can check me out whenever you want, Daphne."
"I had a good eyeful yesterday," Daphne hit back immediately.
"You loved it," Harry said with complete confidence. He finally sat back up as Madam Pomfrey poked her head around her door, looking wide-awake.
"Oh, good, I forgot you were here," Madam Pomfrey said. "If you could check up on Harry, Miss Greengrass?"
Harry grinned fiercely.
"She must have heard us talking," Daphne grumbled as she pushed the covers off her legs.
Harry stared, watching as Daphne's bare feet hit the floor. She grabbed her wand off the bedside table and sauntered over to him, well-aware he was staring at her legs.
Harry's eyes finally drifted back up Daphne's body, settling on the small grin playing on her lips.
"Lay back, Potter," she said.
Harry did as he was told. Daphne closed the curtains around the bed with a flick of her wand.
"Any reason for the privacy?" Harry asked.
"There is, actually," Daphne said. "For exactly that reason. Privacy."
"Err, there's no-one else here," Harry said slowly.
Daphne ignored him and checked outside the curtains for a few seconds, before she turned to Harry. She didn't say anything; instead she simply sat on the edge of the bed.
"What's first, then?" Harry asked.
"Your ribs," Daphne said, gently pulling the covers from Harry's chest.
Harry looked down and winced. His entire left side was blackened and bruised.
"I'll have to put more salve on that," Daphne said as she ran her wand down the length of Harry's side. "How's your jaw today? Madam Pomfrey managed to fix you up properly, but you're starting to bruise."
Harry gingerly ran a hand across his jaw line, wincing at the pain even his light touch caused. "I'm surprised I can speak without it hurting."
Daphne nodded. "You'll need another Pain-Reliever for that, then. I'll look at your back in a second, but how's your ankle? Poppy said it was only sprained, so it should be better today."
Harry had forgotten all about the hit he'd taken to the ankle, and so he shrugged. "I have no idea, I can't feel anything. I don't know how it'll be to walk on, though."
Daphne manoeuvred her way down the bed, pulling back the covers off Harry's legs. She gently touched his ankle, causing Harry to feel only a dull pain.
"Maybe some more of that magic salve?" Harry suggested.
Daphne nodded. "All right, get on your stomach."
"You really need to work on your bedside manner," Harry said as he turned over on to his stomach.
Daphne shook her head. "You're not funny, Potter."
Before Harry could answer back to that, Daphne climbed on the bed, seating herself at the very top of Harry's legs.
"I'm not sure this is the correct way for a Healer to inspect patients either," Harry said, groaning as Daphne shifted on top of him. "Do you do this with all your patients?"
"Only for the lucky ones," Daphne muttered absently. "The swelling seems to have reduced, but I'll put some more salve on you."
Harry nodded. "Thank you," he said, his voice muffled through the pillow.
Harry heard Daphne reach over to the bedside table and pick up the Healing Salve. Like the day before, she gently rubbed a small amount in to his lower back, spreading it out with her small hands. Harry could only groan in contentment, enjoying the massage even through the dull pain that was slowly being reduced.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" Daphne asked, interrupting Harry's bliss.
Harry thought about it for a moment. "The catered meals. They say the pro teams get a buffet-style set-" Harry cringed as she applied the salve less gently than before.
Daphne looked at him expectantly.
"Fine, fine," Harry said. "If you really want to know, it's all about the women. They can't resist a finely-tuned athlete who can take a hit or-" Harry's own groan of pain cut him off mid-sentence, the cause being Daphne actively applying pressure to a painful bruise.
Harry didn't need another look for him to joke again.
"It's the thrill of it, I guess. The speed, the competition, the flying, it's just ... I can't really put it into words, you know?" He paused, smiling. "Besides, winning is worth all the bumps and bruises in the world."
Daphne gently pushed her fingers into Harry's flesh. "The problem is, Potter, you don't get bumps and bruises. That's what children get when they fall down. You get broken bones, muscle tears and dislocated limbs."
"Makes it worth it, like I said," Harry said with a simple shrug.
"A bit like how people say working for something makes it all the more special?"
"I guess, yeah," Harry said.
"You know you're going to be injured more often in Quidditch than you would have been if you'd been an Auror, right?" Daphne said.
Harry could only hum low in his throat, enjoying the massage far too much to reply.
"Right, that's your back done," Daphne said, slipping off Harry's legs much too soon for his liking.
Harry sighed as he turned back around, the pain in his back marginally reduced. "Thank you, some people pay a lot of money for a job not nearly as good as that."
"If you ever want another one, I'm willing to hear your price," Daphne said with a small smile.
Daphne continued her work, this time applying the salve on Harry's ribs. They were in a worse state than Harry's back. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey had quickly mended them the day before, but the bruising would take a few days to disappear.
"I'm not sure if winning a Quidditch match is worth the damage," Daphne said critically.
Harry chuckled. "Okay, imagine it a different way. You can have the best sex of your life, with multiple orgasms that just blow your mind, yeah?"
Daphne nodded uncertainly.
"You can only achieve that, though, if you're willing to go through a lot of disappointment and pain," Harry said, urging her to understand.
"Are you really comparing sex to winning a match?" Daphne asked critically. "Not just sex, either, but sadomasochism."
Harry frowned. "Okay, that may have been a bad example. Put it this way. To achieve the ultimate feeling, in this case your mind-blowing orgasms, you need to have a lot of disappointment first."
Daphne stared him, a perplexed look on her face. "I still can't believe you're comparing sex to winning a game."
"Not just a match, but the league," Harry said, his voice full of passion. "Or the European Cup. The World Cup would be the ultimate prize. I can't begin to understand the pure elation you'd feel if you won it."
"Do you think you'll achieve any of that?" Daphne asked.
The question took Harry by surprise. He didn't even know if Puddlemere wanted him yet, but the things he had mentioned were definitely things he wanted to win.
"Yeah." Harry nodded. "What's the point in doing something that takes so much work, so much pain and commitment, if you don't want to win everything there is to win?"
Daphne looked to be contemplating that as her hands absently massaged the salve into Harry's ribs. "Most players never make it big, right? How do you know you won't end up like all the other nobodies?"
Harry sat up as much as his ribs would allow him to. "Every player's different, that's obvious to anyone. It's the players who never allow themselves to feel they haven't got any more to give that are special. Some players haven't got the talent, or the skill, even if they have got the work ethic. Other players have got all that, and they've got the sheer desire to keep on winning."
"You have the talent, that's obvious even to me," Daphne said slowly, her hand paused on Harry's stomach. "Do you have the desire, though? Like you said, if you ever think there's nothing else to achieve, you might as well quit."
"Think of Viktor Krum," Harry said. "He's won the Bulgarian League four years in a row, he's won the European Cup twice, he's won the European Championship once, and he's got countless personal awards. He's been voted the best player in the world for the fourth year in a row, which is a new record. Nobody has ever done that before. He's the youngest person to ever achieve that honour in the first place. Why do you think he still plays?"
"He hasn't won the World Cup," Daphne said, not pausing for a second. It was well-known to even the Quidditch haters that Krum had yet to win the ultimate prize.
"That's only one reason, though," Harry said. "He'll win the World Cup one day, and it might even be in a few months, but it will happen. Even if he has to do it himself, he'll win it, but that's not the only reason he keeps on playing. He wants to leave a legacy. He wants to win everything he's already won again, and he wants to keep winning it."
"I can understand that," Daphne said, continuing to rub in the cream. "Do you think you'll ever be as good as Krum?"
"I highly doubt it," Harry said honestly, causing Daphne to look up at him in surprise. "He's a phenomenon, he really is. He caught the Snitch in a World Cup final at the age of seventeen. Yeah, they didn't win, but he still caught it. He's only three years older than me, but at my age he'd already won countless trophies, and he was the best player in the world then."
"You have a lot of respect for him, don't you?" Daphne said as she finished Harry's ribs.
Harry nodded. "He's a good guy, and I want to learn everything I can from him."
Daphne absently nodded, taking hold of Harry's sprained ankle and applying yet more cream. "You'll need a crutch to help you walk for a while," she said. "You won't be able to apply too much pressure on this foot."
Harry pulled a face. "Really? Damn it."
"At least you can whack people with it," Daphne said, amused.
Before Harry could think too much on using his walking stick to smack Smith over the head, Dumbledore poked his head around the door.
"Ah, Harry. How are you today?"
"Not feeling the best," Harry admitted. "I have to use a walking stick."
Dumbledore smiled as he strode over to the bed, bringing with him Hedwig, who sat regally upon his shoulder. "Give me a few years more, Harry, and I'll be relying on one of those myself."
"Anyone else your age would've needed one at least fifty years ago," Harry said.
Dumbledore chuckled good naturedly. "The wonders of magic, Harry. Now, you know Hedwig isn't strictly allowed to enter this part of the castle."
Harry nodded, smiling up at his owl. At Harry's call, she bounced her way down Dumbledore's outstretched arm, coming to a stop on Harry's lap.
"Sorry, sir, you were saying?" Harry said, idly scratching Hedwig's neck as she nuzzled into his palm.
"Yes, Hedwig delivered your letter to me," Dumbledore said, rooting around in his pocket.
"At least she's better behaved than you," Daphne muttered, finishing up on Harry's leg. "I'll go and get your stick."
"Here we are," Dumbledore said, pulling out a letter. "I haven't taken the liberty of reading it, but I can guess who it's from."
"I can see who it's from," Harry muttered, his stomach suddenly plummeting as he spotted the crest of Puddlemere. He refrained from tearing into the letter, and instead took a deep breath.
"I find it is better to do it quickly, Harry, rather than delay and ultimately prolong your disquiet," Dumbledore said gently.
Daphne arrived from the store room holding a wooden walking stick, refraining from speaking as she made her way over to them.
Harry took Dumbledore's advice and tore open the letter, his eyes racing over the words, barely taking them in.
"Well?" Daphne asked.
"They want a meeting later today," Harry said, his tone unbelieving. "I was sure I messed up."
"On the contrary, Harry, Phil was very impressed with your tenacity," Dumbledore said, sporting a large grin. "He was delighted with your work ethic and your ability to continue under extreme pressure."
Harry's lips erupted in a smile, matching Dumbledore's. "I can't believe it."
"What time do we have to go, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry looked back down at the letter, a deep feeling of satisfaction overcoming him. "Half past twelve." Harry continued reading. "I'm advised to bring with me a representative, or if I haven't got one, the club would provide me with one. Fancy a new title, Professor?"
"Of course," Dumbledore said, his tone suggesting it would be an offense to turn it down.
"Thank you," Harry said, looking through the letter again to make sure he had read correctly.
"Congratulations, Harry," Daphne said, smiling sincerely at him. "I expect Poppy will want you back here tonight."
Harry nodded happily, lifting Hedwig and kissing her right on the beak. The surprised owl could only flap her wings in agitation.
Harry and Dumbledore were once again outside the front gates of Puddlemere United. The gates opened, allowing the two men access to the old building. They jogged towards the front door to get out of the cold and wet, which only served to increase the pain in Harry's ankle. Dumbledore had actually supplied the necessary charms to keep the violent weather at bay, but it was as though Harry could still feel the rain battering against his body.
Just like the last time they were at Puddlemere's training ground, Dumbledore knocked three times on the brass knocker. This time, though, the two men stayed under the arch, where the floor was relatively dry compared to the larger puddles out in the open.
Miss Richard's face appeared as the door was flung open. "It's good to see you again, Headmaster!" she gushed, ushering them inside. "Hello, Harry."
Harry barely refrained from leering. Unlike last time, Miss Richards was not wearing a robe, but tight-fighting Muggle attire.
"Hi, Miss Richards," Harry said, glad to be inside again and out of the rain.
"Call me Emma, Harry," Emma said, smiling brilliantly at him. "Mr Deverill is waiting for you in his office. If you'd like to follow me."
Harry and Dumbledore followed Emma up the staircase. The décor still didn't sit well with Harry, but he could ignore the feeling in his excitement. Emma's arse was exactly at eye-level as she walked up the stairs in front of Harry, giving him something finer to look at than any chandelier.
"You're certainly given a lot to look at while you're here, aren't you?" Harry said appreciatively.
Emma looked over her shoulder to the innocent-looking Harry. Dumbledore smiled to himself, appearing to be highly interested in a sixteenth century painting of the then Seeker and Captain.
"Don't you like what's on show?" Emma asked in slight surprise. "Most people love to look around when they come here."
"Oh, some things aren't to my personal taste," Harry said easily. "I'd certainly like to have a much closer view at other things, though."
Emma simply smiled and led them the rest of the way up stairs, all the while with Dumbledore sending half-amused and half-warning glances at Harry. The corridor they walked down had a few doors on either side, ranging from the Director's office to the store room. Framed pictures and artwork covered the walls, showing various individual and team photos from the past to the present day.
"How long have you been working here, Emma?" Harry asked, managing to slide up next to the woman.
"Oh, about three years now," Emma said, glancing at Harry out of the corner of her eye as he hobbled alongside her.
"Do you like it?" Harry asked.
"It's okay," Emma said with a nod. "I get to meet some really interesting players, and I love the pay."
Harry slyly glanced at Emma. She was giving him nothing, simply answering his questions and nothing more. Her smile stayed in place, although it looked quite strained. That's when Harry noticed the diamond ring adorning the ring on her left hand.
"Who's the lucky guy?" Harry asked.
Harry had the conversation he was looking for. Emma's forced smile became real in the blink of an eye, her pale blue eyes suddenly sparkling.
"Oh! That would be Andrew," Emma said, going on to gush over her fiancé. "He plays on the team, you know? He's been here for two years, so that's where I met him. Everyone's saying he's the next star Chaser, you know?"
Harry rubbed his head wearily for the rest of way to Phil's office, wishing he'd never asked. Dumbledore's smug grin told Harry that the elder wizard had noticed the ring, and he had probably noticed the first time they'd been there.
Emma wasn't lying about her fiancé's skills on a broom either. Andrew Merton had signed up at the same time as Fred and George, and he had joined the twins in becoming star players in such a short length of time. Critics and fans alike all called him the next big thing.
Emma was still smiling as she knocked on a door, where a gold plaque said: Manager's Office, Philbert Deverill.
"Come in."
Emma pushed the door open. "Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore to see you, sir."
"Come on in," Phil said jovially, getting out of his chair as Harry and Dumbledore walked into the office.
The office was ordinary, with even more framed pictures covering bland, white walls. A large desk sat in front of a high window, where Phil had been sat a moment ago. On the other side of the desk, an old man turned in his chair, smiling widely at the visitors.
"That will be all," Phil said to Emma with a smile, quietly closing the door behind her before turning back to Harry and Dumbledore. "Would you like any refreshments before we get started?"
"No thanks," Harry said as Dumbledore also declined.
Phil gestured to the old man in the chair, who as of yet hadn't spoken. "I'd like to introduce you to the Chairman of Puddlemere United, Timothy Blenkinsop."
Timothy stood up and extended a hand, a kind smile on his wrinkled face, lighting up his brown eyes. "Please, call me Tim," he said, shaking Harry's hand in a firm grip, before greeting Dumbledore like an old friend.
"Right, on to business," Phil said, seating himself behind his desk.
Harry and Dumbledore took the two chairs opposite Phil, with Tim pulling out a stack of parchment.
"I know it's boring, but we hope we can achieve a deal that is in both of our best interests," Phil said. "Now, our offer to you is the same as we offer every player starting his first season. A one-year contract, with four-hundred Galleons a week."
Harry's jaw dropped slightly. "Four-hundred a week?"
"Being a Seeker, you also get an added bonus for every Snitch you catch," Tim said.
Harry was sure he misheard. He knew there was a lot of money being put into the game, but that seemed like an obscene amount of money for playing a sport.
"Everything appears to be in order," Dumbledore announced, placing down the parchment.
"Now, we'll assess your progress halfway through the season," Phil said. "If we're happy with what you've done up until that point, we may offer you an extension. If not, we'll wait until the season is over before deciding."
"Before we actually get to your signature, there is something we have to take into account," Tim said, pulling out another piece of parchment. He handed it to Dumbledore as he explained what he meant to Harry. "While we do have Healers working at the club, there is still a law within the game that states players need to have a personal Healer."
"A personal Healer?" Harry frowned. "Why have you got Healers at the club, then?"
"You grew up in the Muggle world, didn't you?" Phil said.
Harry nodded uncertainly.
"Think of the club Healers as paramedics, I think that's what they're called," Phil said. "The club's Healers treat the immediate injury any player picks up, but for your recovery, you need a personal Healer."
Harry frowned again. "Isn't that a bit stupid?"
"It comes from a time when Purebloods didn't trust anyone with their health," Tim explained. "They were usually wealthy men and women, and they usually had a family Healer already. There is a loophole in the law that allows you to use one of our Healers to treat you personally, but they would have to work for you. It's entirely your decision."
"Poppy would be happy to help you, Harry," Dumbledore suggested.
"Won't it be too much work for her?"
"I'll talk it over with her, I'm sure we'll come to a decision," Dumbledore said.
"If it's any consolation, there are people trying to get rid of that ridiculous law," Tim said.
"I think I'd prefer someone I trust," Harry admitted. "I trust Poppy with my life. I have trusted her with my life."
"If that's sorted?" Phil said, receiving nods all around. "Very well. On to your signature, Harry."
Harry felt a jolt run through his body at simply hearing those words being said, and the bright smile on his face refused to dim.
"If you're happy with everything, sign here," Tim said, placing his finger underneath a dotted line.
Harry dipped the offered quill into the inkpot with slightly shaking hands, scribbling his name on to the parchment.
"Please sign here as well," Tim said. Harry signed. "And here." Harry signed again. "And finally if you'd sign here."
Harry signed the last page with a flourish, his elation filling him, doubled with a sense of pride.
"We're happy to have you at Puddlemere, Harry," Tim said, shaking Harry's hand with a childlike enthusiasm.
"I'm afraid the day isn't over just yet," Phil said, getting to his feet. "The press are waiting for an official announcement. Now, we don't normally do this unless it's a big signing, but as it's you…"
"I understand," Harry said. He wasn't too pleased about having to speak to the very people who could spin a story on him on a rumour, but it was now a part of his job.
The four men continued out of the office and back across the hallway.
"First of all, Harry, you'll need to have a few pictures taken, but that shouldn't take more than five minutes," Phil said. "Then you'll have to speak to the press, but don't worry too much on that. I'll be next to you, as will be Tim. If you don't want to answer a question, I'm sure you know you don't have to, but be polite at all times."
Harry nodded at Phil's words as they made their way down the staircase, where a few voices could distinctly be heard from the press room. Harry didn't think they'd been there when he and Dumbledore had first arrived.
Dumbledore turned to Harry as they reached the bottom step. "I think that's my job done now, unless there's anything else?"
Phil shook his head. "Thank you, Albus, but the paperwork is all finished."
"Thank you for helping," Harry said, unable to hide the antsy feeling creeping up inside of him. He'd much prefer going head to head with Fred and George again than meeting the assembled press.
"Your father would be proud of you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "As would your mum, but your father was the Quidditch enthusiast."
With those parting words, Dumbledore left, taking with him a feeling of safety. Harry shook his head, clearing those thoughts away. He was no longer a school boy, discounting the fact that he didn't finish Hogwarts for another day. He wasn't a child anymore, he didn't need Dumbledore's protection any longer. He was a man now.
"Are you ready?" Phil asked, eyeing Harry carefully.
Harry held his head high. "Yeah. Let's do this."
Phil led the way into the press room. It was a large room, filled with journalists from what looked like all over the world. Cameras flashed immediately upon the door opening, as Phil led the way to the front of the room, where a long table had been set up. Three sets of glasses sat glistening side by side with three jugs full of sparkling water. Three microphones floated in mid-air, waiting to be used.
Harry took the middle chair in-between his new Manager and Chairman, his stomach knotted and his fingers clenched into his palm. The assembled journalists were already scribbling in their notepads.
"We'll do the photographs after this, Harry," Phil muttered.
A dark-haired man stood up. "Is everything all ready to begin?"
Phil looked to Harry, who shrugged. Phil nodded at the man who stood up.
"Crispin Cronk, Daily Prophet," Crispin said. "When did you first realise you wanted a career in the sport, Harry?"
"It's been a few years," Harry said as he filled his glass with water. He had told Crispin the truth, but thought it best to leave out that it had been just after Voldemort's death he had decided to concentrate on Quidditch.
"Would that happen to be around the time of You-Know-Who's death?" Crispin asked, his quill at the ready.
Harry sighed. "Yes, when Voldemort died it felt like the right course of action to pursue a career in Quidditch."
Most of the audience winced at Voldemort's name being said, causing Harry to roll his eyes. Phil sent him a warning look, which Harry suspected wasn't because he'd said the name, but because of the reason he'd said it.
A chubby woman stood up, her hair tied back in a ponytail and glasses pressed up against her eyes. "Sue Perkins, Witch Weekly."
Harry could only internally wince at what he expected to come. The fact that an average-looking woman was giving her readers weight-loss tips and beauty and fashion advice made Harry's day.
"Many of our readers are your age, Harry," Sue said. "Is there anyone special in your life? Or are you looking for your soul mate?"
Harry snorted loudly, quickly covering it up with a cough. He took a sip of water before he could answer.
"No," Harry said. "There isn't anyone special in my life. And really, a soul mate? Next you'll be asking me if I have soul bond with someone. I'm not looking for anyone either, my Godfather would never speak to me again if I got married as young as my father did."
Sue looked rather put out by Harry's answer, quickly sitting back down and scribbling furiously. A few of the journalists chuckled to themselves, giving Harry hope that they weren't all out for his blood.
"Soul bond?" Phil asked, his forehead creased in confusion.
"Don't worry about it," Harry said, waving his hand as if to shoo the matter away. "It's in a load of novels aimed at gullible teenage girls."
Crispin stood up again. "What do you hope to achieve in the upcoming season, Phil?"
Phil leaned forward with a hunger in his eye. "I hope to see my players grow, I want to see dedication and hard work, and above all else, I want to win the title."
"Do you think that will be possible? You have a good squad of players, but it's also a young squad."
"Everything's possible in sport, so yes, I do think it's a realistic goal," Phil said. "Yes, we have a young squad, but they played without fear last year. We have England internationals, and they're still young. They're only going to get better with time."
A large, bald-headed man stood up.
"Graham Hunter, pleased to meet you," Graham said with a diminished Scottish accent, as if he had been living in England for many years. He had a friendly, easy smile. "You're probably not aware, but I write for a few different magazines and newspapers. This is for the Puddlemere United Gazette. What are you hoping to achieve this year, Harry? As I'm sure you know, a lot is expected of you because of who you are, even if that is unfair. Do you think you can live up to the high expectations of the Puddlemere fans?"
Harry nodded at the friendly journalist. "I'm a Puddlemere fan myself, so I know all about the expectations at the club. I think the true fans will see that when I get my chance, I'll do my best to win and I'll always give everything. I think if I'm given a chance, then yes, I will eventually live up to the high expectations. For this first season, I hope to play as many games as possible. I hope I can help the club win as many trophies as possible for as long as I'm able."
"There are rumours that you're prone to losing your temper," Rita Skeeter said. "Is there any truth to that? Did you lose your temper in the match you played for Gryffindor against Slytherin?"
Harry's eyebrows slowly rose. "Err, that's not quite the full story. The Slytherin Seeker attempted to start a fight after I caught the Snitch and I retaliated."
"Why did Draco Malfoy attempt to start a fight?" Rita asked. "Was he jealous of losing? Angry?"
"You'll have to ask him about that," Harry said, itching to get off the topic of Malfoy and on to anyone other than Rita.
"Richard Bundy, Which Broomstick. Some people are saying you only got on the team because of your fame," Richard said. "Knowing Phil as I do, I can assure them that isn't the case, but that won't stop people from believing it. Will you be able to handle the abuse from certain fans of other teams?"
Harry nodded with full certainty. "I've dealt with many things in my life, I'm sure I can handle it."
"What brooms have you flown, Harry?" Richard asked eagerly. "Would you mind giving a one-to-one interview sometime? I'm sure our readers would like to know your opinions on different brooms."
"Sure," Harry said. "Just owl me and I'll be happy to. I think we'll leave the question until then, shall we?"
"Looking forward to it, Harry," Richard said, smiling brightly as he sat back down.
Graham Hunter stood up again. "You're joining a team that's already full of growing stars and promising talent. Three of them actually played alongside you with Gryffindor. How does it feel to be back with them? Do you think that will make it easier to settle in?"
Harry took a sip of water. "It feels great to be here anyway, and being back with the guys just makes it that much better. Yes, I know their games and I know how hard they work in training, and they're good friends. They'll help me to settle in faster, there's no doubt about that."
"Stewart Ackerley has been the centre of attention this past year," Graham said. "In my humble opinion, he's the best Seeker playing in England today. What do you think your chances are of getting on to the team ahead of him? How highly do you rate your new teammate?"
"I think Stewart is one of the best Seekers in the world," Harry said. "It certainly won't be easy, but that's up to the manager. If he wants me to play me ahead of Stewart, I'll have to make sure he's made the right choice."
Sue Perkins cut in ahead of Graham's next question. "Stewart is regularly voted the sexiest Quidditch player in England. Will there be any tension between the two of you on that issue? Do you think he deserves the attention he gets from women?"
Harry shared a bemused look with Graham. Phil shifted uneasily in his seat.
"I honestly don't think Stewart cares about that issue, and neither do I," Harry said. "Stewart is a good-looking bloke, so I can see why any woman would want to be with him. I'm not sure why there would be any tension between us, and I'm not exactly sure why you brought it up."
"You're Harry Potter," Sue said. "Every woman is going to want a piece of you, can't you see that? Won't Stewart feel a little left out?"
Harry rubbed his forehead wearily. "No, there won't be any problems between us, and I wish you'd stop trying to create them before I've even had my first training session. I'm not sure what you mean about every women wanting a piece of me either. In my opinion, you're offending every female in the country by saying something like that."
"Offending women!" Sue said, red in the face. "I'm not sure you understood my question-"
"No, I understood what you meant perfectly," Harry said, holding a hand up to shut her up. Phil and Tim gave him warning glances. "Just- just… No, there won't be a problem between Stewart and I, and that's the end of the matter. Let's just leave it at that."
Sue sat back down in a huff, once again furiously writing in her notepad.
"Would it be okay for a one-on-one interview before the season starts?" Graham asked. "I'm sure you'd like the fans to get to know you a little better."
Harry nodded. "That's fine. I'd like to keep my private life just that, but I'm happy to talk all things Puddlemere."
"Harry!" Rita practically shouted, jumping in before anyone else could ask a question. "You've made a lot of enemies and rivals over the years. Do you think that tradition will continue into your career?"
"I don't fancy any more enemies, but a healthy rivalry is always good to improve at what you do," Harry answered.
"George Butler, Quality Quidditch," George said. "Viktor Krum recently said he was pleased to hear about you going into Quidditch. What do you make of the rumours about him moving to the English league?"
"Viktor could play in any team in the world," Harry said with a shrug. "I haven't spoken to him recently, so I wouldn't know if he wants to play in England or not."
Crispin Cronk stood up again. "Mr Blenkinsop, why did you choose Harry? Puddlemere now have three Seekers."
Tim leant forward. "I trust Phil to make the signings he feels are necessary. You'll have to ask him that question."
"If you'd answer that question, Phil," Crispin said.
"I watched Harry play for Gryffindor and I was impressed," Phil said. "He came for a trial and I thought he could be something special. Only time will tell, but I think it's far better to have him with us than with anyone else."
Harry slumped in his seat as the questions continued. Some questions were useless, such as what Harry's favourite colour was. The question had been for a child's magazine, but it had surprised him. Other questions were nothing to with Harry at all, but what he thought of matters within the Ministry.
It was another hour before the journalists were happy with what they'd got from him, and Harry couldn't wait to get out of there.
"We need photos first, Harry," Phil said, still looking as calm and as composed as ever.
Harry just nodded, following Phil's example and getting out of his chair.
With the press lined up with their cameras at the ready, Harry was presented with a Puddlemere shirt. It wasn't a game-robe, but a jersey with his name written across the back.
"You get to keep that," Phil said, holding one arm of the shirt between himself and Harry.
Harry held on to the arm of the thin fabric. "I'll be sure to frame it."
"Big smile now, Harry," Phil said as a hundred flashes blinded them.
It was another five minutes before Harry could leave, in which time he'd had to shake Phil's hand, shake Tim's hand, have a photo on his own holding the shirt, and the last photo with all three of them.
"You'll receive a letter to notify you when training begins," Phil said, shaking Harry's hand once more. "Do try to rest up, we don't want you tired before the season starts."
Harry nodded in thanks. "I'll see you in a few weeks."
It was in a conflicted state of mind that Harry arrived back outside the gates of Hogwarts. Most of the press conference had gone well; better than he'd thought it would have gone when it had been sprung on him. Of course, Harry realised it hadn't all been a good conversation about Quidditch; his face was surely going to make the next issue of Witch Weekly, courtesy of Sue Perkins.
The sun hung low over the mountains as Harry limped up the well-trodden path to the castle. The morning rain had disappeared sometime during his trip, leaving the air fresh. The glow from millions of candles shone from every window of Hogwarts, still giving him a sense of belonging. He spotted three figures walking towards him against the light flooding from the open doors, their faces blurred in the low light.
Harry recognised who they were a second later, having heard their laughter for the last seven years. Dean was chuckling at a bad joke Seamus had just told, Neville was shaking his head with a grin, and Seamus was laughing at himself.
"Oi oi!" Seamus called euphorically.
"Hasn't dinner started yet?" Harry asked in disappointment. "I haven't eaten all day."
"Where have you been, Potter?" Seamus asked, completely ignoring Harry's question. "You went for that trial and never came back! Everyone was talking about it after the Prophet said you'd been offered a contract. Where have you been?"
"He was injured," Neville said before Harry could respond. "He's got a walking stick."
"I was, actually," Harry said with a nod, holding up the wooden stick for the boys to inspect.
"Damn, that's a nasty bruise," Dean said, squinting as he took in the sight of Harry's jaw.
Harry rubbed his cheek. "It's not as bad as it looks."
"Come on," Seamus said, slinging his arm over Harry's neck and walking them towards the Black Lake. "I want to hear all about this trial."
"Do we have to?" Harry groaned, his walking stick taking most of his weight. "I can hardly walk any longer with this foot, and I have to get back to the Hospital Wing."
Seamus staggered to a stop barely ten yards from where they'd started walking. Dean frowned and Neville simply looked curious.
"What?" Harry asked defensively.
"You, of all people, want to go back to the Hospital Wing?" Neville asked dubiously.
Harry glanced at each of their disbelieving faces in turn.
"I'm in pain," Harry said slowly.
"Harry," Dean said with a worried chuckle. "This isn't right. You refused to go to the Hospital Wing after Voldemort held you under the Cruciatus Curse. The only way we could get you there after Voldemort was killed was because you'd passed out."
Harry stared, having no clue what they meant.
"You can't be in any more pain now than you were then," Neville said reasonably. "You were only fourteen then as well."
"You're used to Quidditch injuries anyway," Seamus said.
"Come on," Harry said, limping his way back towards the doors of the castle. "I only want to go back there for some Pain-Reliever and some salve, that's all."
Harry led the way back to the castle, all the while under the suspicious looks from the three other boys. The story of the Quidditch trial was told, and it was a story that didn't need to be embellished. They winced in all the right places, although the chuckles when he finished his tale weren't expected.
"See," Seamus said as they rounded the corner to the Hospital Wing, "only maniacs at Puddlemere would knock you out in a trial."
"To be fair," Neville said, "it was Fred. He and George probably felt like a bit of revenge was in order."
"They just couldn't handle my performance," Harry lied with a straight-face, pushing open the doors to the Hospital Wing.
"I'm sure," Dean said dryly, following Harry inside.
The Hospital was much busier than when Harry had left it. Two first year girls were sat up in their beds, giggling at a whispered joke. A boy Harry couldn't quite place scowled, pulling on his Ravenclaw tie. Another boy, who Harry recognised as a Gryffindor, blushed under Tracy's scrutiny as he mumbled his answers to her.
"Poppy!" Harry called, spotting the woman treating a girl a year younger than Harry.
"Daphne or Tracey will have to treat you, Mr Potter," Poppy said without turning around. "I'm up to my neck! Students think they can just go wild at the end of the year!"
Tracey barely glanced over her shoulder. "Daphne's in the store room getting some Sleeping Potion. She'll get to you soon."
Harry shrugged to himself and took the nearest bed, releasing a loud sigh as the weight was taken off his foot. Dean sank into the nearest chair, Neville took the bed next to Harry's, and Seamus dropped on to Harry's bed.
"That reminds me," Seamus said in a low voice. "What have we got planned for tonight and tomorrow?"
"How do you mean?" Neville asked.
"Well, we can't just leave here without doing something," Seamus said. "How about a prank?"
"A prank?" Harry repeated doubtfully. "You've met Sirius. Anything we'll do, he could top with a prank he pulled off in his first year."
"Don't be so downbeat, Potter," Seamus scolded.
"How about something embarrassing, then?" Neville said. "We could do something for just a bit of fun, it doesn't have to be a prank."
"Like what?" Dean asked. "Before you say anything, don't come up with something like making people's clothes disappear or changing the colour of their hair."
"No, Sirius would never let me live that one down," Harry said, mentally wincing.
"When did that even start?" Seamus asked. "It feels like everyone has pulled that prank at least once."
"It's probably happened with every generation," Neville said reasonably.
"What can we do, then?" Seamus asked eagerly.
Before any type of plan could be formed, Daphne returned from the store room holding a Sleeping Potion.
"You did come back, then," Daphne said, smiling over at Harry as she handed Tracey the potion.
"I'm in agony," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders as if to say 'what can you do?'.
Daphne chuckled as she made her way over to him. "What's hurting now?"
"I could do with another of those massages if you're offering," Harry said, ignoring the suspicious looks Dean, Neville, and Seamus were giving him. "My ankle is giving me more pain, though."
Daphne's eyes sparkled in amusement. "How much are you offering?"
"For you, all the gold in Gringotts," Harry said immediately.
Daphne stifled her laughter. "I'm not sure if that's enough, Potter. What else have you got to offer?"
"Have you ever heard of the phrase I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine?" Harry asked, more amused than he'd been all day.
"I do have a certain itch," Daphne said, lowering her voice. "You nearly got rid of it last night, but it's getting worse."
"I'm sorry," Seamus said, sounding slightly more baffled than usual, "but am I missing something here?"
"No," Harry said in unison with Daphne.
"Pain-Relieving Potion and Healing Salve?" Daphne asked a moment later, avoiding Harry's eyes.
Harry had the impression she was trying to stop herself from giggling. "That'd be great, thanks."
Daphne spun around and made her way to the shelf where the potion and salve were usually stocked.
Harry finally looked at the suspicious faces of his friends, only to find all of them now looked extremely amused.
"No wonder you haven't complained about being stuck here," Seamus said. He released a deep breath, obviously faked, and shook his head. "I can't say I blame you, Potter."
"I'm sorry, but what?" Harry asked, his forehead creased.
"He isn't oblivious, he's just confused," Dean said critically, tittering to himself.
Harry had the impression he was being mocked. "No, seriously, what do you mean?"
"Put it this way, Harry," Neville said with a large grin. "You could be the healthiest person in the world, but you'd still find something to worry about just to get sent here."
"Now why would I do something like that?"
"This place has good service, maybe?" Seamus said.
"Have you lot been smoking something?" Harry asked with narrowed eyes. "You're being bloody weird today."
"Who's been smoking what?" Daphne asked, her reappearance startling the four boys.
"I think you should check these three for something," Harry said, giving his friends dirty looks. "There's something wrong with them."
"Maybe your influence has rubbed off on them?" Daphne suggested.
"Very funny," Harry muttered.
"Drink this," Daphne said, holding out a purple potion that most people in the magical world recognised as a Pain-Relief Potion.
"Down in one, Potter," Seamus said.
Harry did just that, enjoying the sweet taste that held just a hint of syrup.
"You girls can go on down for dinner," Madam Pomfrey called from across the room. "I can handle it here for the time being. If Potter's fit enough to go down, keep an eye on him for me, would you?"
"Go on down if you want," Harry said. "I won't be long. I'll just get this salve on."
"We'll save you a seat, Potter," Seamus said, leading Dean and Neville out of the Hospital Wing.
"How did it go, then?" Daphne asked, waving the salve in Harry's face. "You can put this on yourself if you want."
"No, you're the Healer, it'll be good practise for you." Harry kicked off his shoe. "I'm now officially a professional Quidditch player. Keep a look out for any articles over the next few days; you'll get a kick out of it."
"What did you do?" Daphne groaned, pulling Harry's sock off with her forefinger and thumb, looking a little disgusted.
"I didn't do anything," Harry said without conviction.
Daphne looked at him suspiciously. "I'm sure you didn't."
"Come on, let's just get to dinner," Harry said. "I'm starving."
"You're the one complaining about your ankle!" Daphne said, holding her salve-covered hand up. "It'll rub in properly in a second; you don't have to wait long."
A few seconds turned into three minutes before Harry was finally allowed to put his sock and shoe back on.
"Where's Tracey?" Daphne asked, looking around the Hospital Wing.
"She's gone down to dinner," Madam Pomfrey said. "You'd best follow her down."
Daphne walked at much slower pace to accommodate Harry's limp on the way down through the castle.
"What are you doing after tomorrow, then?" Harry asked as they neared the Great Hall a few minutes later, after navigating through short-cuts.
"Enjoying the summer," Daphne said.
"Are you going to St. Mungo's?" Harry asked. "To become an intern, I mean."
Daphne shook her head. "I asked Poppy if I could continue working here. I'd prefer learning one-on-one."
Harry grinned. "You'll be seeing a lot more of me, then."
"What do you mean?" Daphne asked, coming to a stop in the middle of the corridor.
"Poppy's becoming my personal Healer," Harry said with a grin.
Daphne shook her head and continued walking. "So, you've got your future all planned out?"
Harry shrugged, idly scratching his healing ribs. "I've got the next year sorted. After that it's anyone's guess."
"My guess is that you'll either kill yourself doing something insanely stupid," Daphne started.
"Or…?" Harry pressed.
"Or you'll get away with doing something unbelievably reckless, impressing everyone along the way," Daphne finished.
"Don't worry," Harry said with a smile, "I promise to visit you as often as possible. I can't guarantee I'll be conscious, but you won't have to miss me for too long."
Daphne shook her head, keeping her silence, and walked towards her table, but not before Harry caught the small grin she was unable to hide.
"It's a shame to see her go, really," Harry said forlornly.
Neville nodded in agreement from the side of his bed. "Remember the time she got covered in that goo?"
The five boys in the dormitory nodded in unison, each of them with a sad smile on their face.
"You never could control that bloody thing of yours, Longbottom," Seamus grumbled, finally closing his trunk after finding the last of his socks and throwing them on top of his robes.
"It's not my fault it was sensitive!" Neville protested.
"It took me all morning to get her cleaned back up," Seamus said. "She wouldn't do anything for weeks in the mood she was in!"
"We still haven't managed to find a better poster, have we?" Dean said, shaking his head. "Will you finally tell us where you found her, Seamus?"
"I told you before, I can't remember," Seamus said. He carefully undid the charms holding the poster to the wall, the picture of the woman allowing them a final look before she was covered. The only reason it was so special to them was because it was the dirtiest poster any of them had yet to find, and they'd searched hard. Being magical, posters were like films that happened to constantly change, and the woman usually liked to put on a show for the teenage boys. She even took suggestions.
"So, is that everything?" Harry asked, double-checking his own bed for any forgotten belongings.
Receiving only murmured agreements in reply, Harry levitated his trunk. The four other boys took his example.
"That's that, then," Neville said, nodding to himself.
"We still have the train journey, eh?" Dean said.
"Stop being such pussies," Seamus muttered, pushing the door open and stepping through.
The five of them took their time through the common room, finding it scarce for the first time since the year had begun.
"Hey, Potter," Seamus said, dropping back to Harry and slowing their pace, allowing the others to lead them down through the not-so-secret passages.
"What?"
"Have you done it?"
Harry nodded, a smile forming. "Yeah. Keep your eyes open on the train, he'll probably try to retaliate."
"Yeah, okay," Seamus murmured. He inspected his left hand for a few moments, for no noticeable reason, before apparently coming to a decision. "Been a mad few years, hasn't it?"
"That's one way to describe it," Harry said, rolling up his sleeves and undoing another button on his shirt, breathing a sigh of relief as the gentle breeze running through the castle tickled his chest.
"I don't think there have been many people who've lost their virginity the same day they defeated a Dark Lord," Seamus said, grinning toothily.
"No, probably not," Harry said.
They reached the deserted Entrance Hall and continued on to the grounds, where a few students could be seen heading towards the Hogwarts Express, the school's own steam locomotive. Why it produced steam was a mystery to many, as the train didn't run on steam at all, but charms and runes, and was updated twice a year.
"Remind me," Neville called over his shoulder. "Why in Merlin's name did we ever camp in the forest?"
Ron overdramatically shivered, running a hand over his sweaty forehead, brushing aside his ginger hair in the process. "That wasn't one of our best ideas, was it?"
"It was character building," Harry defended his decision. "It made us closer, didn't it?"
Seamus glanced at Harry with a look of disgust, much like how many people looked at a flobberworm for the first time. "How can you be such a brave little bastard but say something so gay?"
"Just because you shit yourself when you thought you were going to be raped by a unicorn, don't blame me," Harry said haughtily.
"Let's just get on the feckin' train," Seamus said, daring them to say something about the exaggerated accent he put on.
To no-one's surprise, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Feck me, Finnigan, are ye Irish? We'd never have guessed!"
Seamus jaw quivered, as if he was holding in his laughter, although it probably wouldn't have been noticed by those who didn't know him. "Never try and put on an accent again, Potter. That sounded awful."
"Only as bad as yours, Seamus," Harry said pompously.
Seamus's pace picked up, leaving Harry to jog to catch up with the rest of the group. The four of them watched Seamus angrily stomping off, waiting for the inevitable to come.
Just as they were about to board the train, the inevitable did come when Seamus turned around and said, in a worried tone, "My accent hasn't gone completely, has it?"
"Will you shut up about your damned heritage," Dean said in a huff, pushing the Irish boy on to the train and stepping in after him. "We all know you're only worried because your charm wouldn't work on women if it wasn't for the accent."
"Fine," Seamus said in a huff. "Let's just get a carriage. I swear to Merlin, if there isn't one left for all of us, I'm going to start kicking people out."
"The match is starting in twenty, so hurry it up," Harry said, navigating his way through the last few students still hanging around in the corridor.
"Watch out, Potter, your friend's on her way up here," Seamus called.
Harry contemplating smacking the boy, before he looked over and saw Daphne with her back to them, talking to someone he couldn't quite see.
"So, you and her?" Ron said, trying to make his voice sound suggestive, but it only managed to make anyone in hearing range think he would need to use the lavatory sometime soon.
"Don't even go there," Harry said.
"You should go there, Potter," Seamus said casually, peering through the window to a compartment, his nose squashed against the glass. "Have you seen the arse on the girl?"
Harry shook his head. "If she's got such a lovely arse, why don't you go and try your luck?"
"He did," Neville said, chortling like a cat choking on a dead bee.
"She turned him down," Dean explained to the confused looks as they settled into the empty compartment.
"Enough about her arse," Ron grumbled, sounding distinctly agitated. "Just get the Wireless out, they'll be announcing the teams soon."
Seamus complied with Ron's request, digging through his trunk, most likely about to lose the socks he had spent half an hour trying to locate.
Three loud knocks disturbed the five boys out of their meaningless chatter, but at least it meant they were free from waiting less than patiently for Seamus to get the Wireless working.
An irate Justin Finch-Fletchley opened the door, his large, crooked nose looming into the compartment. "I've been looking for you lot. What have you done to our common room?"
"What makes you think we did anything?" Harry asked calmly, keeping one eye on Seamus gradually getting redder and redder as he twisted the knobs on the side of the Wireless.
"Oh, come off it, Potter," Justin said. "Everyone knows it was you."
"What did he do this time?" Daphne appeared next to Justin, throwing Harry a quick smile.
"He put a charm on the entrance to our common room," Justin said, glaring at the five Gryffindor students, who completely ignored it. "We had to answer stupid riddles and childish questions just to get out."
"Hallelujah!" Seamus cried joyfully, throwing his arms in the air as the Wireless screeched and turned itself on. "Oh, and welcome to life in Ravenclaw," he added to Justin.
"I'm not in Ravenclaw," Justin said through gritted teeth.
"Lucky you, then," Daphne said. "Can you imagine having to answer a question just to have your breakfast? What if it was an unanswerable question?"
"Yeah," Harry chimed in. "What if someone got seriously ill in the night? I mean, it'd be different for us Gryffs, we can handle pain. You should count yourself lucky, Justin, we know how sensitive you 'Puffs can be."
"Oh, stuff the lot of you." Justin huffed, seeing that everyone's attention was now clearly on the Wireless, and he probably wanted to listen himself.
"Was there something you wanted, or do you just like to blame us for everything?" Neville asked, blatantly staring at Justin's nose.
Justin looked for a moment like he was about to pull out his wand and commit the worst disaster Hogwarts students had seen in at least five months. Instead, he turned around and stomped away down the corridor, without uttering another word.
"Well, that was interesting," Daphne said into the silence.
"Listen," Seamus said, and Harry suspected he was about to say something he probably wouldn't regret. "I know you've got a lovely arse, but if you want to stay here, keep your voice down."
Daphne barely frowned as she shut the door and took the empty space next to Harry.
"Sure likes to make a noise, doesn't he?"
Harry nodded, although his attention on the commentator's voice barely wavered.
"It isn't much of a surprise that the line-up hasn't been changed from the last game. England played incredibly well against France, and the players need to continue that run of form against Japan in the lead-up to the World Cup…"
"This is how you're going to spend your last trip on the Express?" Daphne asked, looking at each of the boys in turn.
"Pretty much," Harry admitted. "What else are we going to do?"
Daphne stared at him, slowly shaking her head. "Er, I don't know, maybe reminisce about the last seven years?"
"Sounds a bit gay to me," Seamus said, scoffing at the mere suggestion. He turned the volume up slightly.
"The last seven years have been life-changing, and that's all you can think to say?" Daphne asked.
"Are you going to be reminiscing?" Harry asked.
"Probably," Daphne said. "You know how Tracey gets. She's been talking about our first year since the first day of our second."
"Well," Harry said, struggling for something to say that would be meaningful. "It's been a blast?"
"It sure has," Seamus said. "Quite a wild ride, I'll admit."
Daphne looked pointedly at Neville, Dean, and Ron.
"It's been enlightening," Dean said.
"Oh, I know, life-changing!" Ron said, looking relieved to have thought of something.
"She already said that," Seamus muttered.
"It's been fun watching Harry trying to kill himself at least four times a week," Neville said, earning a chuckle from everyone but Harry.
"Summed it up perfectly, boys," Seamus said.
"I suppose it'll have to do," Daphne said with a deep sigh.
"Yes, it will," Seamus said. "Now, the match is starting, so you can stay and have a drink with us, but do be a darling-"
"And shut up, I know," Daphne said, and instead of running from the compartment like everyone thought she would do, she settled back into the seat.
"Do you even like Quidditch?" Harry asked, giving up on listening to the commentator speak – he was actually starting to irritate him.
"Not really," Daphne said with a shake of her head.
"Then what are you doing?"
"Trying to kick me out, Potter?"
"Look," Seamus said, far louder than necessary, but he never got to finish his sentence.
"Why are you even so concerned?" Daphne asked. "Ireland isn't even playing."
"He wants to laugh at us if we lose," Dean said with a shrug, having seen it so many times before.
Seamus didn't even to attempt to deny the accusation.
The train left Hogsmeade and turned onto the winding track which cut through the Scottish countryside, giving anyone who cared to look a view of sheer beauty.
"So, what are everyone's plans for the summer?" Daphne asked brightly.
Harry gave up completely on listening to the match commentary; Seamus didn't bother with subtlety, turning the volume up on the Wireless again, and Dean handed two bottles of Butterbeer to Harry.
"It's a World Cup year," Neville explained, noticing nobody had answered the question.
"Ah," Daphne said with a nod. "Are you all going, then? Where is it this year anyway?"
"Greece," Harry said, passing a bottle to Daphne and opening his own. "I'll probably be able to get us all some tickets, and Ron will be able to get them from the twins."
"Why don't you make a trip out of it?" Daphne suggested. "I've always wanted to go to Greece."
"I went as a toddler," Seamus said, sipping his own drink. "I had heatstroke on the third day and all I can remember is being in bed."
"Why didn't your parents put charms over you?" Ron asked in confusion. "My mum always put them over us in the summer."
Everyone in the compartment knew all about Seamus's background, and how his father hadn't known about magic for a few years after Seamus was born, which was why they all shook their heads in exasperation.
"What?" Ron asked defensively.
"Oh, this is going to be a long summer." Harry groaned.