From that point onwards, Harry was on cloud nine for the entire rest of the summer. Every morning he woke up and caught sight of that glint of silver and green on Draco's hand, and his heart did gymnastics inside his chest. Draco had started teasing him for it, mocking the ridiculous smile that greeted him every morning, but he was just as bad.
The teasing when Harry went down to breakfast every morning was far worse, anyway.
At least Harry wasn't the only one being a big old sap all over the place; Sirius and Charlie had officially begun proceedings to adopt the three Forrester children. Harry suspected their own engagement would come soon — hopefully a better proposal than Sirius' drunken declaration after the war ended.
Everyone was certainly kept busy over the next week or so, as school drew nearer and everything had to be put in place for that. The Department of Education managed to arrange for examiners to come to the school for a week, to oversee any OWLs or NEWTs the students wished to take — most of the just-graduated seventh years preferred to come to Hogwarts in their summer holidays than to drag out their education any further. A few would be repeating at least part of seventh year, Harry knew, but for the most part they all just wanted out of the castle and into the world. He didn't blame them; he himself was desperate to be done with education, as much as he loved Hogwarts.
Cho Chang was one of the students who wanted to get her NEWTs out of the way, and Harry just happened to be in the castle on the day she took her DADA exam. When she saw him in the corridor on her way out of the practical exam, she took one look at him and burst into tears.
"Did it go that bad?" he asked, and she whacked him on the arm, laughing even as she cried. Then her arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing him firmly.
"I probably got an O, and I never would have done it without you," she told him. Her dark eyes were shiny when she looked up at him. "I wish he was here to see it. To see everything we've done."
Harry swallowed tightly, feeling that phantom ache around the raw edges of the hole in his chest that had begun with the death of Cedric Diggory. It would never go away, not truly. "He'd be so proud of you," he told her, chin on her head, letting her sniffle into his shirt. From what he'd heard of the battle, Cho had been a true force of nature, taking on three Death Eaters by herself and Disarming the lot of them. "What's next for you, then?" he asked, releasing her. She wiped at her eyes, smiling.
"A Charms Mastery, if I get my O," she told him. "There's a Charms Mistress in Seoul that I really want to study under; the magic on that side of the world is totally different to the kind we use here. I want to see how well the two combine." She shrugged, bashful. "Until then… just life, y'know? I've moved in with Cedric's boys — Mum hates it, but I'm an adult now so she can't say no." Her grin turned cheeky. "Unmarried young woman living with three single men, it's her worst nightmare."
Harry laughed. "And that didn't affect your decision at all, I'm sure," he said wryly, snickering at her innocent look.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Cho asked, looking at him.
"Visiting Hannah. Also, McGonagall asked to see me, though I'm not sure what for. When I heard exams were happening, I thought I'd swing by. Oh, hi, Katie!" he greeted brightly as his ex-teammate slipped out of the exam room. "How'd it go?"
To her credit, Katie didn't blink at Cho's puffy red eyes. "Aced it," she said proudly, beaming. "Thanks, Harry. See you at the wedding?" He nodded. "Fab. Bye, Cho!"
Cho waved, and the pair of them watched Katie walk away. "I'd best get moving, then," Cho mused, letting out a long breath. "You'll keep in touch, won't you?"
"Of course," he assured. "Though I don't know if Hedwig would appreciate me sending her to Seoul." They'd have to figure out the international postal service. "Give the boys my love. I'll see you around."
One last smile, and then they parted ways, Harry putting his hands in his pockets as he wandered in the direction of what had once been Dumbledore's office. McGonagall had finally braved the gargoyle and what lay behind it, taking Snape with her in case of traps. Harry hadn't seen the office yet, and was excited to get up there.
He'd promised not to walk through her walls unless it was an emergency. Besides, it was nice taking the long way sometimes.
But McGonagall was still meeting with Snape and Remus — Harry had a very strong suspicion regarding the whole matter — so he took a detour towards the Hospital Wing. To his surprise, he didn't need to go back to the private room to find Hannah. She was in the main ward, sat up in a wheelchair. "Hannah!" he exclaimed, surprised. "You're out of bed, that's brilliant!"
Her grin was vibrant, even if there was the shadow of pain in her eyes. "Just today," she confirmed. "Not for too long — I have to re-train my muscles and everything, so sitting up is a bit exhausting. But… baby steps. I'm hoping to be able to do at least some of my classes when school starts up."
"I'm so happy for you," Harry told her, squeezing her hand. "I bet Ernie's happy, too."
Something in Hannah's smile changed. "I'm sure he will be, but— Harry… Ernie and I broke up."
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. "What?" An awful thought hit him. "It wasn't because of…?" He gestured vaguely to her wheelchair, wondering if he had vastly misjudged Ernie Macmillan's character.
Hannah shook her head insistently. "No, no, not at all!" she assured. "We, ah, actually technically broke up before this even happened. Sort of." He eyed her in bewilderment. "We got talking one night, about the future — what we wanted to do if we both lived through the battle. And we realised, well… both of us had very different ideas of what we wanted our lives to look like." She fiddled with the end of her honey-blonde braid at her shoulder. "Ernie wants to travel; he's looking at a career with Gringotts, like Bill Weasley, only not staying at one single branch. And I— even before the whole Heir of Hufflepuff thing, I knew I wouldn't go far from Hogwarts." She shrugged. "I've always been a homebody. I don't need to see the world — which is good, because that would be a little bit harder these days," she added ruefully. "I've been learning a lot from Madam Pomfrey, living in here. I don't know if I want to be a healer necessarily, and it's going to be a long time before I'm up to any sort of serious training. But I like the idea of being her… assistant of sorts. Helping with the standard school shenanigans, making sure the students are alright. Helping Hogwarts feel like their home away from home."
Harry could absolutely see it; Hannah working in the Hospital Wing, her sunny smiles brightening up the day of any poor student with a bludger-related injury or a hex gone wrong. Always available with a kind word and a listening ear for the homesick and the bullied and the troubled.
And he could understand not wanting to leave the castle, either.
"Feels like a part of you, doesn't it?" he mused knowingly. She nodded. "Does that go away? When you're not here?"
Harry shrugged, contemplating his answer. "Not really. It's quieter, for sure — I can't feel everyone like I can when I'm inside the wards." If he was back at Seren Du, he couldn't pinpoint McGonagall or Pomfrey or anyone at the school. "But it's always there. Waiting for me to come back." If there was ever an emergency at the school, he would know about it, no matter how far he travelled. He was linked to Hogwarts on a soul-deep level, now.
"Makes sense."
The silence that stretched between them was comfortable, an acknowledgment of this bond they shared that only two others could begin to comprehend.
"It'll be good, to have at least one of us in the castle full-time," he said.
"Yeah. Though I'll eat my wand if Nev doesn't take over when Sprout retires."
"Oh, that's a given," Harry agreed easily.
Hannah shifted slightly, grimacing in pain, and Harry realised how long they'd been talking. "I'll let you get on," he said, patting her hand, "but it's really great to see you up and about. And I'm sorry about you and Ernie."
"It's fine, really. We're still friends. Maybe we'll get back together one day, once he's done travelling. But maybe we won't." She shot him a teasing grin. "We can't all find our soulmates as fourth years, y'know."
He laughed, smile coming unbidden to his lips as he thought of his boyfriend — fiancé. "I suppose. Now go take a pain potion and lie down, for Merlin's sake." His playful fussing made her laugh, but she obediently wheeled herself back to her room, the magical chair responding to her thoughts.
Harry checked the wards, confirming that Snape and Remus had left McGonagall's office — they were headed down to the Potions classroom. Interesting.
He grinned to himself on his way up, wondering whether the pair would try and keep secrets. When he reached the gargoyle, his stomach twisted instinctively; he'd had so much pain, in this office.
Things would be better now.
"Perseverance," he declared, and the gargoyle hopped aside, revealing the revolving staircase.
The first thing he noticed was the distinct colour change — no longer did stepping into the office give you a headache. The carpet was a deep charcoal grey, and what little wallspace wasn't covered in bookshelves had a cheerful red and green tartan wallpaper. Most of the office, however, was books. Books on all sorts of magic, not just Transfiguration, the shelves interspersed with little trinkets and interesting statues, no doubt each one with a story behind it. And then he noticed the perch in the corner, occupied once more. "Fawkes!"
The phoenix trilled happily, fluttering his wings.
"It seems Fawkes has decided to remain with the school," McGonagall explained, smiling slightly from behind her desk. It was the same one from her old office — nothing of Dumbledore's had stayed, it seemed. A fresh start entirely. "I don't know where he was this past year, but he came back shortly after I reclaimed the office. In quite a state, too. I dread to think what Albus might have done to the poor creature."
Now Harry looked closer, he could see Fawkes looked a little worse for wear, like he was overdue a burning day.
"I'm sure he'll perk up." Harry turned to the headmistress, seeing a cup of tea and that tartan biscuit tin waiting for him on the side table next to the chair. "What did you want to see me about, Professor?"
McGonagall let him get situated, studying him over the rim of her glasses. "Firstly, booklists will be sent out tomorrow morning, and I thought I'd save an owl the journey," she said, passing over a roll of parchment. Harry smirked.
"You've figured out staffing, then?" he asked, trying and failing to sound innocent. He already knew she'd found a Transfiguration professor to take over now she was full-time Headmistress, but that wasn't the only open position.
"Professor Slughorn has returned to retirement," she told him, "and Professor Snape has agreed to return to his position as Potions professor." Harry raised an eyebrow, a slow grin forming. "And Remus Lupin has agreed to return as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Also, the new Head of Gryffindor House."
"Knew it," Harry hissed in triumph, beaming. "That's brilliant." Remus had been an amazing teacher, and he knew many students would be glad to see him return. "No issues with his furry little problem?"
"Thanks to the quick work of you and your friends, and the determination of the young Lady Bones, any complaints do not have a leg to stand on," McGonagall informed him, looking deeply satisfied by that. "He has an excellent track record, and will be on Wolfsbane for the duration. Any classes on days he needs to take off will either become self-study, be covered by another member of staff, or have a guest instructor brought in."
Already, Harry couldn't wait for the inevitable chaos of Guest Professor Sirius Black.
"And… Astronomy?" he dared ask, vividly remembering Professer Sinistra laid out on the Great Hall floor. McGonagall pursed her lips.
"I have contacted an ex-pupil of the school who has a Mastery in the subject, and she has agreed to at least the first year of teaching."
"That's good." Harry sipped at his tea, tucking the booklist into his pocket. "So what else is there? I know you didn't call me here just for a piece of parchment."
McGonagall's cheek twitched as she tried to restrain her smile. "Quite right. There is one more thing I didn't feel right sending by post."
And then she leaned forward, and placed the Head Boy badge on the desk.
Harry stared. "I… what?" Green eyes widened incredulously. "But I— I'm me! I spent most of the last six years in detention, and sneaking about after curfew, and getting into all sorts of trouble!" Was she mad??
The smile broke through, just a little. "You also spent those years saving lives, foiling Albus Dumbledore's plans, preparing your fellow students for a war everyone denied was coming, and keeping up straight Os throughout. Not to mention success on the quidditch pitch, and the incredible respect both your peers and your professors have for you." Her dark green eyes danced as he gaped like a fish. "You certainly earned some of your detentions," she said, giving him a pointed look, "but we are both aware that many of those were given under ulterior motives."
Instinctually, Harry rubbed at the back of his hand, where the Blood Quill scars still glared up at him.
"At first I thought you might not want the badge," she admitted. "That giving you such responsibility after you have just managed to shed such a large burden off your shoulders may hinder your enjoyment of your final year. And then," she said, gaze narrowing knowingly, "I thought about how much trouble you might get into if I did not give you some kind of responsibility to keep you entertained."
Harry put on his best offended expression. "Professor! I'm hurt that you think I would ever cause trouble out of boredom!"
McGonagall just stared at him, the flat stare of someone who had survived both the Marauders and the Weasley twins. "That look did not work for your father or your mother, and it certainly will not work for you."
Harry laughed, letting the pout drop. He reached for a biscuit, and when he looked back up McGonagall was surprisingly earnest. "You have talent, Harry," she said softly. "You have more magical power than any of us know what to do with, and now that you're willing to use it, a brain that will have no problems with the NEWT curriculum. There is little Hogwarts can offer you to stretch that talent aside from your own self-study projects, and I get the feeling that will not be enough to keep you out of mischief. But you have a love for this school and ideas for how we can make it better — ideas that I would very much like to hear. I'm making Miss Bones Head Girl, and between the three of us I like to think we can begin to make Hogwarts the shining institution of magical education it deserves to be once more." To hear his head of house speak so plainly of him — so highly of him — made a knot form in Harry's chest. He had always assumed he was somewhat of a difficult student, always off on his shenanigans and ending up in the Hospital Wing. That McGonagall, famously stern and unmoved, had such positive opinions… it meant a lot.
"If you would rather not," she continued, "if you would rather enjoy your final year with little more than quidditch and exams to trouble your mind, I would understand completely. If anyone has earned respite, it is you. That is why I asked to speak to you today; you have a choice, Harry. You always have a choice, in this school. I'm sorry that has not been the case in the past."
The knot tightened, knocking the breath from him. His hands shook around his teacup. "I… you really think I'll make a good Head Boy?" he asked, voice small. McGonagall smiled at him.
"I think you would make a fine Head Boy indeed. You have a good head on your shoulders, and the younger students look up to you."
"But— that's just because of the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing," he dismissed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. One of McGonagall's eyebrows rose skeptically.
"Indeed? So it's not because of the way you have always believed in the students of this school, when no one else has. Or the way you have not let house rivalries and stereotypes colour your views. Or the way you have become known for always helping your fellow students, no matter who they are." With each word Harry got redder and redder, and McGonagall grew more smug. "No, I'm sure it's got nothing to do with any of that."
"Alright, alright, you've made your point," he muttered, ducking his head. He almost reached out to take the badge, then paused, a thought coming to him. "Professor. I… on the subject of responsibilities. There's something you should know— something that might change your decision."
"If you're worried about your Wizengamot duties, I remind you that many of your fellow students share the same burden. That won't be a problem."
"No, it's not that, I—" Harry hadn't told anyone, not yet. But he could tell McGonagall. This was the woman who had bought him his very first broomstick, even if she had never admitted to it. "I… it might not even happen yet. And only like three people in the world even know about this, so don't go spreading it around." The curiosity was plain on her face, her brow furrowed. "I, ah, have a tryout, in a few days. For seeker." He swallowed. "For the English national team."
Harry was then treated to a sight that very few had seen — the sight of Minerva McGonagall, genuinely and utterly surprised.
"Viktor organised it, when he was over for the wedding and— and stuff." An incredulous snort from the woman at his summation of the entire final battle. "They're probably just giving me a chance because I'm the saviour and all and Viktor said I'm good, I doubt I'll make it, but— but if I do, I'll need to leave school sometimes for training and things. I don't know what the schedule will be like. But if that's going to be a problem, not having me around all the time, then you should give the Head Boy badge to someone else."
Lips pursed, shock still in her eyes, McGonagall reached for a biscuit. "I would not count yourself out yet, Potter," she remarked. "Indeed, I would consider Mr Krum an authority on such matters — if he says you have a chance, then you certainly have a chance. I cannot see that being a problem with your Head Boy duties; there are prefects and the Head Girl, after all, should you be unavailable." With a twitch of her fingers, she nudged the badge closer to him. "It's yours if you want it, Harry."
He took a deep breath, and picked up the badge, staring at it for a moment before tucking it safely away in his pocket. "I won't let you down, Professor," he promised, nodding defiantly. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, her smile hidden by her teacup.
"I know you won't, Mr Potter." Then she coughed delicately. "And I know that as Headmistress, it is unseemly of me to profess any bias for one Hogwarts house over another. But English national team or no, I fully expect that trophy to reside in Remus Lupin's office come the end of the year." She looked at him expectantly, and Harry laughed.
"I'll try my best."
"See that you do."
Assuming that was the end of the meeting, Harry made as if to stand, but McGonagall cleared her throat. "One more thing, Potter." She rummaged through her desk, pulling out a small stack of paperwork. "I expect to see this properly dealt with before the beginning of the school year. From both of you."
She handed it over; across the top of the parchment were the words Animagus Registration Forms. Sure enough, there were two sets. Harry laughed, tucking them into his pocket.
"We will," he vowed. There was no need to keep it secret now, after all.
"Good lad." This time she didn't stop him when he stood, Vanishing biscuit crumbs from his jeans. "I know better than to expect a complete absence of mischief from you, Mr Potter," McGonagall said with a hint of exasperation. "But please, do try not to make me want to retire after my first year in office."
Harry grinned, offering an elaborate salute. "Aye-aye, Headmistress."
Then, just to be a brat, he walked straight through the wall and out of her office.
.-.-.-.
With booklists came book shopping, and Harry and Draco knew they couldn't avoid it. It was almost a rite of passage, at this point, to go to Diagon Alley the day the lists arrived and wrestle through the crowds to get their supplies for another school year. Truly, they didn't need much — once again Snape had seen to their Potions supplies, and all of the books Remus had set were ones they owned anyway. But Harry needed a copy of Snape's approved NEWT level Potions text — the man still eyed Advanced Potion Making with contempt — and they both had a few extra books to pick up for their final year of Ancient Runes.
But, they insisted, they were old enough to go by themselves. Sirius, Remus and Charlie were taking Nashira and Frankie later in the afternoon, and Harry didn't want to intrude on that. The pair apparated to London, planning to get in and out of the alley in good time, so Harry could take Draco clothes shopping in the muggle world. The blond was quite excited by the prospect, and Harry couldn't argue with the need to update his own wardrobe.
It was as busy as expected, and Harry tangled his fingers with Draco's so they didn't get lost in the crowd. There were several familiar faces about, and Harry waved cheerfully to the friends he would soon see back at school.
He wondered if they found it as strange as he did, to be readying their school robes and their house ties as if they hadn't fought a war less than a month ago in the very castle they were to return to.
They would get used to it, in time.
With books acquired, Draco begged to go into Slug and Jigger's for non-class-related supplies, and while Harry was happy to let him he also very much did not want to join him there. "I'll go sit at Fortescue's, wait for you there. We can have an ice cream before we leave." Harry still had a soft spot for Florian Fortescue, after the weeks spent doing his History of Magic homework with the ice cream maker's help. And he did have excellent ice cream.
So they parted ways, and Harry headed over to the ice cream shop, running over the possible flavour ideas in his head. "Harry!" He turned, groaning quietly, ready to tell whichever eager reporter had spotted him that he would very much like to be left alone.
But it wasn't a reporter. It was Dennis Creevey.
Harry froze at the sight of the soon-to-be fourth year — Dennis had grown a little bit, in the last few weeks. He was skinnier, though, and still looked a little hollow in the eyes.
He looked so much like his brother, it made Harry's throat go dry. "Harry," Dennis said, a little breathlessly. "I was hoping I'd see you today!"
"Hi, Dennis. How— how are you?"
The boy's face crumpled, just for a moment, before he pulled it back together. "I'm… getting by. It's hard. But, y'know," he gave a self-deprecating shrug, "we all have to keep going."
"Dennis, I'm so sorry, I—"
"Don't, Harry," Dennis insisted. "We both knew what we were doing. Colin… he wanted to fight because of you, yes, but also because of me, and because of our parents, and all the other muggles and muggleborns that were being killed. It wasn't your fault." His lips quirked bitterly. "Sometimes I think that if I'd just stayed in the castle like everyone told me, if I hadn't been there for Colin to want to protect… but you can't go down that road. Colin made his choices, and we've got to accept them. Even if… even if it's hard." He swallowed, lip wobbling slightly. Harry reached out to squeeze the boy's shoulder.
"That's…"
"More mature than you'd expect?" Dennis half-joked. "Dad's had me seeing a therapist. A squib woman, so I don't have to lie. It… it helps."
"I'm glad, Dennis. Really." He was so very young, and Harry hated how much he had already seen. It would do him good to talk it out.
God, Harry realised; he was the same age as Nashira. Just a kid. But never a kid again, not really, after all he'd been through.
"Thanks. Listen, Harry, I have something for you. These last few weeks… Colin had all these pictures he'd taken, and he never got the chance to develop them. The ones from Bill Weasley's wedding, but also just a whole bunch from around the castle before… before everything. I've got a load for everyone at school, but… would you make sure these get to the right people?" Out of his satchel, he pulled a translucent blue plastic folder like the kind Harry used to use in muggle school, full to bursting with photographs. "Colin would want everyone to have them. He… seeing people liked his photos always made him so happy."
Harry had honestly forgotten about Bill and Fleur's wedding photos. In the aftermath, it seemed like such a silly thing to care about.
But the couple would be very glad to have them. He said as much to Dennis, who grinned. "I hope they like them. I— Colin was always better at developing magical photos than me, but I hope I did alright."
"I'm sure they're brilliant, Dennis." The crowd cleared a little, and over the boy's shoulder, Harry could see two people who could only be Mr and Mrs Creevey, watching them with sad, knowing faces.
Would they blame Harry, for the loss of their son?
He couldn't bring himself to ask.
"I've got to go," Dennis said, glancing back at his parents. "I'm glad I saw you, though. See you at school?"
Clapping the boy on the shoulder, Harry nodded. "Yeah, sure. See you then."
Dennis vanished into the crowd, and Harry looked down at the folder. Through the blue tint of the plastic, he could see the first photo on the stack — it was a picture of Bill and Fleur, a candid of them enjoying their reception, smiling at each other and sharing a look like the rest of the world didn't exist. Every few seconds, Bill would peck Fleur on the cheek, and she would giggle.
Harry tucked the folder away, swallowing hard. There would be even more ghosts to face, come September. He hoped he was ready.
.-.-.-.
By August 23rd, Harry still hadn't told anyone but McGonagall about his tryout. He'd hidden the letter from Viktor with the full details, and when the day arrived Harry just told his family he had 'things to do', kissing his pouting boyfriend and leaving the house, his quidditch gear and Firebolt shrunken in his pocket. He followed the apparition co-ordinates, ending up in a plain white room with a photograph of the last England team to win the cup hung proudly on the wall — from 1922.
It had certainly been a while.
The door opened, and Harry was relieved to see Oliver Wood peek his head through, beaming widely. "You didn't bring your boy with you?" Oliver queried.
"I can do things without Draco! …Sometimes!" Harry insisted feebly, making Oliver laugh. "What are you doing here?" They hugged, Harry up on his toes a little, and Oliver ruffled his hair.
"Got to come scout out the competition, haven't I?" he teased, making Harry's eyes widen.
"You signed, then?"
"You, Mr Potter, are looking at the brand new starting keeper for the Scottish national team," Oliver confirmed proudly. Harry had to hug him again for that.
"Ollie, that's amazing!" Oliver blushed a little, but slung an arm around Harry's shoulder, leading him down a carpeted corridor.
"The rest of the team might give me some lip for supporting the enemy, but I thought a friendly face might ease the way a bit," he said. Harry felt a rush of affection for his ex-captain; he was still incredibly nervous, but having Oliver there definitely helped.
When they emerged through a wide tunnel out onto the pitch, Harry was in awe — the stands were set up to look like castle battlements, flags flying from every turret. Even the tunnel on the other side of the pitch had a portcullis.
"Mr Potter!" He whipped around, seeing a tall man who looked to be in his mid-fifties or so, salt and pepper hair and a beard to match. He was broad-shouldered — a beater, most likely, by the looks of him. "I'm Andrew Morris, call me Andy. I'm the team manager. Over there is Claudia Harper, she's our coach, and up in the stands are a few of our investors. Don't worry about them."
Harry swallowed, desperately wishing Andy had not pointed them out — now all Harry would do was worry about them.
"We've kept this pretty hushed up, for obvious reasons," Andy continued, "so I haven't mentioned anything to the rest of the team yet. As a seeker, there's less of a need to test your cohesion with the team as a whole — if today goes well, we can introduce you, see how you all fly together." He smiled, relaxed and friendly. "But, of course, no seeker can properly show off their stuff without having another seeker to face off against, so someone will be coming by soon to give you a bit of a challenge. Until then we're just going to send you up with Claudia, run some drills, see how you fly. Sound good?"
Harry nodded — that sounded much easier than he'd anticipated. Before now, he'd been fearing that these tryouts would be like school tryouts; dozens of other hopefuls, all having to fly in front of each other.
Claudia shook his hand, grinning cheerfully. She reminded him of Tonks, a bit, with bright dyed-red hair in a pixie cut and several piercings in her ears. "Hiya, Harry. Really great to meet you, we've heard loads about you. Oliver hasn't shut up about you since I told him this had been set up," she said, shooting a look at the Scotsman who just gave Harry a thumbs up. "And since he's turned traitor and gone to the Scots even though legally he's half and half and could've gone either way," this was said with a pointed glare, "hopefully having you join us will make up for it. You ready to fly?"
Harry resized his broom, put on his goggles and guards, and then they were off.
He knew, of course, that professional quidditch was much faster than school quidditch. He'd seen the world cup final; the quaffle had been little more than a blur. But he hadn't realised how incredible it would feel to fly at that level.
They started out easy — laps, with Claudia calling out instructions; names of moves, changes in direction, seeing how quickly he reacted to things. Things got progressively harder, but Harry kept up the pace, grinning to himself as sweat began to stick his t-shirt to his back. To his relief, ignoring the few people in the stands was easy once he was in the air, just like ignoring the crowds at school matches.
Once Claudia was satisfied with that, she brought out a beater's bat and a single bludger, and despite her fairly petite form she could certainly give it a whack. But Harry had dealt with multiple occasions of cursed bludgers trying to kill him in his time, so that didn't bother him either.
They tossed the quaffle around for a bit, as a cool-down according to Claudia, then the pair of them landed and Harry got a good look at the hook-nosed figure chatting to Andy and Ollie at the edge of the pitch. "Viktor!"
The Bulgarian turned, grinning. "Hello, Harry. You are off to a good start, it seems." He clasped Harry's arm, patting him solidly in the back.
"What are you doing in the country?"
"I had some other business here, and I could not miss this chance," Viktor explained. "I'm glad; you are all warmed up for me." His dark eyes glittered in challenge, and Harry gaped.
"You're who I'm going to fly against?" He had expected perhaps an ex-team seeker, or another member of training staff.
"I have waited a long time for a chance to reclaim my pride," Viktor joked. "When Andy offered, I could not say no."
Their seekers' match in fourth year felt so long ago, now. Harry grinned. "Just don't cry if I beat you a second time."
Viktor let out a short, loud laugh.
"You two ready, then?" Andy asked, rocking on the balls of his feet like an excited child. Harry wondered how much he'd been told about the last face-off between the pair of them.
Viktor pulled out his own Firebolt — four years, and it was still the fastest broom on the market. "Give me a minute to warm up," he requested, kicking off into the sky. Harry watched him, folding his arms over his chest.
"I see how it is," he mock-complained, "I get put through my paces until I feel like I've already played a full match, and he comes in all fresh-faced and ready to go."
At his side, Claudia laughed. "We have to know you've got the stamina for it," she teased. "You're no good to us if you can't last long enough to catch the snitch when it shows up."
She raised a good point, but it still didn't seem fair. Harry wasn't going to argue, though.
After a few minutes, Viktor finished his warm-up, and Harry shouldered his broom.
It was much the same as the last time, just without the enormous crowd of students around them. One snitch, two seekers, a fifteen second wait and then a start. Harry hadn't asked how many rounds they were flying — he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
When Claudia's whistle went, he sped into the air, immediately on the hunt for the little golden ball. Viktor followed him, drawing level, and Harry grinned. He wasn't sure when he'd next get the chance to fly with his friend; they could still have a little fun with it.
He spiralled around Viktor, drawing him into a game of follow the leader, which the Bulgarian took to quite happily. They jostled for leader position, forcing the other into more adventurous dives and twists, all the while both keeping an eye out for their prize.
Harry saw it first. He veered around, bolting across the sky towards it — Viktor realised immediately what he had seen, haring after him, leaning flat on his broom to catch up. The snitch dove, and the two seekers dove with it, heading towards the ground at phenomenal speed. Harry hadn't flown against someone else with a Firebolt, not since the last time he faced Viktor, and it was exhilarating having to actually push his broom to the limit just to stay level.
He didn't flinch as the ground grew closer, didn't pull away even when most others would. The snitch was determined to get them as low as possible — barely five feet off the ground, it stopped descending and took a sharp left. Harry immediately did the same, but so did Viktor, and he had the advantage of being on the left side already. Still reeling from the G-force of pulling out of the sharp dive, Harry could only stretch forward on his broom and reach his arm out, but it wasn't quite enough. Viktor grabbed the snitch from the air, mere centimetres from Harry's fingertips.
The pair of them slowed, doing a wide loop to steady their brooms, and Harry tried not to let his shoulders slump too obviously. He'd blown his chance, for sure!
Viktor, however, had other ideas. "I thought we were going to die," he declared, shoving his goggles around his neck to reveal shocked brown eyes. "You did not leave the dive, and for a moment, I thought we were both going to die."
Their eyes met, and both of them laughed breathlessly.
"Good game, Viktor," Harry said, swallowing back the disappointed lump in his throat. "I guess you finally got your pride back."
"Perhaps, but you sure as hell made me work for it!"
Andy, Claudia and Oliver were stood at the side of the pitch when they landed — Oliver was beaming like a proud parent, while the other two looked utterly stunned.
"Kid," Andy began, and Harry braced himself for the polite let-down. "If you can fly like that in a real match, you're hired."
He blinked.
"What?"
"That was incredible! The speed of those turns, and that dive! Ollie said you were fearless but I didn't realise he meant like that! To think, you fly with that kind of skill with only a school-level playing experience… a year of training with the team under your belt, and we might actually stand a chance at the cup." Claudia was at his side, nodding along with every word, seemingly speechless.
"But… but Viktor caught the snitch," Harry protested. Viktor clapped his shoulder.
"Only barely. Had it flown the other way, I am sure you would have made it." Then he grimaced, stretching his back a little. "Flying with you reminds me I am no longer eighteen. Blessed Morgana." This was followed by a string of mumbled Bulgarian.
Bewildered, Harry looked up at Oliver. "I think my new team may burn my contract for encouraging this to happen," he commented, rubbing at his stubbled cheek. "I knew you were good, but bloody hell, Potter!"
Slowly, tentatively, Harry allowed himself to smile. "You… you really want me on the team?" he asked, looking back at Andy and Claudia.
"Absolutely," Claudia enthused. "We'll have to run it by the rest of the team, and all the management lot, but after a play like that I can't imagine them having any problems with it!"
Excitement swelled in Harry's chest, but he held it back, suddenly doubtful. "And you're not just saying this because of the whole Harry Potter thing?"
Andy snorted. "I don't give a fuck how many Dark Lords you've killed, as long as you keep flying like that." His lips twisted slightly. "Of course, we'll have to make your contract pretty iron-clad — I don't want the investors deciding you're our new poster boy and harassing you into a bunch of media parades and sponsorship stuff that's barely got anything to do with quidditch, you'll never get a moment's peace." Harry made a face — yes, he definitely didn't want that. "But you've clearly got the talent. So, if you're up for it, we'd love to have you."
He held out a hand, and after a moment's pause, Harry shook it.
Oliver couldn't hold in his excitement any longer, whooping with joy and picking Harry up off the ground with the force of his hug. "I knew you'd do it!" he exclaimed. "They'd be mad not to have you, kid." He set Harry down, beaming at him, ruffling his hair. "I knew from the first time I saw you on a broom that you'd be something special." He winked. "Once you've graduated, you'll give Puddlemere a call, aye? I'd hate to have to play against you in the National league as well."
"You are a dear, dear friend, Harry Potter, but please do not join the European league when you graduate," Viktor told him, "I would like to reach retirement with my reputation in tact."
Harry didn't know what to do with all the praise, blushing like a tomato with Oliver's arm still heavy over his shoulders. "Let me just finish school, first, yeah?" he said eventually. "One thing at a time."
Oliver chuckled, ruffled his hair once more, then let him go. "Right, I'm going to leave you lot to talk contracts and things, and go start thinking up ways to apologise to the Scottish team," he joked. "And I've got one last kilt fitting to get to." He practically vibrated with joy at the thought of his upcoming wedding. "As soon as you're allowed to start telling people, Potter, you owl me, because we are celebrating, alright?" He smacked a kiss to Harry's cheek. "I'll see you in a few days. Andy, Claud, always a pleasure," he shook both their hands, then turned to Viktor. "And you, let us know if you can stick around for a few days more, we'd love to have you at the wedding."
Viktor looked surprised, but nodded, shaking Oliver's hand. "I will rearrange my schedule. I will be there," he promised.
"Perfect, we'll owl you the details." Waving to them all, Oliver headed back into the tunnel, whistling cheerfully to himself.
"As much as I would love to get you to sign a contract before you leave, Harry, I'm not the only one involved in the decision. But quite frankly if the board don't agree, I'm resigning," Andy joked. At least, Harry thought he was joking. "I'll have the legal team draw something up and get it over to you once everything's sorted. And I look forward to working with you."
"I— you know I still have school and everything, right?" Harry checked. "I really want this position but I'm not going to mess up my NEWTs for it."
Andy chuckled. "Not to worry; we can work around it, see how schedules line up. And the Cup won't start until after you graduate, so we don't have to worry about that." He leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "I'll have you know, Harry, that I'm too smart a man to anger Minerva McGonagall by damaging her student's chance at good grades." He gave a theatrical shudder. "Swear I still have nightmares of her yelling for catching me out after curfew."
Harry snorted — yes, McGonagall had that affect on people.
With the tryout seemingly over, Harry looked to Viktor. "What are you up to for the rest of the day? Did you want to go get lunch or something?" He was too full of adrenaline to eat, but once that wore off he knew he'd be starving.
"Thank you, but I have a meeting soon," Viktor demurred. "I will owl you, though, since it seems I am in the country until the wedding. We should get dinner." He shook Harry's hand. "Well done today. I look forward to playing against you in the Cup." With the snitch still in his other hand, he winked. "Next time I may not be so lucky."
Harry said his goodbyes, shrank and pocketed his flying gear, and strode through the tunnel to head to the apparition room. Once he was there, he had to bite his lip to stop himself from screaming in joy.
He was going to play quidditch for England!
Thinking of home, Harry turned on his heel, landing right outside Seren Du. He desperately hoped people were home — he had to tell someone his good news.
"We're out back!" Sirius called, and Harry ran around the side of the house to find the whole household in the garden, enjoying the beautiful afternoon. Even Buckbeak was out there, sprawled in a patch of sunlight, fast asleep.
"You look happy. And sweaty," Draco added, eyeing him over. "Should I be concerned?"
Harry had to snort at the ridiculousness of the implication. "As if."
"Do we finally get to hear about whatever it is you've been keeping under your hat all week?" Remus asked, raising his eyebrows at the teen. "Don't try and fool me, you've been bleeding anxiety since last Tuesday." He tapped his nose in emphasis. Harry bit his lip; he should have known he wouldn't be able to keep it entirely secret.
"Well," he began slowly, unsure how to best word it. "I had… a meeting, of sorts, today. And things aren't officially official. But… I just made seeker for the England team." He had to blurt it all out, unable to hold it in a second longer.
Draco jumped to his feet in shock. "What?"
"Viktor arranged a tryout, back before the battle and all. He's friends with the team manager, I guess. And apparently Oliver spent ages talking me up, so I went and I flew and Viktor caught the snitch but I guess they thought I was good enough anyway. So they offered me the spot. And I said yes." He grinned at the blond. "So it looks like we're going to Greece next summer after all."
The next thing he knew he was having the life kissed out of him by an armful of exuberant blond. "You're fucking amazing," Draco declared. Then, in a more boastful tone, "I'm going to marry an international quidditch star."
Harry laughed. "You can't tell anyone yet," he said, looking around to include the others. "Not until it's all signed and everything. But… yeah. I did that. Sorry I didn't say sooner." He hadn't wanted to deal with their disappointment if he stuffed it up.
"There's only one thing we can do about this," Sirius declared, rising gracefully to his feet. Harry eyed him warily, wondering if his godfather was going to give him an earful about choosing quidditch over his studies.
Sirius' face split in a wide grin. "Ceri!" he called, "we're gonna need a cake! A big one!"
.-.-.-.
The wedding of Oliver Wood and Lord Cassius Warrington was perhaps the biggest social event of the year.
Considering the Ministry was refusing to put on any sort of celebratory ball or dinner until the country was running smoothly and they had a proper Minister elected once more, there hadn't been much of a social calendar before now. But even so, Harry was sure anything in future would be hard pressed to top this.
He hadn't realised it was possible for something to be tastefully quidditch themed, but somehow Cassius and Oliver had managed it. Puddlemere's stadium was decked out to the nines, the pitch laid out for the whole wedding, sun shining down on them all.
There had to be at least two hundred people in attendance — friends from Hogwarts, Oliver's quidditch friends, some of Cassius' work colleagues. All the people whose social standing led them to expect an invitation to Lord Warrington's wedding. And of course, those friends made in the month spent turning Hogwarts into a stronghold.
But despite the huge crowd, and the multiple photographers, it still felt like an intimate, family affair. Harry and Draco were seated near the front, with the rest of their friends, so they had the perfect view of Oliver and Cassius meeting at the altar with awe in their eyes, joining hands and preparing to pledge their lives to one another.
Throughout the ceremony — which was definitely longer than Bill and Fleur's — Harry kept looking down at Draco's hand in his, his engagement ring sat on his finger. Every time Draco caught him, he would roll his eyes and smile and kiss Harry's cheek, directing his attention back towards the happy couple. The pair were unfairly handsome in their wedding attire, Oliver in the full formal tartan of his family clan, Cassius in shimmering gold dress robes that fit him like a glove; Harry didn't doubt all the gossip magazines — and some of the quidditch magazines — would have them on the front page of their next issue.
When the magical binding around their hands turned into identical wedding rings, the cheer that went up around the stadium felt louder than any quidditch match.
Harry caught Oliver's eye as the newly wedded couple made their return journey down the aisle together — his ex-captain had never looked so happy, not even when Gryffindor had won the quidditch cup. Which, for Oliver Wood, was saying a lot.
With no war to get to and no reason not to celebrate fully, there was a sit-down dinner, complete with speeches. Harry and Draco were on a table with the rest of the original Gryffindor team and their plus-ones, Draco very glad for Blaise's presence in the crowd of lions.
Oliver's dad gave a hilarious speech, embarrassing the hell out of both his son and his new son-in-law, teasing Oliver about how he thought his son would never love anything more than he loved quidditch, and then he'd been introduced to Cassius. It was sweet, and heartfelt, and everything Harry had imagined weddings to be.
He wanted his own to be like that. Even if the idea of Sirius Black giving a Father-of-the-Groom speech did give him palpitations.
Hopefully Neville's Best Man speech would make up for it. If his friend agreed to the position, of course.
But after an excellent dinner full of laughter and happy conversation — and not a single Weasley twins prank, on threat of Blaise and Angelina running off to Italy without them for a week — the space was transformed into a dance floor, with the six-tiered quidditch-themed cake in pride of place at the table nearby.
Draco's arm wound around Harry's waist as they watched Oliver and Cassius dance, both men with their foreheads pressed together. "One more year," the blond whispered in his ear, his smile audible. Harry stroked over his engagement ring, leaning back against him — one more year, and they could begin planning their own.
Or, rather, they could give Sirius, Narcissa and Andromeda permission to start planning it. There was no holding those three back.
When the floor opened to the rest of the guests, Harry and Draco were some of the first out there, swaying together as the band played a slow song. Harry was pleased and surprised to see Remus and Snape, in a shadowed corner of the dance floor but dancing together nonetheless, in public and everything. It didn't stay that serene, of course. Once the cake had been cut and all the ceremonial stuff was over, the journalists got politely escorted out and the real party began. Alcohol flowed freely, and as it was the first time the whole crowd had gotten together since the battle, they were all more than ready to celebrate both Oliver and Cassius' marriage, and also the absolute joy of the freedom they had fought so hard to win.
Oliver was one of the fastest to get drunk, despite his insistence that a proper Scotsman could handle his alcohol. He danced with reckless abandon, grabbing his quidditch teammates both past and present up to join him, even at one point cajoling McGonagall into a dance. Harry had to stop him from spilling the beans about Harry's position on the England team on multiple occasions, though he was sure at least a few people had to be suspicious from the way Oliver 'just happened' to introduce him to certain quidditch players, all of whom happened to be on the England team, and all of whom greeted Harry with incredible enthusiasm and secretive smiles.
There were fireworks, as there always were at an event containing Fred and George Weasley. There were multiple Ceilidh dances, one of which Oliver dragged Harry into despite being three sheets to the wind and barely able to stand up, while Harry was equally as uncoordinated but not nearly as drunk. Oliver had stripped half of his formalwear off by that point — jacket and shoulder plaid abandoned in the heat, sporran lost because it disrupted his dancing, and sgian-dubh confiscated by an exasperated Cassius before someone could get hurt.
Not that Cassius was much better than his husband. He kept sneaking up behind Oliver, trying to slip a hand under his kilt, grinning wolfishly every time he was caught.
To Harry, it felt like the first time they had all had the chance to just be themselves; young, carefree, in love. Normal young adults celebrating the first of their group to get married — surely the first in a slew of many, once the bulk of them graduated.
Oliver and the twins were busy doing some kind of jig-slash-war-dance situation in the middle of the dance floor, while Cassius, Blaise and Angelina looked on in a mix of despair and amusement. Harry just hoped that someone, somewhere in the room had a camera, because moments like these deserved to be captured. He rocked up on his toes, hands on Draco's shoulders for balance, looking around to see if any of his friends had a camera out. He was sure he'd seen Sullivan with one earlier… Harry peered around the pitch, rolling his eyes at the number of couples out snogging in the shadows, trying to spot his Ravenclaw friend.
Then he did a double-take, zeroing in on one of the snogging couples. One of the pair was definitely Sully — the other, if Harry wasn't mistaken, was Justin Finch-Fletchley.
Very interesting.
Hoping he remembered seeing the pair come morning, Harry gave up his camera search and decided to just enjoy the moment, allowing Pansy and Millie to drag him and Draco out onto the dance floor now they weren't in danger of being hit by a flailing Weasley. Millie's fiancé, Otto — who had bravely decided this wedding should be his first proper introduction to Millie's entire friend group — was sat at a table with Theo and Susan, looking quite overwhelmed, but happy about it nonetheless.
They were all going to be horrendously hungover in the morning, and Harry doubted Snape would be quite so generous with the Hangover potion this time.
But it was more than worth it, to be this happy.