Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: Once again, thanks to silentclock. I also have a new story posted. It's a bit different to this one. Check it out!

Chapter Ten

"Mornin', Potter. Fancy a lodger?" Seamus was standing on the doorstep, grinning like a fool, with a rucksack slung over his shoulder. A suitcase, along with his old dilapidated school trunk, lay at his feet.

Harry eyed his Irish friend uncertainly, repressing a sigh. "What have you done this time, mate?"

"How about we grab a late breakfast in Diagon and I regale you with my fascinating tale?"

"I guess I could do with some food," Harry agreed, stepping aside and holding the door open.

"I'll just drop these off then." Seamus grabbed the handles of his suitcase and trunk and dragged them into hallway. He shrugged off his rucksack and dropped it on top of his trunk.

Harry pulled some money from his cloak and deposited the coins in jeans pocket. He pushed Seamus through the front door. They apparated directly into Diagon Alley, which was packed full of Hogwarts students, shopping for the new school year.

The midday heat beat down on their necks, momentarily stopping them in their tracks. Harry rapidly cast two Cooling Charms, eliciting gasps from them both. It felt like two buckets of freezing cold water had just been dumped over their heads.

After righting themselves, Harry led the way down the alley, sidestepping his way around over-excited kids, before he stopped at his favourite café. A dozen tables were set up outside the small shop, half of them under the shade of a bright canopy.

Thinking it a waste not to make the most of the weather while they had the chance, they found an empty table under the sun. A waitress spotted them before they'd even sat down, and immediately headed over to them.

"Hi, what can I get you to- Oh…"

"Sally!" Harry said, loudly, startling a few customers on the surrounding tables. He shifted uncomfortably and Sally blushed spectacularly. "Sorry!"

The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, and it seemed his Cooling Charm had worn off in the time it had taken him to walk from the alley to the café. In fact, all the heat inside Diagon seemed to centre directly over him.

Sally-Anne didn't look much better. Her usually pale face was now blotchy, like she'd been hit with a Sun Tanning Charm that had gone wrong. She swallowed her embarrassment and, to her credit, attempted to smile through it.

"Hi, Harry."

Seamus looked between them, his eyes lit up like fairy lights, his lips twitching in an unsuccessful attempt to contain his laughter. "Oh, boy, this is great."

Sally clenched her eyes shut in an obvious attempt to compose herself, before looking at Harry in resignation. "What can I get you?"

Seamus snorted noisily and leant back in his chair, sniggering to himself. "I think you already gave him what he wanted. You perked him right up, shall we say?"

Harry winced at the awful pun and aimed a kick at Seamus under the table, earning a loud yelp from the Irishman.

"A bacon sandwich and an orange juice for me, please," Harry said, his voice strained.

"I'll have a full English, with toast and coffee," Seamus said, furiously rubbing his shin under the table.

Sally jotted down their order on a notepad. She glanced up at Harry, and their eyes met for a split second, before she quickly rushed away.

Harry let out a breath when she disappeared in the crowd. "Well that was unexpected."

"You think she'll give us a discount?" Seamus asked, highly amused.

Harry ignored him, having spotted the day's edition of the Daily Prophet on a spare seat. He unfolded the newspaper, and the headline instantly caught his eye.

Stewart Ackerley: A Cheat?

By Graham Hunter

Another long season of Quidditch began with a bang last weekend and, as expected, Stewart Ackerley had a point to prove. It took the famed Seeker only eighty-two minutes to catch the Snitch, giving Puddlemere United a two-hundred and ninety to sixty win.

Since breaking onto the Quidditch scene six years ago, Ackerley has proved his mettle time and time again, but make no mistake about it, this season will be his toughest yet. Everyone is asking the same question: Did Stewart cheat during the now-infamous World Cup Final? A definitive answer on the matter simply isn't forthcoming. Officially, the I.A.Q (The International Association of Quidditch) says they are looking into it, but they've gone silent in recent weeks. A trial is the likely outcome of this whole affair, but when that will arrive is anyone's guess.

There has been support for Ackerley, perhaps most notably from Viktor Krum, Ackerley's opponent in that final, who went on to lift the trophy. There is also Harry Potter, the newest teammate of Ackerley's, who recently stated he did not believe Stewart cheated.

We don't know much as of yet, but what we do know is this: if this saga continues for much longer, it's sure to have a detrimental effect on not just Stewart Ackerley, but Puddlemere United as well.

Harry folded the newspaper and placed it on the table, watching the replay of Ackerley's last catch play in a loop.

"Anything interesting happening?" Seamus asked, as he surveyed the alley.

Harry shook his head, his thoughts elsewhere. "Not really. Just some stuff on Ackerley."

Sally arrived at their table, levitating their breakfast on a tray in front of her. She placed it on the table. "Enjoy," she said, before rushing off again.

"So tell me," Harry said, taking his glass of orange juice and taking a refreshing gulp, "what's this big story?"

Seamus shifted in his seat, a flash of embarrassment appearing in his demeanour, before it was replaced with a cocky grin. "Did I mention I joined the Obliviator's Training Programme?"

"No, you didn't," Harry said, slightly concerned at the thought. "When was this? And why, might I ask? I didn't think that would be your type of work."

"It was a spur of the moment type thing. You know how it is," Seamus said, taking a large bite of his fried sausage. "I was in the Irish Ministry a few weeks ago, sorting out our Floo maintenance for ma, when I saw a pamphlet for the course. Figured it might be interesting, so I signed up for it."

"How's it going so far?"

"It isn't," Seamus said. "I started on Monday morning and I was gone by lunchtime."

"What the hell did you do?"

Seamus winced and tapped his wand against his mug to cool down the coffee. "When I walked in, I saw this girl. You know the type, blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs…" He sipped his drink, staring reverently at a point over Harry's shoulder.

Harry had a pretty good clue where the story was headed, but felt he needed to ask. "You tried your luck, I take it?"

"You know what I always say, Potter. If you don't try your luck, you don't get a fuck," Seamus said crudely.

"I'm surprised you don't get Hexed more often," Harry muttered, licking a drop of bacon grease from his thumb.

"It's because I'm more charming than you," Seamus said dismissively, taking an eager mouthful of beans. He wiped his mouth with the back of his and said, "Hey, isn't that Greengrass?"

Harry looked around and spotted her, strolling up the alley.

"Hey, Greengrass," Seamus hollered, waving his arms above his head to catch her attention and earning disdainful looks from the other customers. "Over here!"

Daphne looked up with a slight frown on her face, immediately spotting Seamus. It was bit hard to miss him with the scene he was making.

When she arrived at their table, Harry pushed a chair out with his foot. "Have a seat if you want."

"Thanks." Daphne straightened out her sundress and took the offered seat. "Haven't you got a match you should be at today?"

"It's our weekend off," Harry said.

Daphne looked at him, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean? I know there's Quidditch being played today. Tom was playing the Wireless in the Cauldron."

"It's Puddlemere's turn to go without a game," Harry explained further, but only received a blank look. "You know, because there's an uneven amount of teams in the league."

Daphne shrugged uselessly, looking completely lost. "Sorry, Quidditch has never really been my thing. I know you play for Puddlemere, but not too much else. How are you doing, anyway?"

"Not bad," Harry said, highly amused at her lack of knowledge. "We're at the top of the table right now, but that's probably going to change by the time all the weekend's games have been played."

Seamus was shaking his head and muttering to himself. "You did grow up in this world, didn't you, Greengrass?"

"Yeah, but I've never been interested," Daphne admitted, cringing. "I guess it only makes it worse when you know my dad's a broom maker, doesn't it?"

"What are we going to do with you, Daphne?" Harry sighed deeply.

"You're worse than Granger, you know that?" Seamus said.

Daphne sat back, sulking. "It's not my fault."

"Consider this your first lesson," Harry said, deciding it was his duty to educate her on all matters Quidditch. "The British and Irish league consists of thirteen teams, and they all play each other twice over the course of a season. However, because the number of teams competing is uneven, every team has two weekends off. It's our turn to go without a game this week."

"Oh, I see," Daphne said.

"Anyway," Harry said, deciding to direct the conversation away from Quidditch. "What are you doing today?"

"Madam Pomfrey sent me to the Apothecary to stock up on supplies," Daphne said, brimming with amusement. "I expect most of them will be used to treat you, won't they?"

"Hey!" Harry pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll have you know I haven't been injured in weeks."

"It's true." Seamus chortled. "I'm starting to get worried."

"Wow, you've gone a month without maiming yourself," Daphne said dryly. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be shy, Daphne," Harry said, unable to keep his smile at bay. "You can admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That you've missed me."

Daphne snorted loudly, quickly covering her laughter with a hand. "You did promise that you'd come and see me, Harry." She pouted, drawing Harry's eyes to her lips. "I simply haven't been able to function properly without you around to brighten up my day."

"I can't apologise enough," Harry said, sounding quite sincere. "I stubbed my toe getting out of the shower this morning, you know. Does that warrant a full-body examination?"

Laughter bubbled up in Daphne's chest and she was unable to control it, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, I really have missed you, Potter."

"Then you should seek me out sometime," Harry said. "I always come to you, it's only fair you come to me now and then."

Daphne nodded along at his words, her lips twitching and the tips of her blonde hair dancing off her tanned shoulders. "I'll take you up on your offer one of these days."

Seamus leaned in, interjecting himself into the conversation. "I'm sure Tom's got a few spare rooms going. How about you go and get one?"

"Speaking of renting out rooms," Harry said, looking at Seamus pointedly. "You can stay with us for a while, but you'll need to start paying your way sooner or later. What happened, anyway?"

"Wait," Daphne said, "have you been kicked out?"

Seamus scowled at her. "Yes. Yes, I have." He turned to Harry. "Thanks. I think I'll be able to start paying you soon, if things go to plan. And my ma told me to leave after I was thrown off the course. Hadn't even emptied my trunk when I got home from Hogwarts and she was on my back, telling me to get a job, so when I was fired before I even started…"

"Our place has a lot of rooms going unused," Harry said lightly, but meaningfully.

Seamus nodded gratefully in understanding.

"Anyone fancy a beer?" Daphne asked suddenly, flipping a few coins on to the table. "My treat."

"I think I love you," Seamus said.

"I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"

"Thanks, Daphne," Harry said, tipping his head to her.

Daphne quickly left to get their drinks, and Harry leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on the last unused chair. Daphne returned a minute later, levitating three pints of cold lager, and placed them on the centre of the table.

"You should start coming out with us more often," Seamus said, taking an almighty gulp of his lager. He sighed heavily and sat back, unaware of the foam moustache on his top lip.

"You'll never guess who I just ran into," Daphne said, looking pointedly at Harry.

Harry just groaned.

"I take it you didn't speak to her after your night of passion?" Daphne said, gripping her glass with both hands. For some reason, she was lightly blowing on the froth, as if it were coffee and she needed to cool it down.

"I'm not a complete bastard," Harry said disdainfully. "In fact, when I woke up the next morning, she was gone. No note, no nothing. I figured she was happy enough to leave it as it was. Plus, she was the one who initiated the whole thing."

"Maybe it's something else," Daphne suggested, shrugging her lightly-tanned shoulders.

"Yeah," Seamus said with a smirk. "Maybe you weren't very good in the sack."

Harry choked on his own tongue, prompting mocking laughter to be directed his way. "No, that's rubbish," he said, sounding unsure. "It can't be that. I mean, she seemed to be, you know, enjoying it."

Daphne and Seamus looked at each other, and at the same time said, "She was faking."

Harry frowned into his beer, ignoring the quiet snickering coming from his friends as best he could.

"Don't be so daft, Potter," Daphne admonished with a role of her eyes. "Obviously she didn't want to take the walk of shame when everyone would see her, so she left before they could. I know, I've done it."

"You have?" Seamus asked, looking at her in a new light. "With who?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow, squinting slightly in the sun. "A bit personal, don't you think?"

Seamus smirked at her. "Someone's embarrassed."

"No I'm not," Daphne mumbled, a distinct blush crawling up her neck.

"Who is he?" Seamus laughed, delighted. "Do we know him?"

"Oh please," Harry said. "If we knew the guy, he probably would've been bragging to us."

"How do you even know it's a he?" Daphne asked, and sat back as Seamus's eyes bulged out. She scoffed. "You're too easy, Finnigan."

"So you're not a lesbian?" Seamus asked bluntly.

"No, I can safely say I'm as straight as Harry is."

Harry cleared his throat. "Thanks." He shook his head. "Anyway, what I want to know is how you're going to be paying rent, Seamus. What have you got lined up?"

"A job," Seamus said smugly.

Daphne groaned and looked at Harry in disappointment. "You walked right in to that one."

"Come on, let's hear it, Seamus."

"Lee Jordan offered me a job," Seamus said.

"Isn't that the guy who used to commentate on the Quidditch matches in school?" Daphne asked, looking to Harry for confirmation.

"Wow, you actually know something about Quidditch," Harry said. "But yeah, that's him. He's got his own radio show now. He does talk shows and interviews. Pretty sure Fred and George helped him out, seeing as he's at every Puddlemere game."

"Does he commentate now?" Daphne asked.

"He does alternative commentary, and he's gaining a bit of a following."

"And he's asked me to help him out," Seamus said proudly.

"You do realise that means you'll be watching Puddlemere all the time, don't you?" Harry said.

Seamus's jaw slackened. "Oh shit, I hadn't thought of that."

Harry chuckled to himself. "You should be happy. You might learn something."

"Let's just wait until we play you, then we'll see who's laughing," Seamus hit back.

Daphne nudged Harry's shin with her toe. "Fancy another?" She asked, waving her empty glass.

"I'll get 'em in," Seamus said, getting to his feet. "Same again?"

Two nods and Seamus went to get the second round of beers.

"So what have you got planned for the rest of the day?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Daphne said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, revealing a silver earring. She grinned at him playfully. "I'm all yours. You can have me for as long as you want."

Harry shook his head, laughing under his breath. "One of these days, Daphne. One of these days."

"Don't get my hopes up, Harry."

Autumn arrived a few weeks later, although the weather could easily be mistaken for winter. Harry was fifty metres up in the air on a drizzly Monday morning, his gloved hands balled up into fists. Torrential rain pelted down on Puddlemere's training ground, leaving every member of the squad drenched.

Stewart Ackerley hovered next to him, his cheeks pink. "Regret signing up for this yet?" He asked forlornly.

Harry's teeth chattered, but he managed to laugh. "I could think of a few things I'd rather be doing at the moment."

Ackerley snorted at the understatement. "It's all this waiting around, doing fuck all," he said bitterly, shooting a scathing look towards the main field, presumably at Phil. "Every season, it's the same damn thing. I'm sick of it."

They were waiting for Murphy to finish her drill, but she had no plans on stopping any time soon. It was annoying Ackerley, it seemed, but the man did have a lot to think about these days.

"Whose bright idea was it to have the season in the middle of winter?" Ackerley fumed, his cheeks puffing out. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to get a Portkey to Australia. I'm sure one of their teams will offer me a place."

Truth be told, Harry was only half-heartedly listening. "I hear it's lovely this time of year."

"If we could just use Warming Charms," Ackerley continued longingly.

Harry cleared his throat to catch the older Seeker's attention. When Ackerley did look up, Harry jerked his thumb towards the pitch. "Murphy's just broken your record for the season."

Ackerley's head whipped around, and he was greeted with an infuriatingly smug Murphy.

"And the student becomes the master!"

Ackerley's face fell and he mouthed wordlessly to himself. Obviously his record had never been broken before. His hands gripped tighter around his broom and he sped off towards the main pitch without a word.

Harry followed after him at more sedate pace, quite amused at Ackerley trying to reign in his temper. Murphy flew alongside him, nearly dancing on her broom.

"You'll know how this feels one day," Murphy said giddily. "You wouldn't believe how good it is to wipe that silly grin off his pretty face."

She put on a burst of speed to join up with the rest of the squad, and Harry watched her go. Either Murphy was getting better or Ackerley was distracted. Maybe it was both.

The players formed a half circle around Phil, and Harry joined them. He'd been training long enough to know what was coming.

"Chudley Cannons," Phil said simply, wasting no time with pleasantries. "We all know how they'll play on Saturday. They'll defend. They'll try to frustrate us. They'll foul if they have to. They know, we know, and everyone else knows this. They aren't as good as us with the Quaffle in hand, so they'll try to stop us playing our game. So that means this week we'll be working out the best way we can attack that defence."

Excited muttering erupted in the squad. Phil had just told them exactly what they'd wanted to hear: they would be going all-out attack. They always did, whoever they played, but training sessions usually meant attacking with specific intent in mind. It involved attacking the other team's biggest weakness and defending against their most potent threat. Phil had just told them they would be attacking freely, something that didn't usually happen for fear of being picked off on the counter attack.

"Before we get to it, I have an announcement," Phil said, raising his hand to silence the squad.

Harry looked up sharply and met Phil's gaze. Something stirred within him and he knew what was coming next.

"You're making your debut, Potter," Phil said.

Harry knew why he was getting his first professional start against Chudley. Despite what their fans may say, the Cannons were the worst team in the league. Other teams had been known to let their young players make the professional debuts against Chudley. Particularly for Seekers, it was the easiest way to get them adjusted to the professional game.

Harry didn't care one bit about any of that. He was finally going to play, and that was the only thing that mattered.

After Phil's announcement on Monday, Harry was filled with confidence. It showed in everything he did on the Quidditch pitch. He was suddenly flying with a new sense of freedom, as if nothing could go wrong.

For instance, when faced with a Bludger from the Weasley twins in the past, Harry would have anxiously tried to get out of the way. He would have exerted himself needlessly, but it was suddenly different, and it didn't seem so lethal anymore.

Harry knew it was coming before George had even swung his bat, so he simply waited. A second later, the Bludger was smacked his way. He simply leant back on his broom and let it harmlessly pass him by.

"I've seen Molly hit with better accuracy!" Harry laughed, pointing at the Bludger whizzing away.

George scowled and raced after his wrecking ball, completely ignoring Harry's taunts.

"Why are you riling them up?" Ackerley asked, more curious than worried. "You do know they'll just try harder."

Harry shrugged, unbothered, as if he wasn't having solid steel balls whacked towards his head. "They'll lose their concentration soon, if they haven't already."

Ackerley looked at him and simply shook his head. "Those two nearly played in a World Cup final. You know that, right? You're making them look like amateurs."

"Obviously I've caught them by surprise," Harry said. "Watch out."

"What? Shit!" Ackerley twisted sharply, as a Bludger narrowly missed him. "What the fuck, Potter? When the hell's happened to you?"

"I've been hiding my abilities," Harry said dryly. He wasn't sure why it felt like he was suddenly a second ahead of everyone else, but he wasn't complaining. Filled with as much confidence as he was, it simply came naturally to him.

"Well, whatever it is, stop it," Ackerley said, although he was smiling. "You're making me look bad."

"You can't blame that on me," Harry said, snickering as yet another Bludger forced Ackerley to nearly jump off his broom with a yelp. "That's all your own doing, Ackerley."

When Phil blew the whistle, a Bludger hadn't even grazed Harry. While Fred, George, and Ackerley trudged off the pitch with their heads bowed, Harry was nearly skipping. Phil was eying him suspiciously, due to the sudden brilliance he'd displayed, but Harry was far too happy to care.

He decided to skip dinner with the team, heading home instead. It was the first time he'd stepped off the training pitch feeling like he couldn't have done something better, and he only wanted to get back out there. He knew that most players went home and practised on their own Quidditch pitches. It wasn't something he could do, though, at least not yet. For one thing, he didn't have the money, despite what the Daily Prophet reported. While Grimmauld Place did have a back yard, it was exactly that: a back yard, not a garden. So even if did have enough money to get constructors in, there wouldn't be anywhere to build it.

Harry arrived home to the sound of muted laughter drifting throughout the old house. He found the source of the noise in the kitchen, emanating from Sirius and Seamus. They were sitting at the kitchen table, half-dressed and giggling like school girls, whilst stuffing their faces with hearty breakfasts. The sight wasn't unusual to Harry. In fact, he'd arrived home to a similar scene more times than he could remember.

"You two are lazy bastards," Harry said, hiding his amusement as he announced himself. "I've been up since half six!"

Sirius looked up with a frown. "Should've set your alarm for later, then."

"What, and risk the wrath of Phil?" Harry snorted derisively.

"How was training?" Sirius asked, happily smothering a piece of toast with strawberry jam, before stuffing nearly half of it into his mouth.

Harry eyed him in slight disgust. "Best day I've had so far, actually," he said proudly, whipping off his jacket and draping it over a seat, which he immediately sat on. "Oh, that reminds me!" He dug deep in his pocket and pulled out a bunch of tickets, which he slapped down on the table, spilling some of Seamus's coffee. "I've just been assigned my own personal box seats. My allocated tickets arrived this morning."

Sirius looked down at the tickets with a frown, swallowing the last of his toast. "I'm a season ticket holder already, Harry. Hell, I've been to every game this season."

"I know that, but these are far better seats," Harry said, flustered at the refusal. "The best seats in every stadium we'll play in, actually."

Sirius picked up one of the tickets and inspected it carefully. "I don't want to sound like an ungrateful son of a bitch, Harry, but I'm not going to lie." He looked Harry in the eye, like the whole matter was of the utmost importance. "I do not want to sit with stuffy old pillocks and posh sorts. They could suck the fun out of a weeklong orgy with every Veela in France. I'll stick with the real fans, thanks."

"This is my private box, Sirius," Harry said. "That means the only people there will be who I invite, so no stuffy old pillocks and certainly no posh sorts. And while I can't get you an orgy, I could invite Fleur."

"Do you think she'd have me?" Sirius asked eagerly.

"No, not even slightly," Harry said immediately. "But there will be free booze on offer, and you can drink as much of it as you want."

Sirius perked up at that. "Oh yeah?" He immediately narrowed his eyes. "It won't be champagne on ice, will it? I hate champagne."

"Of course not," Harry said, slightly insulted. "Every box has its own bar, stocked full before every match. While there might be champagne there, it won't be on ice."

"Oh, okay," Sirius said. "It's free?"

"All paid for by the club," Harry assured him.

Sirius whistled under his breath, his breakfast forgotten. "This is sounding better by the minute."

"What about you, Seamus?" Harry asked, sliding a ticket across the table.

"I'll be there," Seamus said. He sat up straighter and eagerly explained, "I came up with a brilliant idea for Lee and he agreed to it. We're going to do a special for your first match, where we'll interview all your friends before, during, and after the match."

"Can I be the first person you interview?" Sirius asked in excitement.

"Sure," Seamus said.

Harry glared at Seamus suspiciously, pointing a sausage at him viciously, which he'd stolen from Sirius's plate. "You don't want to interview me, do you?"

"Nope," Seamus said innocently.

"Good," Harry said, leaning his chair back against the wall. He took a bite of the spicy sausage. "Will you two be home tonight?"

"Hopefully with some extra company," Sirius said.

"We're off to the pub later," Seamus explained.

"Coming?" Sirius asked hopefully. "You haven't been out since… Well, I can't even remember the last time you were out."

"Afraid not." Harry did his best to avoid Sirius's disappointed eyes. "I'm meeting Anna soon. She's going to show me around the museum, and then we're going out for dinner."

"Anna?" Seamus asked incredulously. "The girl you met in Greece? You're still seeing her? What, are you actually together now or something?"

"Um…" Harry was stumped. He had only seen Anna twice since Greece, and he didn't have the slightest clue what was happening between them.

"Are you sleeping with her?" Sirius asked bluntly.

"Well, there was that one time in Greece…"

Seamus seemed to find it hilarious that Harry hadn't been getting any, judging by the loud guffaw that burst forth from his lips.

"What do you want from her?" Sirius asked.

Harry could only shrug. He simply didn't know. The idea of a relationship terrified him, and for good reason. His one and only relationship hadn't been all that bad, at least in the beginning. Parvati had been exciting in many ways, even if they'd never really worked on the same level. But they'd been young then, still at school. Harry didn't want the emotional baggage now. He wanted the easy life, where he could go to work and do the thing he loved, with no worries.

"Look," Sirius said calmly, looking Harry dead in the eye much like he'd done earlier. "I have no idea why you even wrote to her. You don't want anything other than sex, do you?"

"I felt guilty, okay?" Harry said glumly. "I found her note and I couldn't get her out of my head."

"Sarah Clark," Sirius said, nodding his shaggy head.

"What?"

"Same thing happened to me," Sirius said. "I met this girl – Sarah – and I suddenly felt really guilty that I hadn't got in touch. It'd never bothered me before and it hasn't since, but it did with her. Anyway, we had a few dates, got together, and it was okay for a while. But then, after a while, I just got bored. I know it sounds callous, but if it's not what you want, tell her. Don't drag it out, because before you know it you'll be married with kids."

"That why you never got hitched, huh?" Seamus asked, looking at Sirius in a new light.

"I was in Azkaban, you idiot," Sirius said. "I've already got rid of the chains once, I don't want them back."

Harry got up from his seat and poured himself a glass of water, his mind whirring. It was times like these that he was glad Sirius was around. He'd go and see Anna, act normal, and see what happened. That was the best plan he could come up with.

"What museum does she work at, Harry?" Sirius asked.

Harry paused in the doorway of the kitchen. "Museum of Quidditch, here in London. I can't believe I've never been there."

"You have," Sirius said pointedly. "It was one of your first family outings. All of us went."

"Oh," Harry said, digesting that bit of information. He wondered, not for the first time, how much of his own life he still didn't know about. "Thanks, Padfoot."

"We're going to the pub later," Sirius called out, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "If Anna doesn't jump your bones in an ancient broom shed, feel free to join us."

Harry chuckled to himself, but his heart wasn't really in it. To think the day had started so well, and now here he was, moping. He took a shower and got over it as best he could, before leaving to meet Anna.

She didn't jump his bones, as Sirius had so eloquently phrased it. Instead, she gave him a personal tour of the museum, and showed him all number of artefacts and treasures. There was the first recorded design of a broomstick, along with the oldest broomstick ever found. Then there were kits from all number of teams around Britain, including the very first kit Puddlemere United players had worn. It was dark brown and Harry was very thankful it had been changed.

Later that evening, Anna took him to her favourite restaurant. It was in North London and specialised in Mediterranean food. Harry had to wonder if she'd picked it because of the connection to Greece they shared.

Harry's nerves were tingling wildly right up until he finished a bottle of white wine.

Anna was on her fifth or sixth glass by the time she asked, "Have you got training in the morning?"

"I haven't," Harry said, his voice a little too loud and his eyes a little too wide as he stared across the table at her. His vision was slightly out of focus. "I'm off tomorrow and back in on Thursday."

"Oh," was all Anna said, though her eyes were sparkling over the rim of her glass.

"Do you want to come to my match?" Harry asked, his smile turning rather fixed. He didn't know what he was doing. "I have tickets back at my place. You can have one, if you want?"

The smile that lit up her face probably should have unsettled him. "Are you just trying to get me back to yours, Harry?"

"Wouldn't dream of doing such a thing," Harry said, trying and failing to ease the nervousness that suddenly rammed back into his gut.

Anna drained her wine, stood up and grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go now."

"Yeah, okay."

A chaste kiss on his dry lips woke Harry, instantly putting him on high alert. It was the type of kiss he'd only ever received from one girl.

"Sorry, Harry, but I have to be in work soon," Anna said softly, stroking one finger over the stubble on his jawline.

"Okay," Harry muttered, blinking rapidly and opening his eyes to see Anna sitting next to him, fully clothed.

"Thanks for last night, Harry," Anna said, and kissed him again. "I'll see you after the match, okay?"

The instant the door closed, Harry sat up sharply, his heart pounding against his ribcage. His head hurt and he felt cold all over. He pressed his hands over his eyes and moaned pitifully.

Falling back onto the warm sheets, he lay there for a while, berating himself. He turned over and the smell of perfume, which he'd become intimately familiar with last night, washed over him. Bile instantly hit the back of his throat, forcing him to sit up again.

Deciding that what he really needed was to clear his head, Harry hobbled to the bathroom and pulled a Hangover Potion from the cabinet. He gulped it down in one swift motion and sighed with relief.

After a quick shower, Harry made his way downstairs and stopped when he saw Sirius at the kitchen table, reading the Daily Prophet and sipping a cup of tea.

"What are you doing up so early?" Harry asked him, setting about making himself a cup of strong coffee.

"I couldn't help but notice we had a guest last night," Sirius said mildly, barely looking up from the newspaper.

Harry winced into his coffee, taking solace in the strong aroma. "Uh, yeah. Don't really know what happened there."

"I take it you're not breaking ties with her, then?" Sirius asked casually.

Harry fell into his chair with a deep sigh. "We'll see what happens."

In the last few days leading up the match, Harry surprisingly managed to give all his tickets away. Neville accepted, and sent a letter back saying he had some big news. Dean also took a ticket, as did his girlfriend, Susan Bones. Hermione sent him a letter back, saying she missed him and of course she'd come. Ron didn't need any, because the twins had tickets for the whole family. Remus wished him good luck, and Professor Dumbledore seemed more excited than any of Harry's friends.

Harry slept surprisingly well the night before the match, still confident from his displays in training. When he awoke on the morning of the match, however, it was a completely different story.

"I'm about to play my first game of professional Quidditch," Harry said to his bathroom mirror. His eyes were slightly wider than normal.

"I hope you fall and break your neck," the mirror replied disdainfully.

The mirrors in Grimmauld Place were one of the only things that Sirius hadn't gotten rid of. He found them funny.

"You know I could smash you into tiny little bits, don't you?" Harry glared at the mirror, but felt a little foolish doing so, as it looked like he was glaring at himself.

The mirror rippled and huffed.

Harry snorted. "That's what I thought."

The house was abuzz with excitement. Sirius was walking around the house with a skip in his step, loudly telling Harry to 'go get 'em' in between bursts of off-key renditions of Puddlemere's songs.

Harry made himself some toast, covered both pieces in butter and strawberry jam, but could only nibble at the corners. Every crumb seemed to stick in the back of throat, making it hard to swallow, even with the mugs of water he drank to wash it down.

"You look as green as a goblin, Potter," Seamus said, walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

The Daily Prophet arrived, but Harry didn't so much as dare glance at the newspaper. It was sure to be filled with articles about him.

With one last 'go get 'em, kid' from Sirius ringing in his ears, Harry apparated to Puddlemere's training ground. He came face to face with a sea of reporters, who instantly swarmed around him, shouting over each other to get their questions heard.

"Are you nervous, Harry?"

"How does it feel to be playing your first professional match?"

"How does this compare with defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Harry simply shook his head at the last question and tried his best to ignore the rest. He pushed his way through the crowd, nearly getting blinded by the flashes going off from a hundred cameras. As soon as the gates were in his sight, he made a beeline for them. The reporters didn't have access to the interior and were left outside to fling their questions at him.

The squad were just sat around the changing room, checking over their brooms and equipment. Harry pulled out his own Firebolt, inspecting it for bent twigs and finding none.

Phil arrived and immediately led them to the Portkey Room, and they all shuffled around a length of rope.

"Here we go," Harry muttered to himself, closing his eyes and bracing himself.