When Harry entered the training facility the next morning, he was immediately ambushed by Janet.
'I believe you've set a Cannons record, Potter! Not ten minutes after entering the arena, you were heading for the door with a ravishing young witch—who was walking suspiciously close in front of you, I might add.'
Harry reflexively scanned the room for Tuttle and was relieved not to find her. He noticed, however, that some of his other teammates had overheard and were smirking at him. 'I knew I could count on you to call attention to it,' he told her, only a little embarrassed.
'Call attention to it? I'm taking credit for it!'
'I beg your pardon? I don't recall you doing any of the heavy lifting!' protested Harry.
'What are you on about? She looked fairly light to me. But regardless, it was I, your trusty Keeper, who dragged you from that crypt you call home and towards your destiny.'
Harry smiled. 'If it was my destiny, then who are you to take credit?'
'Argh, curse you, Hogwarts!' she cried, shaking her fist. 'Mark my words, North Squiffing will have its revenge!'
'In all seriousness,' said Harry, 'thanks for inviting me out. I certainly wouldn't have found Penumbra on my own, and Alistair was ... memorable.'
'He most certainly is. The only trick is remembering anything else after you've met him. He may be Light, but he's still a vampire.'
'Yes, I noticed that.'
The next moment, Tuttle threw open the door and shouted, 'Cannons, outside!' prompting Harry to quickly stash his clean clothes in his locker and jog out to the benches.
The coach began their practice with a brief preamble. 'Last weekend's charity tournament meant you all got a holiday,' she barked, glaring momentarily at Harry. 'But we're playing the Falcons on Saturday, and I expect you to demonstrate you know which end of a broomstick to sit on. So that means I'll be working you extra hard this week. Got it? Good, now give me ten laps!'
Harry realised he hadn't given much thought to their upcoming match—he'd spent the last week just getting used to his new life. But now that Tuttle had reminded him, he found he was rather nervous about it. The outcome of a Quidditch match depended heavily on the Seeker's ability, and he didn't want to blow it.
Unfortunately it was to be an away game, played at the Falcons stadium in Falmouth. Harry would have preferred to make his debut at Chudley Stadium, with a friendlier crowd. He knew from the incident on Friday with the intoxicated Wasps supporters that Quidditch fans could be downright hostile to opposing players, and he doubted his status as the Saviour of the Wizarding World would protect him. But he was looking forward to getting back onto his broom later that morning. During the previous year he'd often gone weeks without flying, but now he was restless after only two days.
After laps came calisthenics, which were extra gruelling, and Harry hoped the trainers would ease up towards the end of the week. He anticipated needing more pain draughts in the days to come.
As expected, the flying drills cleared his mind, and he was in good spirits when they left for lunch. As they walked, his teammates argued over who had won Suresh's wagering pool about Saturday's press coverage. All of them had been correct, except for Harry's prediction involving Celestina Warbeck and a Squib colony.
Renée finally threw her vote behind Janet. 'They were bound to mention Harry's new look,' she said, 'but we couldn't have predicted the Prophet would put a veritable boudoir photo of him on the front page.'
'Harry, what was going through your mind in that photo anyway?' asked Suresh. 'You looked like you had your hand on your willy outside the frame.'
'He was looking at Lara,' smirked Darren. 'But I get the impression he's moved on since then.'
They sat at their usual table, and it was decided that Janet had indeed won the bet. This was, however, a moot point, since no gold had been involved, but she seemed more than happy just to have bragging rights.
'Never underestimate the power of the Daily Prophet to over-sexualise the Boy Who Lived.' crowed Janet.
'Pot, meet kettle,' muttered Suresh.
Harry was relieved when Candice arrived to take their orders, after which the conversation broke into smaller groups. Ryan turned to him and said, 'I neglected to ask for Hermione's contact information, and it appears her address is magically hidden even from owls. Could you tell her I'd like to get together with her and Ron for dinner sometime? Assuming he's willing to try sushi, that is.'
Harry hesitated before answering, but he supposed there was no point hiding the news. 'I can guarantee that Ron would sooner eat Basilisk than sushi. But that's irrelevant, because he and Hermione just broke up.'
Janet and Ryan both looked at him in surprise. 'Are you serious?' asked Ryan. 'When did that happen?'
'Right after dinner on Saturday,' said Harry. 'And yes, it surprised me as well. I mean, not entirely, but I wasn't exactly expecting it either.'
'That's rough,' said Ryan. 'I hope he's not taking it too hard.'
'Excuse me,' interjected Janet, 'but I don't think Harry specified whose decision it was.'
'And I shan't,' replied Harry.
Ryan looked at him thoughtfully, as if he had more questions, but he didn't ask any. 'Anyway, do tell her I'm still up for dinner sometime if she'd like.'
'I will,' said Harry, although he doubted Hermione would take up his offer right away—not while she was still recovering from shock. He remembered how he'd felt right after Ginny had dumped him, and he made a mental note to invite Hermione and some close friends to dinner in a day or so.
The conversation turned towards the upcoming match. 'The Falcons are solid,' said Gary. 'They have a winning record this season, and their Beaters are first-rate. I'll be surprised if they don't concentrate on Harry.'
Harry must have looked a little green, because Gary hastened to reassure him. 'Don't worry, we'll have you covered. Spencer had plenty of problems, but Bludgers weren't one of them.'
'The Falcons' Seeker is a little inconsistent, so I think we'll have an edge,' added Suresh. 'How's the training with Owen going?'
'Really well, I think,' said Harry. 'I'm looking forward to putting more of his tips into practice this week.'
'He's your best bet,' agreed Suresh. 'He's probably the best spotter I've seen. Shame about his injuries.'
And so the conversation continued throughout lunch. Harry was feeling a bit better about the match against the Falcons—he had the whole team behind him, and they really were much better than their standings would suggest.
After lunch, as they walked back to the training grounds, Ryan approached Harry. 'Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?' he asked.
'Er, go ahead,' said Harry uneasily.
'Now that Hermione is single, are you going to pursue her?'
Harry shook his head firmly. 'No, definitely not. In spite of what Rita Skeeter might claim, there's never been anything between us. She really is like a sister to me.'
Ryan seemed to relax. 'Then I suppose I've an added reason to want dinner with her,' he admitted. 'But perhaps you shouldn't tell her that—I don't want to seem like a circling vulture.'
'That's really not how I'd describe you,' said Harry. 'But yeah, I think she prefers to get to know a fellow first. It took her seven years with Ron, after all.'
Ryan nodded and was quiet for the rest of the short walk. Harry tried to maintain a neutral expression, but he was pleased—Ryan seemed like a solid bloke, and his interest in Hermione appeared genuine. Harry doubted he'd feel the same way if Darren had been asking after her, since he was clearly a bit of a player. Not that I'm in any position to cast judgment.
When they resumed practice, Harry was assigned to Owen, who had become his de-facto personal trainer. The older Seeker was already setting up the Launcher, including the special crystal that produced random appearances of the Snitch.
'We're going to work some more on your spotting,' Owen told him. 'I think you'll get a better feel for the method without having to dodge Bludgers—you'll get enough of them during our practice matches.'
'All right,' replied Harry, who was already straddling his broomstick. 'Shall I lift off then?'
'Yes, please. I'll give you a moment to set your intention before activating the Launcher. When you get up there, relax for a moment and then make the following firm resolution: When the Snitch appears within my field of awareness, may it immediately be promoted to my attention.'
Harry repeated the phrase to Owen, and then he launched and started circling above the pitch. He took a moment just to fly around, letting the pleasure of it overtake him for a short while. He then called Owen's phrase to mind. When the Snitch appears within my field of awareness, may it immediately be promoted to my attention. He allowed its meaning to sink into his bones.
Owen must have activated the Launcher, because the first Snitch soon appeared. Harry hadn't been looking for it as actively as he normally would have done, but it appeared to him nevertheless. He flew towards it, caught it, and then dropped it to the ground.
The next Snitch appeared moments later, and he flew to catch it. He was astonished by how much easier it was to find the Snitch this way, compared with looking for it more deliberately. He caught the most of the following Snitches as well.
Eventually he fell back into using his attention to look for the Snitch, and his catch rate decreased accordingly. Owen seemed to notice he was flagging and whistled him down.
'That was really good for a while,' said Owen. 'But what happened towards the end?'
Harry shook his head in irritation. 'Old habits,' he grumbled. 'Why do I keep reverting to a method that requires more effort and doesn't even work as well?'
'That's normal when you're first learning,' said Owen. 'Our faculty for focused attention is much more developed than our peripheral awareness. You just need to keep practising at it, and it'll become more automatic.'
'What should I do when I catch myself relying too heavily on my attention?' asked Harry. 'I tried switching back to your method, but it didn't seem to take.'
Owen looked thoughtful before replying. 'Later on you might find you're able to simply switch back. But for now, while you're still getting the hang of things, I recommend clearing your head with a fun bit of flying, and then deliberately reset your intention using that phrase,' he advised. 'And feel free to come up with your own wording—there's no rule saying you have to use mine.'
'No, I like yours,' said Harry, before pausing a moment to think. 'When I catch myself falling into bad habits, I wonder if that wouldn't be a good time for a feint, just to clear my head a bit.'
'That's a great idea. Of course, now you've given away your strategy—I'll be onto you,' smirked Owen.
'Take any advantage you can get, old-timer,' taunted Harry.
'Enough of your lip, Potter—get back in the air, and leave off the Omnioculars this time.'
Harry circled above the pitch again and carefully set his intention. When the Snitch appears within my field of awareness, may it immediately be promoted to my attention. He let the words resonate through his entire body.
The Snitches appeared to him one after another, literally like magic. He found himself looking in a direction seemingly before the Snitch even appeared there. It was a deeply satisfying experience, and not only because he made all his catches. He felt as if he were in deep harmony with something larger than himself.
When Owen blew the whistle a while later and Harry landed, he was pleased to see only one black Snitch near Owen's feet.
'That was tremendous!' exclaimed Owen. 'You've clearly got the knack of it.'
Harry took a moment to regain the full power of speech. 'That was ... incredible. I could have spent all day up there. Everything seemed to be unified into a single experience, with the Snitches as much a part of myself as my own hands. Finding them felt more like a reunion than anything. Like being reunited with someone I love.'
Owen looked at him appraisingly. 'Let's sit down a moment,' he said.
'Can you sit on the ground all right?' asked Harry, remembering Owen's injuries. 'Or would you prefer the benches?'
'The ground is fine for a short while,' he replied. 'Thanks for asking.'
They sat on the grass, which was no longer damp from the morning dew, and Owen turned to Harry. 'I don't mean to pry,' he said, 'but I'm getting the feeling you had some very ... profound experiences during the war.'
Harry took a deep breath. 'I suppose so. But it's hard to know, really. My life has never been what you'd call normal.'
'I've no doubt of that,' said Owen. 'But I don't simply mean unusual experiences. I'm talking about experiences you can't even put into words.'
Remembering what had happened after his vision of King's Cross Station, Harry nodded.
'The newspapers were short on specifics about what happened when you were believed dead, during the final confrontation with Voldemort,' remarked Owen. 'I don't recall reading any interviews with you on the topic.'
Harry shook his head. 'I never talked to any reporters about that. Several asked, but I told them it was classified. Which was true, at least in part.'
'I certainly wouldn't want you to disclose anything you oughtn't,' said Owen. 'And I've confirmed my theory anyway.'
'What theory is that?'
'I think something changed you very deeply, perhaps during the war, or maybe some other time. But either way, the result is you're now primed for perceptions and experiences that go beyond the mundane,' explained Owen.
'More so than magic?' asked Harry. 'That already goes well beyond the mundane.'
'No, this goes way beyond magic. It's a completely different way of experiencing your mind and, by extension, the world.'
Before Owen could explain further, Tuttle blew the whistle and ordered them to the benches.
'Practice match, ten minutes!' she shouted. 'Starters versus reserves. Starters in orange.'
As the players returned to the building for their break, Harry resumed speaking with Owen. 'I suspect you're right,' he said. 'And I'm glad you brought it up. I don't really understand what happened, and it hadn't occurred to me I could talk to anyone about it.'
'Yeah, if you told the wrong person you might find yourself in a secure ward at St Mungo's,' replied Owen, smiling.
The group gathered again on the pitch, and Harry charmed his robes orange. The only problem with the practice matches, he thought, was that he always had to play against Owen. But he enjoyed their friendly rivalry, and he liked seeing that someone as wise as Owen could still have a sense of humour. Like Dumbledore, he supposed, only less secretive—and considerably less dotty.
Before the players lifted off, Owen approached Harry, 'Remember to set your intention,' he said. 'I'm going to do my absolute best to catch the Snitch—make no mistake—but for the team's sake I hope you'll beat me to it.'
With a deep inhale, Harry nodded before launching into the air. He raced the length of the pitch and back before the balls had even been released. He wasn't even going think about them. Instead he set his intention to locate the Snitch (adding in a bit about avoiding Bludgers), and surrendered to the experience of flying.
Harry's field of awareness was wide open. He couldn't have told you what the other players were doing—that wasn't his concern. A corner of his mind was devoted to tracking Owen, in case he spotted the Snitch first, but otherwise Harry allowed his being to merge with the entire playing area. Occasionally he found his eyes starting to scan for the Snitch, looking for it rather than waiting for it to appear. But he caught himself and lightly repeated the intention he'd set.
Owen suddenly accelerated steeply upwards, and Harry aimed his broomstick and rocketed in the same direction. He soon saw, however, that no Snitch was present, and he gave up the chase. Unfortunately this caused his mind to shift away from awareness and more towards attention, and he knew he wouldn't easily spot the Snitch this way.
Harry tried to expand into awareness, but the Chasers suddenly caught his eye. It looked like Renée had just intercepted a pass from the reserves, he noted absently as he scanned for the Snitch. Reset your intention, thought Harry. But it just wasn't working—his Omnioculars had taken over.
Knowing desperate action was necessary, Harry temporarily stopped looking for the Snitch and instead flew corkscrews for about fifty yards. His body surged with the thrill of it, and when he resumed his Seeker pattern he was easily able to reestablish his intention and surrender to his larger awareness.
Except for that short interlude, Harry was completely oblivious to the gameplay. He'd needed to avoid a Bludger several times, but he'd done so automatically and without fear. His mind was wonderfully quiet, and he'd never felt so elated during a match.
Finally the Snitch appeared, about three-quarters of the length of the pitch away, and lower down. Seemingly without Harry's input, his Silver Arrow changed course and shot towards the Snitch, and Harry grabbed it while Owen was still at least ten yards away.
'Fantastic!' shouted Owen. 'I didn't even spot it until you began accelerating.'
Harry was beyond words. He simply held the Snitch above him and let out a loud whoop, which drew similar cries from his teammates, who had flown around him and were slapping him on the back.
'Owen, thank you!' he finally called out. 'That was like nothing I've experienced before!'
'Wait until you try it during a real match,' replied Owen, and they flew down to the benches, where Tuttle began telling everyone what they'd done wrong.
Although the starting Chasers had done well, Tuttle found reasons to nitpick them, but Harry could tell from their expressions that they were pleased with how they'd done.
'Potter, what the hell was that corkscrew?' demanded Tuttle. 'You did a fine job today, but next time I catch you showboating like that, you'll wish You-Know-Who had finished you off!'
'That was deliberate and strategic,' explained Harry. 'Owen's feint had thrown me off balance, and I needed to clear my head with a short burst of aerobatics. It was a calculated risk, but it took less than fifteen seconds.'
Tuttle looked at him sharply but didn't immediately reply.
'Potter was acting on my advice,' added Owen. 'I agree it was worth the risk.'
'Fine,' said Tuttle. 'But if you ever miss the Snitch doing that, Potter, you'll be the laughing stock of the entire league.'
Gary and Suresh congratulated Harry as they walked back to the building. 'Play like that on Saturday and we've got it in the bag,' said Gary.
'I couldn't have done it without you,' was Harry's sincere reply. 'I barely had to think about Bludgers at all.'
Suresh said, 'Tomorrow afternoon, we should have the Beaters really turn up the heat on you—the opposing Beaters, that is. I agree with Gary that you'll likely be the Falcons' main target.'
'You're probably right,' agreed Harry, 'and that sounds like a good practice strategy, though I can't say I'm looking forward to it.'
Before he could head to the lockers, Lara caught his attention. 'Excuse me, Harry,' she said. 'We need to get you fitted for your Cannons robes.'
'Er, now?' asked Harry, who felt in desperate need of a shower.
'No, sometime tomorrow, here at the facility. You could either come in at half past eight or return early from lunch. Do you have a preference?'
'Early tomorrow sounds good,' said Harry, who was excited to be getting his official team robes.
Lara continued. 'Do you know what number you'll want?'
'I'm sorry?'
'Your player number, on your uniform,' she clarified.
'Er, I've no idea. I don't even know which numbers are currently in use.'
She explained, 'Seeker numbers are usually single-digit. Spencer was number seven—not that it gave him much luck—and Owen wears number six. But you're free to choose any of the others.'
Harry thought for a moment. Number four was out, thanks to Privet Drive associations, and he knew number one would look too egotistical. Luckily, an idea popped into his head: Why not go with number three, in honour of his two best mates? It struck him as a nice reminder of the power of teamwork.
'Three,' he said decisively.
'Excellent,' replied Lara as she wrote it down. 'And then later this week we'll take your official team photograph, for your player card. Unless you want us to use the photo from Saturday's Prophet,' she added with a smirk.
Harry couldn't help laughing, and Janet, who had overheard, said, 'No, that photo needs to go on his Chocolate Frog Card. Although there could be a scandal if he starts travelling into the other cards. We don't want Bridget Wenlock and Morgana duelling over him.'
'I do not have a Chocolate Frog Card,' protested Harry.
'Not true,' said Lara. 'My younger brother got one last week.'
'Oh for Merlin's sake,' grumbled Harry. 'You'd think they'd give a bloke a heads-up.'
For a moment Janet just looked at him. 'Are you actually too jaded to be excited about having your own Chocolate Frog Card? That's every wizarding child's dream.' Lara nodded in agreement.
'Sorry, it just touched a nerve,' sighed Harry. 'Ever since my eleventh birthday, when I found out I was a wizard and learnt the real reason my parents died, I've received more attention than I ever wanted—with little or no say in the matter. And to make matters worse, a lot of that attention was hostile, particularly after Voldemort returned and the Ministry was telling everyone I was delusional. So in a sense, finding out I'm on a Chocolate Frog Card is not entirely dissimilar to seeing my photograph plastered everywhere with the label "Undesirable Number One."'
Janet looked at him with unexpected compassion. 'I'm sorry, Harry. Here I've been pushing you into the spotlight without considering whether that might be uncomfortable for you. I suppose I'm so used to you being public property that I didn't ask how you might feel about it.'
Touched, Harry said, 'Please don't apologise, Janet. The only thing that got me through it all was having friends who could make me laugh about it. Ron's twin brothers in particular. So I really appreciate how all the Cannons—and you as well, Lara—bypassed the gawking phase and immediately started taking the piss.'
'I think we have Tuttle to thank for that,' remarked Lara. 'She really set the tone.'
'I'm relieved to hear it, Harry,' admitted Janet. 'But please let me know if I ever cross the line. I know I'm rather unfiltered, and I'd hate to make you truly uncomfortable.'
'Thanks, I'll definitely tell you if that happens,' he replied.
As he finally headed into the locker room, he was flagged by Ryan, who had already showered and was getting ready to leave. 'Could I bother you for Hermione's contact information? If you don't think she'd mind, that is.' He handed Harry a Muggle notepad and a biro.
'Of course, no problem,' said Harry, and he jotted down Hermione's particulars. 'I'll include her phone number as well, since you presumably know how to use one. I can guarantee you'll impress her parents that way—I'm not sure Ron ever got over the habit of shouting.'
Ryan laughed and said, 'Thanks, I'll take any advantage I can get. She really seems ... remarkable. Has she always been like that?'
'She's always been brilliant, if that's what you mean,' replied Harry. 'We had to train her a bit when it came to rule-breaking, but she caught on fast enough.' He paused, and added, 'But yeah, she's pretty remarkable. I couldn't even count how many times she's saved my life.'
Ryan shook his head in amazement. 'I suppose we're all just glad you met her. Anyway, thanks for this,' he said, holding up the notepad, 'and see you tomorrow.'
The next morning, Lara and the tailor were waiting for Harry at the appointed time. 'It's an honour to meet you, Mr Potter,' said the tailor, a short and rather round wizard with tufty grey hair. 'I'm Benedict Thimble, and my family has supplied the Cannons uniforms for centuries.'
'Nice to meet you too, Mr Thimble,' replied Harry, making a note to remember his name for Hermione. 'I'm thrilled that I'll soon have my own Cannons uniform. There's certainly nothing like them.'
'Indeed no,' said Thimble. 'There's no dye to produce that colour, and the charm is a family secret. I know you have something similar for your practice robes, but it's not quite the real thing.' Harry was slightly alarmed to learn that his real uniform would be even brighter than his practice robes, which were already blinding.
Thimble directed Harry to stand on a small block, and then he pulled out a tape measure similar to the one Ollivander had used. It extended and retracted as it flitted around Harry's body, and his measurements appeared on a nearby parchment. Next, Thimble pulled out a set of black robes and performed various charms on them, referring to the parchment. The robes resized accordingly, and Thimble gave them to Harry to try on.
'These seem all right,' said Harry, as he stretched his arms and moved around a bit.
'No, we can get them much better than that,' insisted Thimble, who pulled the robes around Harry's shoulders and used his wand to make minor adjustments. Harry felt the fabric grow, allowing him a bit more freedom of movement.
'Extend your arm upwards, as if you were reaching for a Snitch,' ordered Thimble. 'Excellent, thank you.' He continued making adjustments. 'Now outwards ... good. Cross-body ...'
Harry kept contorting himself as Thimble tweaked the robes. The tailor seemed to be doing a good job providing freedom of movement without turning the robes into something Hagrid could wear.
By the time he was done, the robes were sleek in all the right places and spacious everywhere else. Harry wondered if he'd used charms similar to the ones Hermione employed on her capacious handbags.
'Thank you, Mr Potter. I believe I've everything I need from you.' He turned to Lara and said, 'I'll have them for you end of day tomorrow.'
'Perfect, thank you,' she replied.
'Yes, thanks,' said Harry, who had removed the robes. 'I don't think I've ever had clothing fitted quite so thoroughly.'
'You'll have to come round the shop sometime to see about the rest of your wardrobe—ten percent team discount,' said Thimble, handing Harry a business card. 'Now that you're a professional Seeker, you can't go about wearing pumpkin sacks. We carry Muggle styles as well.'
Harry glanced at his workout clothes, which were far from glamorous. I suppose my regular clothes aren't much better, he thought. 'I might do that, cheers.'
After the tailor left, Lara said, 'A lot of the players buy from his shop. I think it'll suit you.' She turned and grabbed an envelope from her desk, which she handed to him. 'And I've something to show you. My brother lent it to me, with the strict requirement you autograph it for him.'
Harry opened the envelope and found a Chocolate Frog Card with his own picture on it. He was still wearing eyeglasses, and he wasn't exactly grinning but his expression was friendly. Harry supposed the photograph had been taken during an interview after the war.
He turned the card over and read the description:
Harry James Potter, who defeated the Dark lord Voldemort in 1998, is the only wizard known to have survived the Killing Curse—not once but twice. The first time was as an infant, and Voldemort's resultant incapacitation led many to believe young Potter had somehow defeated him. It was later revealed, however, that Potter's mother Lily had sacrificed her life to protect her child.
As a teenager, Potter and two close friends endured numerous hardships in their effort to weaken Voldemort, culminating in a pivotal battle at Hogwarts during which Potter survived a second Killing Curse and ultimately defeated the Dark wizard. Potter is currently in training to become a Ministry Auror.
Harry raised his eyebrows. 'That's actually not bad,' he told Lara. 'It would have been nice if they'd mentioned Ron and Hermione by name, but otherwise it's remarkably accurate.'
'Except for the Auror part,' corrected Lara.
Harry shrugged and said, 'Even so, this is still probably the most truthful piece ever written about me. I should owl them a thank-you note.' He looked at her and added, 'Thanks for showing it to me. I reckon it does feel good to see myself on a Chocolate Frog Card, considering how I used to collect them.'
'I did too,' she said, handing him a self-inking No-Smudge quill. 'Would you mind autographing it? It would mean a lot to my brother.'
'I'd be glad to,' replied Harry, who took the quill and signed his name to the card. Lara thanked him, and he went to the lockers to prepare for practice.
It was another hard session, but Harry was beginning to feel the benefit of the more strenuous workouts and hoped he wouldn't need a pain draught the next day.
When his afternoon Seeker training began, Owen handed him a pair of what looked like earmuffs. Before Harry could ask about them, Owen said, 'This is a crowd simulation headset. It's easy to concentrate in a quiet setting like we have here, but on Saturday you'll be in a packed stadium with several thousand screaming spectators. It's important we prepare you for it.'
'That makes sense,' replied Harry, looking more closely at the headset. He pointed out some small runes on the side and asked, 'What are these?'
'That's how you change the settings. We can vary the crowd's mood from friendly to hostile, and we can even charm it to have people shouting your name. There's also a way to add game commentary from an announcer.'
'Incredible,' remarked Harry. 'How's it set currently?'
'I've currently got the default setting, which is friendly and non-personal, and with game commentary. We'll start with the randomised Launcher, and then maybe later you and I can chase after a real Snitch together.'
Harry nodded, and Owen showed him how to activate the headset. When Harry pulled it over his ears, he was momentarily overwhelmed by all the noise.
'Sweet Merlin! Is this really what it's like during a match?'
'Almost,' smiled Owen. 'It's pretty fantastic actually, as you'll find out soon enough. The adrenaline rush is indescribable.'
'Wait, how am I even able to hear you over this?' asked Harry.
'I'll give you a hint,' replied Owen. 'It's a five-letter word, starts with M.' Harry responded with a two-finger salute before kicking off.
Once he was in the air, he quickly adjusted to the loud volume, but the noise itself was quite distracting. He had to fly a short while to settle his mind and set his intention properly, and he wasn't sure whether he even saw the first Snitch Owen had launched.
He caught the next one, though, and more after that. He set an additional intention to disregard the announcer's commentary but remain aware of the game score. It wouldn't do, for example, to catch the Snitch when his team was down more than 150 points, although he didn't envision that happening with the Cannons' strong Chasers and Janet at the rings.
After a while, Harry noticed that Owen was frantically waving him down. When he landed and removed the headset, Owen said, 'That's the one problem with the headset—even though it lets nearby speech through, it drowns out the whistle.'
'Oh dear,' replied Harry. 'How long were you trying to get my attention?'
'Only a minute or so. Next time I'll just Stun you,' he said with a smirk. 'So, how did you feel up there?'
'It took a bit of getting used to. Did I miss any at the start?'
'Only one,' replied Owen. 'Not bad, really. And you missed three more after that.'
When Harry looked disappointed, Owen reassured him. 'Don't be upset—that's actually tremendous progress this early on. I hadn't counted on you being so adept at the mind arts.'
Harry actually burst out laughing. 'Do you feel that rush of wind?' he asked Owen. 'That's my Occlumency teacher spinning in his grave. In fact, can you write that down and owl it to Professor McGonagall, the Hogwarts headmistress, so she can read it to his portrait?'
'Er, I'm not sure I want to abet petty revenge on the deceased.'
'Oh, believe me,' replied Harry, 'Snape was all in favour of petty revenge on the deceased, namely my father.'
Owen was quiet a moment. 'Don't I remember reading about a Headmaster Snape, who had been spying against Voldemort for years?'
'Yes, that's the one.'
'I thought he sacrificed his life to protect you. He loved your mother, right?'
Harry looked at the grass, half-hoping Tuttle would shout at them for standing idle. 'That's true,' acknowledged Harry. 'But it was a bit more complicated than that.'
'Because he hated your father?'
'Yeah,' said Harry. 'And I think he blamed me for costing my mother her life.'
Owen nodded in understanding. 'That does sound complicated.' He asked Harry to hand him the headset and said, 'I'm going to make the crowd more hostile and add in some personal taunts.' He used his wand to fiddle with the runes, and at one point he pronounced Harry's name. 'All right,' said Owen, handing the headset back to Harry. 'This is advanced mode, so don't feel bad if you get rattled. You know what to do about that.'
Harry pulled the headset over his ears and pressed the rune to activate it. Once again he was struck by how very loud it was.
As he lifted off, he noticed the tone of the crowd had changed. There was more booing, and even though he couldn't make out what people were saying, Harry could hear a sharper edge in their voices. He was reminded of those two Wasps fans from Diagon Alley.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, but Harry tried to ignore it. He set his intention to look for the Snitch, and he caught it sometimes, but he couldn't help feeling distracted every time he heard 'Potter!' shouted angrily from the crowd.
He tried a bit of stunt flying to clear his head, and it helped a little, but hearing his name in harsh tones always seemed to unsettle him. He was almost relieved to see Owen waving him back to the ground.
'You noticed me sooner this time,' said Owen, after Harry had landed and removed the headset. 'I reckon you were keen to get that thing off.'
'Yeah,' said Harry, without further elaboration.
'Do you want to sit down a moment?' asked Owen as he handed Harry a water bottle. Harry nodded and accepted the bottle, and they sat together on the grass.
'You've taken more than your share of abuse, haven't you?' asked Owen.
Harry sighed. 'You have no idea,' he said, taking a long gulp of water.
His mind was a blur of hostile memories, ranging from the Dursleys to Draco Malfoy. The quotation from the Magpies team manager popped into his head: 'Quidditch deserves better than to have an attention-seeking glory-monger like Harry Potter barging in.' He saw a row of badges flashing 'POTTER STINKS.'
'Now that you're an acknowledged hero,' said Owen, 'it's easy to forget just how horribly they treated you. And I'm only aware of the public abuse, and not what you might have endured at school.'
'And at home,' muttered Harry, before realising he'd said it. He hardly ever spoke about the Dursleys.
'You mean with your Muggle relations, after your parents died?'
'Yeah,' said Harry. 'My aunt and uncle. They didn't like wizards.'
'That must have been hard,' said Owen.
Harry suddenly realised he might have given Owen the wrong impression. 'They didn't hit me or anything. I mean, my cousin and his mates did, but they were the same age as me.'
'Verbal abuse still counts. In fact, it often leaves deeper scars,' remarked Owen.
'Maybe so,' said Harry dully. After a while he said, 'So how do I deal with this? I mean, I guess I handled it all right playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, but that was a lot fewer people, and mostly just the Slytherins—one of the other houses.'
'You have everything you need, Harry. You just need to put the pieces together.' When Harry looked at him curiously, Owen continued. 'I'm going to have you stay seated and activate the headset. When you hear the angry crowd, and particularly your own name, you're going to feel emotions come up. Probably some physical sensations as well.'
'Yeah, I imagine so.'
'See if you can just observe your reactions. You don't need to change them or suppress anything. Just try to notice what's happening.'
'Should I set an intention?' asked Harry.
'Good instinct, yes,' said Owen. 'Your intention should be to remain in that wide, open space of awareness that you've been practicing. When your emotions arise, you'll be experiencing them as you are now—in your expanded state of awareness—and not as a helpless kid anymore.'
Harry pulled on the headset, but before activating it he closed his eyes and set his intention. Remain in open awareness. Allow the emotions to arise. He activated the headset, and the angry shouts began.
His throat started to tighten, and his eyes clamped shut. A well of sadness opened within his torso. He felt very small. But he felt the wide space of awareness, and this made it a little more tolerable.
A shrill female voice began shouting 'Potter!' and a fresh wave of anxiety washed through him. But a corresponding spaciousness arose from the field of awareness, holding the anxiety in check without suppressing it.
Next a whole group of people started chanting, 'Potter stinks!' repeatedly. Harry's heart began to race and his breathing grew shallow. He realised his eyes were still clamped shut, and so he opened them. Owen was before him, and the wind was blowing lightly over the grass. Harry relaxed a little.
The announcer mentioned him by name for the first time. 'That was a remarkably clumsy move by Potter—it might cost them the match,' he said harshly, and Harry felt his stomach lurch and his face begin to redden. He saw an image of Sirius falling through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, and his eyes grew hot.
A much stronger wave of spaciousness expanded within him, as if to protect him from the emotional onslaught. He felt uplifted even, and the angry voices seemed smaller and less significant. The painful emotions were still present, but they felt like raw fuel for the larger, more buoyant sensation. His breathing grew calm and steady.
He remained in that state of balance for another minute before deactivating and removing the headset. 'That was ... intense,' he said.
'I could tell from watching you,' remarked Owen.
'So am I going to feel better now?' asked Harry hopefully.
'It's not that simple. You'll probably do better next time I send you up looking for the Snitch, and not get rattled so easily, but your old trauma isn't going to disappear all in one go. But now you have a tool for addressing it.'
'A tool is better than nothing, and I'm already feeling better,' said Harry. 'By the way, you should probably start teaching mind arts professionally after retiring from Quidditch. In case coaching Seekers isn't enough to pay the bills.'
'Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. Now let's get you up there again before the practice match.'
Harry reactivated the headset and began flying. Luckily he was still in the expanded state from before, so it was easy to set his intention and wait for the Snitch to appear. He did pretty well and caught most of them, though he got distracted when some of the crowd started chanting his full name in a sing-song voice that reminded him of Bellatrix Lestrange. He accelerated on his broomstick for several seconds, just to feel the wind on his face, and that seemed to rebalance him.
Eventually Owen waved him down, and Harry saw there were only five black Snitches on the ground. 'That was great,' praised Owen. 'If you can do that well on advanced mode, you'll have no problem on Saturday. Remember there will be plenty of Cannons fans in the stadium as well.'
'Really? I assumed it would mostly be Falcons supporters.'
'No, Cannons fans are exceptionally loyal, and the team provides portkeys from Chudley Stadium to transport them to away games.'
'So what you're saying,' began Harry, 'is that you've exposed me to my darkest demons for no reason?'
Owen smiled. 'I admit it—I was just trying to throw you off before our practice match.'
'I should never have trusted you, Barrowmaker,' snapped Harry. 'Come to think of it, I think I've seen you before ... wearing black robes and a skull mask.'
'You've found me out, Potter. This is the part where I burst into evil laughter and Disapparate, never to be heard from again.'
The whistle blew, and they began walking to the benches. 'Between getting my vision fixed and everything you've taught me,' observed Harry, 'it's a miracle I ever caught the Snitch back in school.'
'Yes and no,' replied Owen. 'I suspect you were unconsciously relying on more subtle methods for finding the Snitch, even then. Obviously your conventional eyesight wasn't up to the job.'
'Interesting ... are you saying I'm something of a Seer when it comes to Quidditch? And here I got a Poor on my Divination O.W.L.'
'You failed an O.W.L.? Don't let Darius find out, or he'll kick you off the team,' joked Owen.
Harry was about to reply when he noticed nobody else was talking and Tuttle was glaring at them. 'Are you finished with your tea party then?'
'Yes, Tuttle, thanks!' replied Owen cheerfully.
'Glad to hear it,' she growled, before announcing the teams for the practice match. She mixed up the Chasers, and Suresh and Gary would be playing opposite Harry. Oh dear, he thought.
'Ten minute break, Barrowmaker's team in orange!'
Gary approached Harry as they walked towards the building. 'Just remember it's nothing personal, all right?'
'I know,' replied Harry. 'It'll be good practice for Saturday.'
'And you're in good hands with Lyle and Titus—they work much better as a team than with Suresh or me,' he said, a little unconvincingly.
When Harry returned to the benches after the break, he was stopped by Tuttle. He swallowed when he noticed she was holding out the headset.
'I've spoken with Barrowmaker, and we want you to wear this during the match today,' she said.
'Er, which mode?'
'I've set it to neutral. You'll hear your name and commentary, but it'll be an even mix of positive and negative. You can expect the same on Saturday.'
Harry exhaled. That was better than advanced mode, at least. 'All right,' he said, taking the headset.
He relaxed a moment before putting it on, allowing himself to expand into open awareness. Then he activated it and set his intention to let the Snitch appear to him, and to remain aware of Bludgers as needed.
They took off, and Harry commenced his circling pattern. It was fine for the first minute or two, but then the Bludgers starting coming—often. He dodged them fairly well, and Lyle and Titus came to his rescue most of the time, but Harry wasn't able to relax as he'd done on Monday.
Partly to clear his head, and partly to get away from the Bludgers, Harry decided to feint. He started near one end of the pitch, about twenty feet below the rings, and shot upwards and across. The air felt cool on his cheeks, and even though he knew Owen had abandoned the chase, Harry kept flying just to get some space.
He renewed his intention and started circling again. He had grown accustomed to the noise from the headset, and although the hostile chanting was offset by occasional cheers, he didn't find himself swayed by either. In the end it was just noise.
The Snitch appeared near one of the goals, and he and Owen both raced for it. But before either one of them caught it, the Snitch shot off in a different direction and seemingly disappeared. Harry resisted the urge to don his Omnioculars and instead strengthened his intention to rely on awareness.
They circled for a while longer, and Harry continued dodging Bludgers. He knew he'd have to be lucky to win this match, since Owen wasn't being targeted nearly as much as he was.
Harry was flying around the edge of the pitch when he saw the Snitch near the ground. His broomstick shot towards it, but Harry sensed that a Bludger was heading straight for him. He swerved to avoid it, and the Snitch changed direction as well. Owen shifted course, and slam!
Harry was knocked off his broom by the other Bludger, and he landed hard. Fortunately he'd been only several feet from the ground, but he felt a sharp pain in his tailbone. Could I have broken it?
Just as the team Healer ran towards Harry from the benches, Tuttle blew the whistle and shouted, 'Who's got the Snitch?' Owen and Harry turned towards each other, their hands empty.
The Healer approached Harry with his wand out and asked, 'Are you all right?'
'Mostly,' said Harry, 'but I might have broken my tailbone.'
'Let's have a look,' said the Healer, who helped Harry lie back gingerly and roll over. His pain diminished considerably, and from under him rolled a slightly dented Snitch.
'Potter's side wins,' shouted Tuttle, and there was an explosion of laughter from the players who'd witnessed the big reveal.
'Did he land on it?' asked Gary, who'd flown in to make sure Harry hadn't been injured by the Bludger he'd sent.
'Yes,' replied Owen knowledgeably. 'It was the classic Snitchbottom Manoeuvre, last seen in aught nine against Ballycastle.'
Harry was laughing as well—this was even less dignified than when he'd caught his first Snitch by swallowing it.
Both sides had gathered around him, and after a few diagnostic charms the Healer helped him to his feet. 'Just a bit of bruising, which I can treat in my office easily enough. For privacy, more than anything.'
'Bugger that!' shouted Janet. 'Give us a show!'
Harry laughed again and said to her, 'Remember our discussion about crossing lines? You just crossed one.'
'Oh fine,' she said. 'Way to be a spoilsport, Snitchbottom.'
They walked together to the benches, and the Healer conjured a cool pillow for Harry to sit on while Tuttle gave her notes.
'You two,' she shouted towards Gary and Suresh. 'Nice job keeping the pressure on. And Potter, well done spotting the Snitch same time as Barrowmaker. Not the smoothest catch I've seen, but you can get hit by all the Bludgers you like as long as you end up with the Snitch.'
'Er, thanks?' mumbled Harry, causing both Janet and the Healer to snigger.
When Tuttle had finished, the trainer led them through their stretches, and the Healer kept an eye on Harry just in case. Afterwards they walked together towards the building.
'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'I don't know your name.'
'My name's Charles MacAlister. Glad to be of service, Potter.'
Harry smiled. At least he wasn't unduly pressured into a healing career. 'Thanks for your help. And please call me Harry.'
'Or just Snitchbottom,' suggested Suresh.
'Oh great,' groaned Harry. 'I can see this is my new life.'
'It certainly is, Snitchbottom,' echoed Ryan.
'Et tu, Bellamy?' replied Harry plaintively.
'We'll try to keep it from the press,' he said. 'Does that help?'
'I'll believe it when I don't see it,' grumbled Harry.
Healer MacAlister escorted him into his office and quickly restored Harry to his pre-Bludger condition. He handed Harry two small bottles and said, 'Take one of these muscle relaxants now, and the next tomorrow morning. It shouldn't interfere with your practice, and it'll nip any Bludger aches in the bud.'
'Thanks again,' he said, and then headed towards the showers. So much for not needing a pain draught tomorrow.
As he showered, he pondered the evening ahead of him. He'd resisted the temptation to have Elizabeth over and had instead invited Neville, Luna, and Hermione to dinner. He knew Hermione would benefit from company and that their friends would want to cheer her up. Normally Ginny would have been included as well, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. Presumably Ginny would reach out to her privately.
He wondered if Owen's technique for releasing trauma could help him get over Ginny faster. Would it work on heartache as well? He decided to give it a try.
It was easy to feel expansive as the water fell on him, and from there he invited the sense of loss he'd been carrying into the foreground. But the anguish arose more quickly than he'd anticipated, and only the physical sensation of the water kept him from being overwhelmed.
No, he didn't want to face this yet. He'd stick instead with his previous approach. Maybe Elizabeth can come over tomorrow night, he thought idly, and his pain was soon forgotten.