Chapter 18: Quidditch Tryouts
The day of the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts dawned grey and unseasonably cold. Harry hoisted himself onto the stone sill beneath the ancient window in the Gryffindor common room and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. Despite his uncertainty at how the tryouts were going to go, he could not fight the feeling of peace and cheer that curled in his chest at the thought of spending the afternoon flying.
"Lovely day," he asserted, bending his knee and leaning his forearm upon it. "Doesn't look like rain, but the clouds are still dark enough to make it easier to see the snitch."
Hermione beamed at him, pleased by his happy mood. The last week had not been an easy one. Despite considerable time spent in the library, their group had not managed to uncover any information about Snape's mysterious potion. The frustration was beginning to set everyone on edge. Worse, Professor Ferrote had seemed on a mission to dispose of every ounce of salt within Hogwarts castle by tossing it over Harry's shoulder or leaving piles of it around the classroom for students to step in. Harry had steadfastly refused to respond to her behaviour and had endured this treatment with cool indifference. Once he was out of her presence, however, his impressive patience had frayed. Their classmates were beginning to wonder at the cause of the Professor's actions and Harry had brooded over their inquiring comments and puzzled looks all weekend.
Hermione felt it was a very welcome change to see him about and cheerful instead of holed up in the Room of Requirement or his dormitory, avoiding the other students and pouring over the book the Headmaster had given him.
"Are you coming to the tryouts?" Harry asked her, jumping down from the sill and dropping into the overstuffed chair beside her table.
"Of course I am," she affirmed, dipping a quill into her inkpot. She moved her parchment up a few inches on the table to continue writing. It was so long, it hung nearly two feet over the edge.
"I don't really know what I'm doing," he confessed. The moment the words were past his lips, he made a face as if he wished he hadn't said them.
Hermione smiled at him fondly and jabbed the feathered end of her quill in his direction. "Don't be silly, Harry. You're going to make an excellent captain. Professor McGonagall wouldn't have picked you if she didn't think you were the best candidate."
Harry glanced at her parchment and she tilted it away from him in an automatic response. He smirked crookedly at her. "Secretive."
"I'm writing to Viktor, if you must know," she announced demurely.
"I didn't say I needed to know, I just said you were being secretive," Harry teased. "What do you write to him about?"
"Why do you want to know?" she asked him earnestly, interested in his answer.
"You write him peculiarly long letters," Harry said lowly.
She pinked and turned her face back to her parchment. She pretended to write something while glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. When she noticed he wasn't fooled, she sighed and set down her quill. "I write to him about my life here - our adventures and such things. And right now… he's asked me for advice about a girl that he's taken a fancy to."
Harry tapped his long fingers against the cushioned arm of his chair. "I don't blame him. Girls are impossible to understand," he said after a prolonged silence. A thought seemed to occur to him and he peered at her intensely. "Does it bother you?"
"Does what bother me?"
"That he fancies someone else."
Hermione smiled somewhat stiffly and shook her head. "I've never been attracted to Viktor," she confessed hesitantly. She looked sideways at Harry and seemed to gather her courage. "It was lovely that he asked me to the ball - I was worried that no one would, and it was ever such a surprise that someone so popular wanted to go with me. But I don't have feelings for him beyond friendship, Harry. Honestly, it's somewhat of a relief that he likes someone else. That way, I don't have to worry if he might feel something for me that I don't for him."
Harry climbed to his feet and moved to the window again. He leaned against the wall beside it and crossed his arms, looking across the fields towards the lake. "Ron and I rather ruined that night for you."
Hermione looked at him curiously. "Harry, you didn't ruin my night. I had a wonderful time," she said. Then, perhaps recognizing the bit of truth in what Harry had said, she amended, "Well, up until the end… but that wasn't really your fault, either."
Harry seemed lost in thought as he stared out the window. "You looked very happy when you were dancing. Still… I hope we don't have any more balls," he finally sighed. He uncrossed his arms and turned towards the entrance to the common room. "Have you seen Ron? He was gone before I woke up this morning."
Hermione looked a bit disoriented by the abrupt change of topic. She blinked slowly before hunching back over her parchment. "No, I haven't. Do you need him for something?"
"Not particularly, but Katie helped me draw up some plays and I wanted to go over them with him."
"He's on the pitch," a voice interrupted and Harry and Hermione both turned to see Ginny watching them with a strange look. "He told me he wanted to get some practice in before tryouts."
Harry blinked at her. "All right… Thanks."
Ginny stood up and brushed her hair away from her face with her hand. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "He's nervous, Harry."
"About the tryouts? Why?"
Ginny gave him a look as if the answer should be obvious. "He's worried another keeper will try out and he won't make the team."
Harry looked at her in surprise. "But… why? I thought he did well in the last game. Everyone said so."
Ginny picked at a button on her blouse. "He did do well in that game. But the others - I'm sure you remember that sometimes he plays well and sometimes he… doesn't."
Harry had no idea Ron was feeling this way. He felt like a bit of a heel for not noticing on his own that this was the problem. "I'm the captain, though. He can't think I'm going to cut him," he stated, but it came out sounding more like a question.
Ginny shrugged and her eyes darted around the room. "I… have to go. See you at the tryout, Harry."
She gathered her things and disappeared out the portrait hole without waiting for a reply.
"What's with her?" Harry wondered out loud.
"I- we should probably start heading to Transfiguration," Hermione mumbled. She wiped her quill tip and replaced the cork in her inkpot before blowing gently on her parchment to dry it. When she was satisfied, she rolled and placed it inside her bag. She was already walking to the door when she asked, "Are you ready to go?"
Confused by her behaviour, Harry collected his things and followed her downstairs.
~: --------------------------- :~
The morning's Transfiguration lesson went exceptionally well. Professor McGonagall seemed far too excited by the upcoming Quidditch tryout to be bothered by the uneven performance of her class and everyone received an 'O' for their transfigured pocket-watches, regardless of whether the hands worked (or in most cases, whether they had hands at all).
Harry had been rather proud of his own watch. Not only did it look handsome - its polished brass shell and chain were some of the best work he had ever done - it also told the time accurately and kept its shape throughout the entire lesson, far longer than any of the others. Hermione - whose own watch had melted back into a plum fifteen minutes before class had ended - seemed even more pleased by his success than he was. She spent the whole of lunch chattering ceaselessly about how happy she was to see him finally applying himself.
Harry listened to her with half an ear and fought to keep down a blush from her praise. His eyes, however, kept flicking back to the doorway of the Great Hall to see if Ron was going to appear. He could not remember the last time his friend had skipped a meal.
When lunch was over and their plates and cups had disappeared in a rush of magic, Hermione noticed Harry's uneasy look and offered him an encouraging smile. "Just be kind to Ron," she said, slipping the straps of her bookbag onto her shoulders. "But don't make a fuss over his nerves. That will only make it worse, Harry."
Harry thanked her for the advice and began his hike up to the Divination Tower. He saw his red-haired friend the moment he stepped off the top rung of the silver ladder. Taking Hermione's counsel to heart, he walked straight over to him and dumped his things beside his usual chair as if nothing was wrong. "Still smells in here, doesn't it?" he said. That was an understatement. The heavy cinnamon scent still lingered throughout the dimly lit classroom like an oppressive cloud. "I reckon I might have to break a window soon if it doesn't go away."
Ron looked at him strangely before nodding slowly. "Yeah," he mumbled, and then said louder, "Yeah, you should do it. We could tell her 'it's a sign from the beyond'."
Harry grinned at him crookedly.
Professor Trelawney emerged from behind the dark, velvet curtains that separated her office from the classroom proper. She glided over to Ron and Harry's small, circular table, rubbing her hands together in front of her neck and drawing attention to the gauzy, purple scarf she had tied there. It was patterned with golden moons and stars and they changed configurations into various constellations every few minutes. "What was that, my dears?" she asked in a dramatic, hazy voice. "Have you seen a manifestation…of The Divine?"
Her eyes were hugely magnified by her thick glasses and Harry had always felt uncomfortably like he was being observed by a giant insect when she would peer directly at him. "Not really, no," he answered slowly, hoping she had not heard their entire conversation.
By now, their exchange had caught the attention of the other students who were filing in and taking their seats. They watched with interest and Harry and Ron both slunk down in their chairs.
"Hmm… of course," Trelawney murmured, patting his arm as if he were a child and stepping forward to stare at him from an alarmingly close distance. Harry leaned back in his seat as far as he could without tipping over. "You have a block about you. It is difficult for those without a natural gift to penetrate…but I can help you… I can see past the earthly fog…"
Without warning, she let out a horrid, shrieking cry and bent severely at the waist. Harry leapt to his feet in surprise, moving quickly to help her, but she seemed to recover instantly.
"I've seen- no," she croaked, looking at him sadly, "my dear boy, don't ask it of me. Don't ask me to tell you what the fates have revealed…"
Harry dropped back into his seat in irritation. He had absolutely no intention of asking.
"What is it, Professor? What did you see?" Lavender asked breathily from her seat at the table to Harry's left. She was sitting so far forward in her chair that she would tip over if anyone jostled her. Beside her, Parvati had both hands clapped over her mouth and her eyes were wide with awe.
Trelawney touched the back of her spindly wrist to her forehead as if she were taken with a sudden fever. "I cannot say. The march of time will reveal all…"
"Blimey," Ron muttered under his breath when the professor moved to the centre of the room, shaking her head in exaggerated misery, "she's even more barking than she was last year."
Strangely, Trelawney's annual portent of doom for Harry seemed to snap her out of whatever funk she had been in since her encounter with Umbridge. She drifted among the class as they attempted to see into their crystal balls, blithely relating future exam scores and injurious accidents for whichever student caught her eye.
"My boy," she called to Neville as he squinted into his crystal ball, "you must avoid any stairs on the nineteenth."
Neville paled and dug out a scrap of parchment from his bag to scribble down the date. Trelawney patted him sympathetically on the shoulder and turned to watch Lavender and Parvati. "Miss Brown, I can see that you have managed your first glimpse of the future while crystal-gazing," she announced warmly after a few minutes had passed.
Lavender looked startled and said in an unsure voice, "But Professor - I haven't been able to see anything yet…"
Trelawney smiled knowingly. "Not today."
Lavender looked so excited that she whipped around and leaned so close to her crystal ball that her small nose nearly bumped it off its stand.
By the end of class, Harry had long given up pretending to see anything in his crystal ball other than his own distorted reflection. He instead stared longingly at the shuttered windows, thinking about the air and the sky and the upcoming tryouts. Ron's head was pillowed against his arms on the table and his muffled snoring could just be heard over the sounds of the classroom.
Harry kicked his leg beneath the table when Professor Trelawny began to address the class. Ron woke up with a snort, earning twin scathing looks from Parvati and Lavender.
"My dears, some of you may have already foreseen the assignment I have for you in the depths of your crystals," she said in her airiest voice. "For those of you who have not yet managed to see through your inner eye… I've prepared dream almanacs for each of you. With these, you may begin to brush away the mist that obscures the echoes of the transcendent world. Each morning, you will record the wanderings of your sleeping mind, and - with time and my gentle guidance - reveal the messages of your subconscious. You may find instructions for your almanacs on page sixteen of your textbooks. And Mr. Finnegan… when you lose your almanac, I will have a spare waiting in my office."
When Harry was handed his dream almanac, he eyed it dubiously and raised his hand. When he was called on, he asked, "Dream almanacs? How are they any different from the dream diaries from last year?"
Professor Trelawney smiled at him serenely. "Ah, dear child… those were diaries. They were meant only to raise your awareness of your private mind. With almanacs, we will unlock the meanings and patterns behind your dreams. With each dream, you will use your textbooks to decipher their significance, so that you may begin to understand how the fates reveal themselves in your subconscious."
Harry found this to be a wholly unsatisfying answer - it did not seem at all different from the previous year's assignment - and he flipped through his almanac morosely.
Ron was holding his almanac the same way he held dirty socks. He had a look of absolute dread on his face. "I can't write about the meaning of my dreams," he stammered. "They're private!"
"Just make something up. I'm certainly not going to write about my evenings with Voldemort."
Ron winced and dropped his almanac into his bag.
"I'm going down to the pitch to get kitted out and go over a few things," Harry said as casually as possible. "Want to come?"
Ron stiffened and pulled his bookbag over his shoulders nervously. "I- I have something to do first. I'll be down in a little while."
Harry eyed him and nodded. "All right. See you later."
"See you," Ron mumbled.
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The Hogwarts Quidditch stadium was just as spectacular as Harry remembered. To him, everything about it was immeasurably beautiful - the towering, wooden stands and their painted house crests… the crisp grass of the pitch set off by the white regulation lines… the golden hoops some fifty feet tall… the brightly-coloured banners and flags, snapping in the wind... each grand splendor seemed to spring free a reservoir of memory.
Stepping out onto the empty field, Harry drank in the familiar sounds, smells, and sights. He had not realised how much he had missed this - being on the field proper and not just in the stands - until that very moment.
"Hi, Harry!" a voice called to him from high above. Harry turned in place and raked his hair away from his eyes as he glanced up into the stands behind him. Hermione waved cheerfully from the edge of the Gryffindor box. She was wearing scarlet red mittens and they stood out brightly against the grey sky.
"Hermione!" Harry called back. "You're so early!"
"That's okay!" she shouted down, turning behind her and hefting up a massive book for him to see. "I thought I might do a bit of research - it's such a nice day!"
Harry pivoted to look across the vacant pitch with a lopsided grin. He turned back and motioned towards the ground with his arm. "Come down here!"
"I can see perfectly fine from up here!"
Harry gave an exaggeratedly wounded look before unshouldering his broomstick and commanding it to his hand to activate its charms. The muscles in Harry's forearm twitched and jumped against the powerful broom and for a moment, he was reminded of his first flying lesson. How wonderful and strange it had seemed then…
"I'm coming up!" he called and mounted his Firebolt. He shot straight into the air at a thrilling speed, circling around the Gryffindor stand twice before coming to a stop just beside the box where Hermione was watching him, bemused. He stepped off the broom and tucked it beneath his arm.
"You look cozy," he said, smiling.
Besides her mittens, Hermione was wearing a heavy cloak and her house scarf in defense against the unusually cold weather. Her things were spread out in the empty seats behind her - books, parchments, and a small tin of sugarless candies.
"I can hardly believe its only September," she replied, looking across the valley to the south and towards the hazy mountains. The two highest peaks were both dusted with white. She turned back to Harry and held her mittens up for inspection. Up close, he could see that they were a little misshapen. "It's my first chance to wear these. They were my first attempt, you see. I used them to practice before I started on yours. I had too much trouble with the fingers, though - I ended up making them mittens."
Harry held up his arm so the back of his hand was facing Hermione. She smiled and nodded when she saw he was wearing the gloves she had made him.
Harry dropped his hand and walked to lean over the wooden railing. Strangely, a few other people were beginning to climb the various staircases to the stands. "Katie is supposed to meet me down here soon."
"Have you decided what to do for the tryouts?"
"Not yet," Harry admitted. "I'll just have to make it up as I go."
Hermione sighed before smiling ruefully. "Well, I suppose that's been effective for you before."
Harry laughed. "Right. Best stick with what works."
Beneath him, Harry could hear several pairs of feet mounting the Gryffindor stairs. He frowned at the noise thoughtfully and glanced at his wristwatch before remembering that it had not worked since the Triwizard Tournament. "It must be getting close to time. I'd better go and get ready. Thanks for coming, Hermione."
"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione called as he mounted his broom and swooped off towards the team paddocks.
Harry landed just inside the tunnel connecting the team rooms to the pitch and the sound of his boots on the old, wooden floor echoed loudly. When the noise announced his presence, Katie emerged from inside and greeted him with a huge smile. She was already wearing her practice uniform and had her broom under her arm.
"Brilliant day for Quidditch!" she piped, jogging down the tunnel and stepping out into the light to look up at the clouds. "Couldn't ask for a better sky!"
She turned back around and clapped her hands together. "Well, go on, then! All our kits are in the Gryffindor suite. I'll meet you out here when you're changed."
The Gryffindor suite belied its name. It was a musty, dimly lit room with wooden floors and high skirting boards. It had three sets of benches in its centre and a row of old-fashioned wood lockers against its back wall. There was a small plaque above each locker - Harry knew that these would be charmed with each player's name when the season began, but his own plaque was currently the only one with writing on it. Hanging in the locker beneath it were two uniforms - one for practice and one for games. The practice uniform was a simple affair, while the game kit consisted of cream jodhpurs, a white wool jersey, and a brilliant scarlet robe with his name and number stitched to its back. Harry rubbed the sleeve of this between his fingers and smiled before grabbing the practice uniform and carrying it into the men's dressing room.
When he was finished changing, he tucked his breeches into his boots and laced up his shin and arm guards. Once he was properly kitted out, he removed the case containing the Quidditch balls from its cubby and hefted it over his shoulder to carry out to the pitch.
Katie was waiting for him at the end of the tunnel.
"It looks like we've got an audience," she said uneasily.
Harry blinked at her and stepped outside to see that most of the seats in the Gryffindor stand had been filled and there were several students milling about in the boxes of the other houses, as well.
"Why are all these bloody people here?" he asked in shock. Several students began to cheer when they saw him emerge. He could distinctly hear Colin Creevey's excited whooping carry across the field despite the distance.
"I did book the pitch, right?" he asked Katie uncertainly. "No, I know I did… Madame Hooch cleared it and everything."
Katie shrugged blandly. "Well, this might actually work to our advantage - it should make it easier to pick a team if you can see how everyone flies with people watching them."
Harry felt his stomach drop. He hoped that Ron would not let the extra eyes bother him. Sighing, he adjusted his grip on the case and strode out to the centre of the pitch with Katie at his shoulder. He dropped it unceremoniously and drew his wand from where he had tucked it in his boot. He swished it in front of him for a moment and a long, thin flame emerged from the end, twisting around and forming numbers revealing the time of day.
"Almost time," he said.
Katie eyed the display with interest. "Wow, where'd you learn that, Harry?"
Harry flicked his wand once more, and the flames snuffed out of existence. He had learned the spell after seeing a variation of it used by Tom Riddle in second year, but he wasn't about to tell anyone that. "Book," he answered vaguely. He glanced across the pitch to see a surprisingly large group of students sitting on the grass with their broomsticks in hand, obviously waiting for the tryouts to begin. Ron, Kirke, Sloper, and Ginny were among them. "Looks like a fair turnout… better than fair, really."
Katie looked doubtful. "We'll see, I guess..."
Harry stepped up onto the case and held his wand in the air. A great burst of gold sparks shot from the end, earning another cheer from the Gryffindor stands. "All right, over here!" he called. The students on the pitch leapt to their feet and hurried over to crowd around him, looking up at Harry with wide, seemingly astonished eyes. Up close, Harry could see that many of them were frightfully small and hardly any were wearing Quidditch robes. Some did not even have brooms. Worse, many looked so anxious that it seemed like they might be sick all over the pitch at any moment. Only Ginny appeared collected - Ron, Kirke, and Sloper were all among those who looked ill with nerves.
Harry smiled weakly at the assembled group and introduced himself, prompting a small group of fourth year girls to nearly fall over giggling.
"Can I see your broomstick?" a feminine voice cackled from the back of the group, inciting another round of giggling… this one more prolonged than the last.
Harry frowned and leaned to the side, trying to see who had spoken, but there were too many people to pick out a single face. "Enough now," he barked when he grew tired of the giggling and everyone obediently fell silent. "Right… who here has played Quidditch before?"
Nearly half the class raised their hand, but some seemed unsure of their answer and their hands hovered furtively near their shoulders. "It's okay if you haven't," Harry continued. "I never played before I made the team, either."
Some of the hands dropped. There was another muffled giggle and Harry glanced at Katie in frustration. She looked like she was struggling not to laugh.
"Let's not bother with the balls right now," Harry said, stepping off the wooden case and pushing it aside with his boot. "I'd like to see how you lot fly. If you've a broom, go ahead and line up over round the goalposts. If you don't, we'll see if we can't borrow some of the school brooms."
The students with brooms quickly trotted over to the south end of the pitch, forming a crude line. Those without one hovered nearby, whispering excitedly to each other and fidgeting. Harry instructed Katie to bring them to Madame Hooch to see about getting them brooms and then strode over to the goalposts to begin the tryout.
He had each student fly across the pitch and back as he watched, but even this simple assignment was met with uneven success. Very few students were able to fly in a straight line and fewer still could do so with anything approaching the speed necessary for Quidditch. Some could not even get their brooms into the air - there were a number of red-faced students at the back of the line shouting, "Up!" and looking deeply panicked.
"Potter!" a voice called out from the Slytherin stands. "Are those supposed to be Quidditch players? Those lumps don't know a broomstick from their arse!"
A roar of laughter could be heard following this pronouncement and Harry tried his best not to scowl. Unfortunately, the heckling exacerbated the problems and the third year boy who was next in line promptly flew into a wall.
By the time it was Ron's turn, he was so preoccupied with stealing unhappy glances at the Slytherin stands that he did not notice Harry was speaking to him until Ginny dug her elbow into his side. He flushed deeply and took a deep breath before mounting his broom. He took off across the field in a steady line, slowly building up speed and rounding the far goalposts without any problems. Harry grinned at him when he landed, feeling very relieved, and Ron smiled proudly.
Ginny's attempt was even better. She was smooth and fast across the pitch and landed with a graceful hop.
"Well done," Harry praised her, feeling much more cheerful for the Weasleys' success. She was still refusing to meet his eyes and he made due with speaking to the top of her head.
Kirke and Sloper were next, and both of them managed without any incidents, although neither looked like they had improved terribly from the previous year.
By this time, Katie had returned with the other students, each of whom was now clutching a battered school broom. Harry instructed them to line up with the others and took Katie aside to point out the students he felt had done well.
Under Harry and Katie's watchful eye, the rest of the group finished their laps with mixed results. There were a few bright spots - a reedy seventh year boy who flew as straight as a new ruler… a second year boy who was quick and agile… and, astonishingly, one of the fourth year girls who had been a giggling mess earlier but now swooped across the pitch with determination and creativity. When she finished her lap, her friends enthusiastically cheered and began to whisper with her excitedly, stealing glances at Harry before collapsing in another fit of giggles.
"Is this Quidditch or a sodding slumber party?" a new voice sneered from the Slytherin box.
"You'll see what Quidditch is when Gryffindor humiliates you come match day! Like usual!" an answering shout came from the Gryffindor stands. Soon, the two boxes were loudly heckling each other, shouting new and creative insults every few minutes.
"Ignore them," Harry rumbled to the group and shouldered his broom. He pivoted and directed everyone to follow him back to the centre of the field. He found the wooden case where he had left it and opened the snaps, releasing the quaffle and displaying the two bludgers, which jumped and struggled against their restraints. "I'm going to separate everyone into groups. Chasers and keepers, go with Katie. Seekers and beaters, you're with me."
Katie grabbed the quaffle, tucked it beneath her arm, and mounted her broom, sweeping off towards the south goalpost with a procession of students flying behind her.
Harry looked at his remaining group - Kirke, Sloper, and the seventh year boy who had flown so precisely earlier were among them. "Right, then… beaters, there's a crate with some old bats in the Gryffindor suite down that tunnel," he said, pointing in the direction of the team paddocks. "Grab one and meet us at the north goalpost. Seekers, into the air."
Less than a quarter of his group rushed off to find a bat. The remaining students mostly consisted of the flyers Harry had privately decided should not be anywhere near a broom. Most of the giggling girls were among them, although the one who had shown skill earlier had left with Katie.
None of the students followed his order, instead continuing to gawk at him and some began to ask him bizarre questions about his height or how fast his broom went.
"Look, if you're not here to actually try out, go find somewhere to sit," Harry growled. "Everyone else, get on your brooms!"
Over half of the group broke out into another spell of giggles and began to chatter amongst themselves, walking over to the side of the pitch and shrieking gleefully as they went. The others mounted their brooms as best they could and began to rise shakily into the air.
Harry opened the small compartment that held the golden snitch and removed it carefully. Its small, thin wings poked out between his fingers and batted against the top of his hand. Despite his lingering annoyance, he could not help but smile as he held the tiny, golden ball.
Harry mounted his broom with the snitch in his fist and shot into the air towards the northern side of the pitch. He looped sharply around the goalposts and drew to a quick halt just in front of the centre hoop. A chorus of "oohs" and "ahhs" erupted from the stands and the huddled group of his classmates now sitting on the pitch. The students trying out for seeker gathered around him nervously, clutching tightly to the handles of their brooms.
Harry opened his fist and held the snitch between his long fingers so everyone could see it. "I'm going to release this, then count to five. Once five is up, I want you lot to start searching for it. If you think you can catch it, go ahead. I'll be watching… good luck!"
Harry released the tiny, fluttering ball and it hovered in front of him for just a moment before darting off towards the sky. Harry tracked its progress instinctively before snapping himself out of it and glancing towards the assembled flyers. None of them had managed to keep their eye on it and most were twisting and turning on their brooms, looking around the stadium wildly for sight of the little ball. "Have at it, then," Harry commanded. The group flew off immediately, darting away in different directions.
The students trying out for beater began to emerge from the tunnel and mounted their brooms to gather around Harry as he hovered in front of the goalpost. When all of them had arrived, Harry nodded at them and pointed down to the case containing the struggling bludgers. From this height, they looked terribly small and harmless. Harry, of course, knew better.
"Everyone have a bat? Brilliant. When I let the bludgers go, you lot are going to try to hit me with them. I'll be flying around to keep an eye on the seekers, so I won't be an easy target," Harry instructed. He leveled the group a serious look. "Only aim for me… I don't want to see any bludgers hit towards the students trying for seeker. And try to keep them away from the other side of the pitch… I don't want them hitting anyone in Katie's group."
The beaters nodded to show they understood and began to fly in nervous circles as Harry darted down to release the catch on the bludgers. They shot into the air immediately, careening past the assembled beaters who shot after them with a bit more skill than Harry had anticipated. He watched them for a moment before remounting his broom and beginning a wide circuit high above the north side of the pitch, observing the students flying this way and that, attempting to locate the snitch.
The loud crack of a bat alerted him to a successful bash of the bludger and he jerked his broom into a fancy loop to avoid it. Another great cheer erupted and he heard his name being shouted raucously from below. He glanced down to identify who had hit the bludger and saw that it was the seventh year boy who had impressed him earlier.
Another crack revealed another bludger hit, but this one did not come anywhere near him. He watched it shoot harmlessly into the sky before beginning a steep dive and sweeping behind the Hufflepuff stands before doubling back, looking to confuse the beaters who were tracking him. His maneuver was mostly successful - most of the beaters flew in the wrong direction, having expected him to come out the other side - but the seventh year followed him doggedly. Harry grinned and lost him with a twisting, spiraling manoeuvre that had the spectators gasping thunderously.
He slowed down and flew more sedately, giving himself a chance to watch the progress of the seekers and allowing the beaters to find him again. Another bludger was knocked in his direction, but it was inaccurate enough that Harry did not have to change his course. Then another was sent, and this one forced Harry to dive straight down before swooping back up and glancing behind him. Again, it had been hit by the same seventh year.
Harry allowed the tryout to continue for the better part of an hour before catching the snitch himself and shooting a great burst of red sparks into the air. With everyone's attention drawn, he landed in the centre of the pitch and signaled his classmates to join him. He had seen enough.
Katie and her group of keepers and chasers arrived just before Harry's seekers and beaters and she shot him a significant look. He frowned in confusion before turning back to the assembled group. "Brilliant… well done," he announced. "I'm going to need all your names… when I point at you, introduce yourself clearly."
One by one, the students called out their names as he indicated them. This process was interrupted by several more giggling episodes, but otherwise went smoothly.
"Right," Harry said absently when he was finished. "I'm going to be posting a list of those who made the team on the notice board in the common room by the end of the week. We'll be fielding a reserve team this year, so there will be twelve spots open. If you didn't make the team this year, don't give up… you can try again next year. Thanks for coming."
The students broke into excited chattering immediately, laughing and whispering to each other as they headed off the pitch. Those who had borrowed equipment hurried off to return it before joining their friends.
Harry and Katie fell into step beside each other as they walked towards the far goalpost. "So?" Harry asked quietly.
"Well, we've got an excellent side of chasers. Ginny is really good, and that second year boy you noticed - the one with the cowlick… his name was Poole, I think - he should make the first team already. And me, of course," she added cheekily. "There's a bit of a drop off with the ones I would pick for the reserve team… Francis Uukle, Theodora Skyles, and Agatha Hornswiggle. I guess that's to be expected, though."
Harry noted the names absently and nodded for her to continue. Katie looked a bit hesitant and Harry felt his insides begin to churn.
"Ron did fine," she said after chewing her lip for a moment, seeming to sense his concern. "He had a few really good saves, actually… but then… well…"
Harry began to look impatient and Katie sighed. "Some of the Slytherins began giving him a hard time and he started to lose the thread… and that girl that was so silly - the giggling one? Eudora Caulings? - she… did really well. The better it went for her, the worse it went for Ron."
"But Ron was the better keeper, right?" Harry asked quickly.
Katie looked uncomfortable. "Ron… on his best day, yes - I think Ron's the better keeper. But if I had to pick between the two for first team, I don't know which I'd choose."
Harry glanced over his shoulder to see his red-haired friend sitting morosely by the far goalpost. Hermione and Ginny were speaking with him - he recognized them by their bright, red mittens and bright, red hair, respectively.
"I'm sure Ron will do better in practice," Harry said with a confidence he didn't entirely feel, "when all these people aren't around."
Katie nodded agreeably and asked about the beaters and seekers.
"There was one beater who was bang on out there - Stuart Hagwood. He's a seventh year… I have no idea why he hasn't tried out before. Kirke and Sloper will both have to stay on… no one else really distinguished themselves. There was a second year with a good swing - I'll go with her for the fourth. With a few years practice on the team, she should be a fine player."
"Stuart tried out the same year I did," Katie revealed. "But Fred and George were both better at the time. With no space on the team, I guess he just decided to wait until there was an opening to give it another shot. What about the seekers?"
Harry sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "They were sort of rubbish," he admitted. "But I'm going to choose Fischer. She was the fastest of the lot and she's only a third year."
Katie smiled. "Well, Captain… looks like we're done here, then."
"Thanks again for your help, Katie."
She waved cheerfully and left to catch up with her friends. Harry walked over to meet Ron, Hermione, and Ginny by the goalposts. Ron pretended to be very interested in a loose thread in his Quidditch robes when he saw Harry approaching.
Harry decided it would be best not to mention the dilemma with Eudora fighting for his position. "You're both on the team, of course," he stated to Ron and Ginny after checking to see that no one else was in earshot. Ron looked so immensely relieved that he seemed to sag into himself.
"See, Ron!" Hermione chimed. The cool wind was pushing her bushy hair into her face and she struggled with it for a moment before brushing it back, exposing her bright, rosy cheeks. "You just have to have confidence."
Once he was assured that he was not being cut, Ron clamoured to his feet and began to grill Harry incessantly about the state of the other players. "Did you find any beaters who aren't complete tosh?" he asked brightly.
"One," Harry replied vaguely. He didn't want to talk about who made the team when so many people were around to overhear. Ron seemed to pick up on this and nodded at him conspiratorially.
Ginny excused herself to catch up with Dean, who was waving at her from the edge of the pitch. Harry watched her absently for a moment before turning back to Hermione.
"I imagine you didn't get much revising done," Harry said apologetically. "I didn't think so many people were going to show up."
"It's fine. I suppose I should have expected it," Hermione replied, waving her red-mittened hand vaguely and sighing, "with the way people were talking and all."
Harry peered at her warily. "What way was that?"
Hermione waved her hand again and made a small, meaningless noise before turning her attention to wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck.
"I can't believe those filthy Slytherins showed up," Ron muttered, scowling up at the now empty Slytherin box.
"They were being quite rude," Hermione admitted.
Ron's features brightened. "Their tryout is the day after tomorrow - I saw it on Madame Hooch's calendar. We should go and spoil it!"
Hermione looked scandalized by the very idea and Harry shook his head. "I've got better things to do than waste my time with the likes of them," he said flatly. "And Hermione and I are supposed to meet Dean at the library that afternoon to work on our sodding Potions assignment, anyway."
Ron looked disappointed. "Well, yeah, but - we can't let them get away with it, can we? Maybe Seamus will go…"
Hermione sighed and ordered Ron and Harry to go change out of their Quidditch robes so they could return to the castle and get out of the biting wind. Both Ron and Harry knew better than to try her patience and they hurried to do as she asked.