Harry wasn't expected at the training grounds until eleven o'clock on Saturday, but he stayed home on Friday night and went to sleep early. He wanted to be in top form for his first match.
He awoke at seven, full of restless energy. The previous night, Kreacher had begged permission to serve him breakfast in bed, but Harry had refused. Walking into the kitchen that morning, Harry resolved to prepare his own breakfast, if only to have something to do besides climbing up and down the stairs or picking a fight with Walburga.
'But Kreacher always cooks for Master,' argued the despondent elf.
'Kreacher, you know how much I appreciate your cooking, but I occasionally prefer to cook for myself, and for guests as well. Like you, I take pride in taking care of myself and serving others.'
Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Kreacher broke into piteous moans. 'Master has spurned Kreacher. Next, Master will give Kreacher clothes.'
'I have no intention of giving you clothes, unless you want them.'
'Master thinks Kreacher would be so base as to want clothing!' he wailed, before dropping to the floor and curling into a tiny ball. 'Please, Master, just put Kreacher out of his misery. Kreacher only asks that Master mount his head upon the wall.'
'I will do no such thing,' declared Harry. 'I am very happy to have you as my house-elf, and I'm grateful for your service. What do I have to do to convince you of this?'
'Master will allow Kreacher to cook breakfast.'
Harry clutched his head in frustration. He sincerely doubted his counterpart on the Falcons was spending his morning arguing with a house-elf.
'I have no desire to punish you, Kreacher, but if you can't respect my wishes I may have no choice.' Merlin, did I just threaten a house-elf?
Kreacher uncurled slightly and peered up at Harry. 'Master would punish Kreacher?'
'If you refuse to allow me to cook in my own house, yes,' said Harry, hoping desperately that Hermione would never find out about this.
Kreacher's ears pricked upwards. 'What kind of punishment?'
Harry drew a blank. How on earth would he punish the mad elf?
'I would confine you to your attic,' said Harry sternly.
Kreacher drooped again. 'That is no punishment. Kreacher is not even worthy of proper punishment.'
'Er, I could confine you to a smaller space. A cupboard, perhaps?'
Kreacher looked up at him hopefully. 'How small a cupboard?'
'The one near the back door?'
The elf shook his head stubbornly. 'No, that is far too large.'
Harry knew what he had to say, but he almost couldn't bring himself to do it. He closed his eyes and took a resigned breath. 'What about the cupboard ... beneath those stairs?' he said wearily, indicating four steps leading to a small alcove off the kitchen.
'Yes, Master! That would be a perfect punishment. When may Kreacher start?'
'Er, now?'
Unable to contain his excitement, Kreacher Disapparated on the spot, and moments later a small voice came from the cramped cupboard. 'Kreacher is very naughty. Bad bad Kreacher. Master has punished him, most deservedly.'
Harry felt slightly ill but he knew this was his best alternative, given the sort of punishments house-elves came up with on their own. 'How long do you require confinement?' asked Harry.
'Until Monday?' said a hopeful voice.
'Out of the question. I need your services before then,' he said, a bit dishonestly. 'You are to confine yourself until eleven o'clock.'
'This evening?'
'No, this morning. I'll fetch you from the cupboard before I leave.'
'Yes, Master,' came the voice, followed by what sounded like very pleased and tuneless humming.
Harry sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to shove Kreacher into a cupboard every time he wanted to cook, particularly if a witch were present. It would surely give the wrong impression.
He took his time preparing breakfast Muggle-style, and he was pleased to find he still knew how. He read the Prophet as he ate, paying particular attention to the Quidditch coverage.
Unsurprisingly, his debut was the top story in the sport section. It was mostly just speculation, drawn from first-hand accounts provided by his former classmates at Hogwarts. Most of them were people he'd barely known, but he was happy to see Oliver Wood quoted:
Puddlemere Keeper Oliver Wood, who was captain of Potter's house team from 1991 to 1994, had nothing but praise for the young Seeker. 'He's a natural, no question about it, and a real team player. The Cannons are lucky to have him.'
Harry felt a wave of fondness for his former captain. Strange to think they'd be playing against each other sometime soon.
The article went on to discuss the betting odds for the match. Normally the Falcons would have been the favourite, given the Cannons' dismal record, but the bookmakers were unwilling to offer long odds in either direction. Instead there were numerous secondary bets, some of which the Prophet described:
Speculation is rampant over which number Potter has selected for his uniform. The Prophet spoke to bookmaker Felix Galton, who provided a summary. 'The odds-on favourite is number one, since Potter was the Chosen One. But some are leaning towards number three, in honour of the Golden Trio, or number two, in reference to the two Killing Curses he survived.'
Harry was offended that so many people seemed to think he was a big enough arse to refer to himself as the Chosen One, but he was glad the public would know why he'd gone with number three. As for selecting a number in honour of Voldemort's Killing Curse ... that was just plain daft.
After breakfast he began the washing up, but he heard elvish squawks of woe from inside the cupboard and decided to leave it for Kreacher instead. When he turned from the sink, he was greeted by a bright silver dog Patronus. 'Harry,' said Ron's voice. 'Is it all right if I come over?'
Harry smiled—Ron's company was just what he needed. He used the memory of his new team robes to cast a Patronus and dispatched Prongs with his reply. Ron stepped through the fireplace soon after.
'Big day!' he said. 'How are you feeling?'
'I'm fine,' said Harry. 'I'm mainly impatient, so it's good you've come to distract me.'
Ron looked hopefully at the kitchen counter. 'Is there anything to eat? Where's Kreacher?'
Ignoring the thumping sounds from the cupboard, Harry said, 'Er, he's not here, but I can summon him if you're hungry.'
'No, I already ate. I just thought I'd stuff a scone or two in my pocket for later, but I can buy snacks at the stadium.'
'Sorry,' said Harry, and the thumping stopped. 'Did you give the tickets to George and Lee?'
'Yes, but it turns out one of them has to man the shop. They flipped a coin and Lee won, and he offered the extra ticket to Katie. I hope that's all right.'
'That's great—she was on my list as well. Did you warn them you'll be sitting with McGonagall?'
'Yeah, but we're not bothered. McGonagall knows her Quidditch, and she can't deduct house points,' replied Ron.
'I dare you to deduct points from her if she misbehaves,' suggested Harry.
'Great idea! Can you foul someone, just to make her yell at the referee?'
'Don't even joke about that—Tuttle would have my hide!'
They spent the next couple of hours talking Quidditch, which was ideal as far as Harry was concerned. 'Thanks so much for coming over—I think we need to make a tradition of this.'
'Gladly! I still can't believe you'll be wearing Cannons robes next time I see you. What number did you select anyway?'
'What do you think?'
'You'd have to be a right tosser to go with number one, so we can rule that out. I'm guessing three.'
'No, I've gone with number two, in remembrance of Voldemort's Killing Curses. I wanted to go with seven for the Horcruxes, but that was Spencer's number.'
'Are you shitting me?'
'Good lord yes,' said Harry. 'Of course I went with three.'
'Blimey, you had me going for a moment there!'
Harry looked at the clock and said, 'All right, I should get a move on. I guess I'll see you after the match?'
'If they let me onto the pitch, definitely.'
'Good point. I should probably notify someone you're allowed to come down. That wasn't really a problem during Hogwarts matches.'
'No, you're in the big time now. Good luck today! I'd tell you to look for me in the stands, but look for the Snitch instead.'
'Trust me, that's the plan.'
After Ron left, Harry went up to his room to get ready. There wasn't much to do, since his robes were at the training grounds, but he brushed his teeth and put on workout clothes, and he also packed clean clothes for later.
He took a deep breath before Apparating. This is it, he thought.
When he arrived outside the building, several of his teammates were already waiting. 'Today's the day, Potter,' said Gary. 'Are you ready?'
'I've been ready for hours,' he confessed, and the others laughed.
'Yeah, I remember my first match,' replied Gary. 'Andrew was my fellow Beater back then—that was before Suresh's time—and he showed up at my house early that morning with fireworks.'
'That doesn't seem like the best way to wake up before a match.'
'It wasn't,' agreed Gary, 'but apparently it was a Cannons Beater tradition.'
'That explains a lot,' observed Harry, thinking of Owen's injuries.
'Yeah, I'm proud to say the tradition ended with me.'
'Glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'So what's going to happen this morning before the match?'
'We'll spend the better part of an hour warming up and attending to any last-minute strategy changes, which I don't anticipate today. After that we'll eat lunch here, and then Floo to Falcons Stadium.'
'Will we change into our robes first?'
'No, they're already at the stadium. All you need to bring is your broomstick.'
More players had arrived and entered the building. 'I suppose we should go in,' said Harry. 'Practice robes then?' Gary nodded and they walked to the lockers together.
Soon everyone was assembled near the benches in their practice robes, and the trainers led them through warm-up exercises, which were far less rigorous than their weekday calisthenics. Next came the flying drills, which were more fun than anything. Clearly this was meant just to loosen them up for the match.
Harry was the recipient of numerous cheers and jibes, or a combination of both. 'We're counting on you, Snitchbottom,' called Lyle, and Suresh said, 'Don't blow it, Chosen One.'
'Nothing pulls the birds like catching the Snitch,' advised Janet. But then she added, 'Oh, who am I kidding ... even if you don't catch it, you'll be three deep in witches trying to console you.'
'You and Darren are really hell-bent on corrupting Harry, aren't you?' observed Ryan.
'We've already succeeded, thank you very much,' replied Janet. 'I didn't hear him moaning even once about his ex-girlfriend this week.'
'I reckon he was too busy moaning with someone else,' said Darren.
They were interrupted by the whistle, and everyone flew back to the ground. 'I trust you're in high spirits,' said Tuttle. 'That's good, because we're about to sweep the floor with the Falcons.'
The players cheered, and she continued.
'I'll save most of my pep talk for later, but I want you to know how proud I am of all your work. I've seen a huge improvement over the past fortnight, and I suspect you've noticed it as well. This is the team I've always known you could be, and I can't wait to show it to the public.'
Harry was moved—he was so accustomed to Tuttle's harshness that he wasn't prepared for her kind words. His teammates were beaming as well.
'Lunch then, and then we'll head to the stadium at quarter-past.'
Everyone started walking to the building, and Ryan explained, 'They'll serve us box lunches, to make sure we're properly fed but also to ensure nobody's tampered with it.'
'Yes, Owen told me, so I had my last two meals at home. I even prepared my own breakfast.'
'Wow, you really were raised by Muggles,' said Ryan as they took their lunches. 'I doubt there's another wizard out there who'd cook for themselves if they had a house-elf to do it for them.'
'Wizards really are lazy, aren't they?' commented Harry 'I'm not sure I'd entirely realised it until recently.'
'That's always been my impression, but I suppose I'm prejudiced because my mum has such strong feelings about it. I think that's a lot to do with why she married my father. She also insisted I play Muggle sports outside of school, and not just Quidditch.'
'I can't say I played any Muggle sports growing up, unless you count running away from bigger kids,' confessed Harry. 'We had a lot of stairs at Hogwarts, though.'
Everyone ate outside at the benches, and before long it was time to leave. 'Personally I'm glad we travel there by Floo rather than Apparating,' said Suresh. 'Call me over-cautious, but I've no desire to Splinch myself before a match.'
They emerged into a large windowless room, which Harry assumed was deep within Falcons Stadium. There were doors leading in opposite directions, and a long open corridor. 'The men's changing room is that way,' said Suresh, pointing to one of the doors, 'and the witches change over there.'
When they entered their changing room, Harry saw a large rack with their robes, and underneath was a pile of labeled boxes containing their boots and safety gear. He took his and started to change. This is really happening, he thought.
Everyone gathered in the large room with the fireplace, and two wizards in referee's robes began inspecting each of the players with their wands. A couple of people Harry took to be Falcons staff members were also present.
'The referees are checking for illegal performance enhancements,' explained Owen. 'The charms they're doing are quite thorough—they'll check for potions, illegally charmed objects, and so forth. If you were still wearing eyeglasses, they'd probably spend several minutes examining them.'
A referee eventually got to Harry and began casting his charms. He slowly ran his wand along the surface of Harry's body before a loud screech sounded, and Harry felt warm metal around his middle finger.
'He's got a hidden ring,' said the referee, and one of the staff members stepped forward and pointed his wand.
Horrified, Harry looked at his hand and saw the Black family ring, which he'd nearly forgot about. 'I'm sorry, it's a family ring and I'm unable to remove it. I keep it hidden for privacy but it shouldn't have any illegal enhancements on it,' he said, not at all certain whether the last bit was true.
'What in Merlin's arse is that?' exclaimed Janet.
'That has to be the ugliest ring I've ever seen,' commented Suresh.
Before Harry could reply, the referee took his hand and ran a series of charms on the ring. 'He's telling the truth. It's unremovable, and other than identification charms and family magic it's clean.'
Harry exhaled in relief, but when he looked up he saw all his teammates staring at his hand. 'It's the Black family ring,' he explained. 'They had me try it on at Gringotts a fortnight ago, to confirm I was the legitimate heir, but they never warned me I couldn't take it off again. Fortunately I learned how to make it all but disappear.'
'The Black family ring ...' started Titus. 'Does that make you Lord Black?'
Harry turned red, which seemed to answer Titus's question. 'Bugger me, you're Lord Black!' cried Janet.
'Lord Snitchbottom, more like,' said Suresh, and everyone laughed.
'It's meaningless,' protested Harry, who had never been so embarrassed. 'Apparently wizarding lordships were sold to the highest bidders in the early 1700s, when the Ministry was built, and the Blacks were one of them. It's not like the Queen granted it.'
'It's still bloody hilarious,' said Gary. 'Lord Snitchbottom. I love it.'
'Give him a break,' said Ryan, who was clearly trying not to laugh. 'We're about to start the match, and we don't want him all rattled.
'It certainly goes with the house-elf,' smirked Darren.
The house-elf! 'Fuck! I've left Kreacher in the cupboard!' blurted Harry. 'Kreacher!'
Crack! 'Yes, Master!'
'I'm so sorry, I forgot to free you from the cupboard this morning before I left.'
'Kreacher was delighted to stay in the cupboard longer! Master is most kind!'
Harry hadn't realised it was possible to feel this mortified. 'Please go home now,' he said, a bit desperately, and Kreacher disappeared.
Even Ryan couldn't hide his laughter. 'You locked your house-elf in a cupboard?'
'It's not what you're thinking, I swear!'
'I'm thinking a lot of things right now,' said Owen, who was also laughing, 'and I hope it was none of them.'
'He's a bit mad,' began Harry but he was interrupted, this time by Renée.
'Oh, you locked your mad house-elf in the cupboard. That makes it all right.'
Harry sighed. 'No, it was the only way he'd allow me to prepare my own breakfast this morning. He's become rather territorial lately and won't let me do anything for myself. It seems he was craving punishment this whole time.'
His teammates were weeping from laughter by this point. 'Your house-elf is simultaneously masochistic and domineering?' said Lyle.
'Apparently,' replied Harry, shaking his head.
The group started to settle a bit, and Suresh said, 'By the way, you might want to hide that ring again.'
'Ugh, yes,' said Harry, performing the concealment charm.
The team dispersed, and Owen approached Harry. 'Are you all right? I hope you know we weren't laughing at you. Well maybe a little, but only out of friendship.'
'Yeah, I know. I'm sure I'll be laughing myself later on. It was just a bit much, especially with the referee ready to eject me.' More quietly, he added, 'Honestly, I'm relieved to find out there aren't any weird enhancements on the ring. The Blacks were seriously Dark wizards, and I wouldn't put anything past them. You should see some of the recipes in their Grimoire.'
'I shudder to imagine,' replied Owen. 'I'm sorry, though—I ought to have warned you about the pre-game check. You seem to be a magnet for strange occurrences.'
'I'm not sure what I could have done about it. It's not like I can remove the bloody thing.'
'Actually, I suspect the goblins could take care of it for you, but as long as you're acting as Head of House you're better off just concealing it and enduring our mockery before every match.'
'I'm glad to introduce a thrilling pre-game tradition,' said Harry, beginning to smile.
'This is a good time to expand out into awareness, before we fly out into the stadium,' advised Owen. 'You'll be announced last, and I expect you'll get a deafening roar. You and the other starters will circle the arena for a bit, and then they'll announce the Falcons. That'll be a good chance to survey the stands and get used to anything that might catch your eye later. Read the banners and then forget about them.'
'Sounds good,' said Harry, who was already feeling calmer talking to Owen, and he was starting to see the humour in the ring debacle.
Tuttle entered the room, and everyone gathered around her. 'I don't have much to add from earlier, except to say that we're going to show everyone who the Cannons are. This is a winning team, no doubt about it. And I'm talking about all of you—Potter can't do it alone. He's got a pair of first-rate Beaters,' she paused, indicating Gary and Suresh, 'and a top-notch Keeper.' Everyone looked at Janet, who was trying not to smile. 'And a trio of Chasers who fly faster than greased batshit.'
This prompted several loud laughs from the team, and one snort. But she continued, 'This is the Cannons' turning point, and you should be proud to be a part of it. This is larger than all of us. So let's go out there and make it happen!'
Everyone cheered loudly, and Harry felt himself glowing with excitement. The Snitch was his—he just knew it.
A staff member entered the room from the wide corridor and said, 'It's time.' The starting players followed him towards daylight, where a large pair of doors opened to the stadium. There was a long ramp leading down to the pitch, but they wouldn't be walking down—they would fly out.
In a magically amplified voice, the announcer said, 'And now, the Chudley Cannons!' Harry couldn't see out, since he was behind the others, but he heard a loud roar from the fans.
'The Chasers ... wearing number thirty-two, Ryan Bellamy! ... Number forty-four, Renée Vickers! ... And number forty-nine, Darren Rogers!' Each player flew out when their name was called, to loud fanfare.
'The Beaters ... wearing number ten, Suresh Dhawan! ... And number eighteen, Gary Wisenborn!' The two beaters flew out.
Janet turned to Harry and smiled. 'You've got this,' she said.
'And at the rings, number fifty, Janet Lindhurst!' She launched into the air, and Harry saw her join the rest as they circled.
'And playing Seeker, wearing number three, in his league debut ... Harry Potter!'
Harry kicked off on his Silver Arrow and was nearly deafened by the crowd. He circled with his teammates above the packed stands, his heart pounding with joy and excitement.
When the cheers finally subsided, the teammates hovered near the rings opposite the Falcons' entrance. The home team was announced to loud applause, but it seemed no louder to Harry than what he'd heard for the Cannons. And when he surveyed the stands, he saw considerably more orange than Falcons grey.
The stands had numerous tiers, which provided railings where fans could hang banners and signs. Roughly two-thirds of the signs were orange, at least in part, and Harry saw his name on many of them. 'Bring us the Snitch, Potter!' said one in dancing letters. More than one said, 'We love you, Harry!' and he even saw a sign that said, 'Harry Potter, will you marry me?'
There were hostile signs as well, but only a few. 'The Boy Who Couldn't Catch the Snitch,' said one sign festooned with flapping falcons, and another said, 'Go back to the Ministry, Potter,' with an unflattering drawing of Harry wearing glasses and maroon Auror robes.
Harry wasn't perturbed. The banners were only marginally more specific than the ones the goggles had shown him, and the sea of orange made him feel more than welcome. He could scarcely imagine a friendlier crowd, even at a home game.
The balls were released, and Harry flew high and set a strong intention to allow the Snitch to appear to him, and to avoid Bludgers as well. It was easy to remain in wide open awareness, and he let the crowd's energy fill him. The headset and goggles hadn't been able to simulate the thrill of being among thousands of people whose minds were all tuned to the same object: the match.
He didn't listen carefully to the announcer, but he occasionally checked the scoreboard and saw that the Cannons got off to an early lead. He hadn't yet encountered the rival Seeker, Trevor Underhill. Harry didn't plan to engage him unless approached, so he continued to follow his Seeking pattern and steadily renew his intention to remain in open awareness.
Trevor seemed inclined to give him a wide berth, so Harry decided to liven things up with a feint. He shot across the pitch beneath the Falcons Chasers but then angled sharply upwards into their midst. This disrupted their passing pattern, forcing a turnover, and the crowd roared in approval. But Harry didn't let it distract him—he immediately flew clear of the other players and resumed his pattern.
Underhill approached him. 'Welcome to the league, Potter. We've got a bet about how many games you last before running back to the Ministry.'
'I'm impressed you can count that high,' retorted Harry.
'Clever, are we? I guess they at least teach snobbery at Hogwarts.'
'I wouldn't know—I dropped out a year early.'
'So I hear. Apparently you wanted to spend months in a tent shagging that Mudblood.'
'Are you jealous?' said Harry, before flying off to reset his intention. He couldn't believe he was joking about Hermione, but Owen's training had been effective. He really wasn't bothered at all, and he suspected that Underhill would never normally have used a slur like that.
He glanced again at the scoreboard and saw that the game was close but the Cannons still held the lead, with a relatively low overall score. The Falcons Beaters were targeting him, but Gary and Suresh were on fire and kept the Bludgers safely out of range.
Underhill accelerated downwards, and Harry, who was higher up, had to fly at an extremely steep angle to head in the same direction. He saw no Snitch, however, and turned out of the way before risking a collision with the ground. Realising he enjoyed exchanging taunts, he approached Underhill and said, 'Were you assuming I couldn't fly or that I couldn't see?'
'A bit of both,' replied Underhill. 'I also figured you'd have trouble carrying that huge head of yours around.'
'I've had years of practice,' replied Harry, who was truly having fun. He reset his intention to remain in open awareness and allow the Snitch to draw his attention, but he also invited an easy flow of repartee. 'It must be discouraging, to see so much more orange than grey in the stands,' he said.
'Apparently the same wizard who cursed the Cannons also Confunded their fans.'
'Don't the Falcons have a winning record? That almost makes the poor turnout worse. Even when you're good, the fans can't be arsed to show up.'
The match continued this way, with Harry and Underhill mostly circling independently, but occasionally trading jibes. 'So why did you decide to play league Quidditch? Weren't you getting enough attention at the Ministry?' asked Underhill.
'I was, but your mum's not my type,' retorted Harry.
'Do you really want to trade mum jokes? I'm not afraid to go there.'
'No, you're just afraid of flying more than twenty miles an hour.'
Before Harry finished speaking, Underhill's eyes locked onto a distant object and he zoomed towards it. Harry began to follow, but then he spotted the Snitch in another direction entirely. By the time Underhill realised what had happened, Harry had the Snitch in hand and the announcer cried, 'Potter's got the Snitch! Cannons win, 220-40!'
The crowd roared, and Harry was immediately surrounded by his teammates. 'Brilliant!' cried Darren. 'You did it!'
'Fantastic, Harry,' said Ryan, clapping him on the back, and Gary did the same from the other side.
'Time for a victory lap,' said Renée, and they all circled the field to huge fanfare while Harry held up the struggling Snitch. He was almost inarticulate with joy and allowed himself to drink in the thunderous cheers.
They landed and his teammates crushed him in a huge hug, and Tuttle shook his hand fervently and exclaimed, 'Well done, Potter.'
He saw Janet and said, 'Great work! I didn't follow the scoring much, but I can see you kept them at bay.'
'She had a couple of brilliant saves,' said Ryan, and Janet beamed.
Owen threw his arm around Harry's shoulders and said, 'Well done! Really, that was first rate!'
'I couldn't have done it without you,' replied Harry. 'No chance at all. I would have been fooled by his feint if I hadn't been following your instructions, or I would have been rattled out of reason by his taunts.'
'Teamwork!' shouted Gary, and everyone cheered.
The Falcons walked up to them to shake hands, and everyone congratulated Harry. 'Great to have you in the league, Potter,' one of them said.
Underhill approached him and said, 'No hard feelings, right? I'm Muggle-born, you know.'
'None at all,' was his sincere reply. 'I had a feeling you were bluffing.'
'Not entirely, Hogwarts,' he smirked, and Harry laughed.
Darius was next to shake his hand. 'Absolutely brilliant! That'll show the naysayers—I look forward to the next team managers' gathering.'
'Can you tell off Sylvester Chiffle for me?' asked Harry, and Darius guffawed.
'Tell him off yourself in a few weeks, and shove the Snitch in his face while you're at it!'
Reporters were soon allowed onto the pitch, and naturally Harry was the centre of attention. When asked how he spotted the Snitch during his opponent's feint, Harry credited Owen's training. 'I'm incredibly lucky to have him on the team with me, and without his advice I'm certain I wouldn't have made the catch at that precise moment.'
After fielding numerous questions, Harry scanned the edge of the pitch and saw Ron. He was clothed in orange from top to bottom, including his hair which he'd apparently charmed to match, although it hardly made a difference.
'Brilliant!' shouted Ron. 'You did it, mate!'
'Thanks Ron,' replied Harry. 'I had the time of my life up there!'
'Are you Ron Weasley then?' said Darius. 'I've been meaning to thank you for pointing Harry our direction.'
'Pleasure to meet you,' said Ron, shaking hands with him. 'I've been a Cannons fan my whole life!'
'I've set aside a pair of season tickets for you,' said Darius. 'You'll have to come see us next week in Chudley.'
'I wouldn't miss it for the world!' exclaimed Ron, looking like he was ready to burst with joy. Ron drifted over to the other players, greeting the ones he'd met the previous Saturday at Grimmauld Place.
Harry's other friends found him. 'Harry,' cried Minerva, 'I've never been prouder! Well done!' She wore a huge smile and looked like she'd been crying.
'That was brilliant,' Lee told him, and Katie gave him a big hug.
'Thanks, I feel great. I feel as if I could fly without a broom right now.'
'Like Voldemort?' said Lee. 'I wouldn't recommend it. At least not in public.'
Hermione was next to approach him, with Luna, Neville, and Hannah. She was positively glowing and threw her arms around Harry. 'You were fantastic! The whole team was! Thanks so much for having me here—it was absolutely brilliant.'
'Wow, Hermione,' said Harry. 'You really enjoyed it? I'd have thought you'd have your head in a book.'
'That's what I expected,' said Neville, 'but she was paying attention the entire time.'
Hermione looked longingly at Harry's broomstick. 'I've half a mind to go up there myself,' she said.
'Did she get hit by a Bludger?' asked Harry.
'No,' said Luna. 'I think she was just inspired.' Luna was wearing a shirt, presumably of her own creation, that featured a bright orange lightning bolt against a black background. When she noticed Harry looking at it, she asked, 'What do you think? I put it on a banner as well.' She indicated a bundle rolled under her arm.
'That design is brilliant,' said Darius. 'Would you mind if we used it on our merchandise? I'd pay you for it.' He looked first at Luna but then at Harry for confirmation.
'Go ahead,' said Harry, who would have agreed to anything just then. Luna cheerfully gave her permission and handed Darius the banner.
Hermione was still looking reverently up in the air. 'I wonder if I can borrow Ginny's broom this weekend.'
'You're serious? You really want to go flying?' asked Harry.
'Yes, I really do,' she said, her eyes wide.
'I could take you this afternoon if you like,' said Ryan, who'd joined them. 'I'm free the rest of the day—I never make plans after a Quidditch match, since there's no knowing how long it'll go.'
'That sounds wonderful,' she said. 'Do you have a broom I could borrow?'
'I can fetch my broom from home. It's not as fast as this one,' he said, indicating his Cleansweep X-20, 'But otherwise it's first rate. I just need to shower and change, and I can meet you down here.'
'Perfect, see you soon,' she said, with a radiant smile.
Harry was still in a bit of a daze, but he was pleased by the exchange between Hermione and Ryan. Maybe she was warming up to him after all.
'So what's the rest of your day like?' asked Janet. 'You'd better come celebrate with the rest of us!'
'You couldn't keep me away,' said Harry.
'Hey Weasley, want to come along?' she asked. 'Fair warning, you'll see just how rowdy we can get.'
'I'm in, definitely.'
Harry noticed Lee and Katie were still hanging nearby and called, 'Do you want to join us?' He turned to Janet and asked, 'Is that all right?'
'You caught the Snitch, Potter. You can invite anyone you bloody well want.'
Lee and Katie happily accepted, and plans were made to invite George as soon as the shop closed.
The stands were still crowded, and the fans were loudly singing the Cannons fight song. Harry and the other players waved from the pitch to huge applause.
He turned to Gary and Suresh and said, 'Thanks for keeping me in one piece! I barely had to worry about Bludgers at all.'
'Don't mention it,' said Gary. 'Got to keep Lord Snitchbottom safe. For the good of the Empire, you know.'
Harry was too elated to scowl. 'Is it normal for there to be so many Cannons fans at an away game?' he asked.
'Usually it's a bit less than half, but either your debut attracted more fans than normal, or people who would otherwise be neutral are rooting for the Cannons now.'
'Brilliant,' said Harry. 'It gave me a real boost.'
'Us too,' said Suresh.
'So what happens next?' he asked.
'We'll assemble near the locker room for Tuttle's notes and then, after everyone has showered and changed, we normally go out together,' said Gary. 'I reckon we'll make an appearance at the Cracked Spyglass, a wizarding pub in Chudley. The diehards will be celebrating, and it's better if we turn up while they're still on their first pitcher.'
'Sounds great,' said Harry, and within a few minutes they were gathered around Tuttle in the large room with the fireplace. She gave her notes, which were nit-picky in places but largely positive.
'Potter, great job spotting the Snitch instead of following Underhill's feint, and also forcing that turnover. Next week we'll work on feinting strategies—you're a more aggressive flyer than most Seekers, so let's put it to use.'
Afterwards everyone showered and changed into clean clothes, and Lara was on hand to collect their robes and broomsticks. She found Harry and congratulated him. 'Brilliant job!' she said. 'I'm glad to see you're worth all the drama.'
'Thanks, I think,' he replied. 'Will you be joining us to celebrate?'
'Not at first—I have a lot to do back at the training grounds—but maybe I'll find you later.'
'Marvellous,' he said, still overbrimming with happiness.
'Go find your friends on the pitch,' said Gary. 'We can Floo straight from here to the Spyglass.'
Harry walked down the long ramp to the pitch, glad to stretch his legs a bit. There he found Ron, Lee, and Katie, and off to the side he spotted Hermione. He walked up to her and she smiled.
'That was incredible, Harry. I've never seen flying like that,' she said.
'What are you on about? You were at the World Cup with us—you saw Viktor Krum, for heaven's sake.'
'I don't think I appreciated it at the time,' she said. 'But this was brilliant.'
'I'm glad you enjoyed it. Will you come celebrate with us?'
'I don't know—I've made plans to go flying with Ryan. I suppose I'll leave it up to him.'
'All right, maybe I'll see you later. Have a nice time flying!' he said, still astonished she wanted to do it. He thought he knew Hermione as well as anyone, but apparently she still had a few surprises up her sleeve.