Chapter 18

It was a peaceful Sunday morning in the Potter mansion. Although it was early in the morning, a lone teenager was bustling over breakfast meals in the kitchen. None of the remaining occupants were wide awake yet, save for the eldest son. Harry Potter was no ordinary teenager, and he knew it quite well. In seldom times, he prided himself for being different than the rest of the people, be it magical or non-magical. He was… how would you put it? Extraordinary? No, extraordinary would be a big word. He would consider himself lucky, not special, not an exceptional or a remarkable young man.

Of course, it's not the type of luck in which grants people a good luck charm in their life. No, for him, it's a bad luck. After knowing the reason of the phenomenal inexplicable things that occurred in his life and the cause of it was none other than of what inside him, it instigated for him to reconsider his life thoroughly. He wondered if it were not for the 'thing' inside him, would the old man have ever taken him under his wing? He wondered if his life would be normal instead. He wondered where he would be now. Would he achieve the many great things in his life? He wondered if his parents would ever neglect him…

He shook his head, disposing of those thoughts. What's done is done. It's meaningless for him to look back his life once it already transpired, there's no point to it. It would only give him the impression of not appreciating everything that came about in his life. There was a celebration held in the Greengrass manor last night. Lady Greengrass was unrelenting in celebrating him and the girls returning from Hogwarts. Of course, Lord Greengrass just allowed the patriarch to do whatever she wants, for fear if he didn't, he would be confronted by his wife's wrath.

Harry chuckled merrily to himself.

How could a well built man, with an air of intimidation and authority, be so fearful of his own wife? William basically shriveled under Elizabeth's own shadow. It's true what they say then. Men ruled the world, yet women ruled over men. William and Elizabeth Greengrass were like parenting figures to Harry. He had known them for over five years now, no thanks to their daughter, Daphne, for introducing him to them.

Harry stirred the noodles in the cooking pan, the large fork in his right hand. He halted the stir and moved to the other pan. He checked the spicy sauce, verifying it as to not overcook. Satisfied, he stepped back from the stove. To snuff out the fire he waved his hand, and then wandlessly cast a charm at a certain pot. It began making tea for him, adding the appropriate amount of sugar and such. He then wriggled out of the apron he was wearing and sat at the table in the kitchen. He lifted a book he had gotten from Callista. It was a Muggle fiction book to be more specific, but Harry found it to be interesting. The sound of someone yawning indolently drifted to his ears, but he wasn't bothered by it.

With messier hair than it normally was, Daniel Potter froze in his tracks, mouth ajar, hand midway to his mouth.

"Brat, stop your ridiculous act and take a seat. Do try to close your mouth too…"

Reddening, the smaller guy wisely locked his mouth. With great caution, Daniel situated himself next to his brother. He watched in amazement as Harry snapped his fingers without looking up from the book he was currently reading. Two plates and two cups came swooping down to position themselves on the table. With another wave, the meals were served and the two cups were filled with hot tea. Without straying his eyes, Harry slurped the noodles. Daniel gazed down the meal, treating it with vigilant, poking the red meatballs. Seeing his brother eating his meal, Daniel followed his action. He munched the noodles happily. He wouldn't admit it, but hell, his brother knew how to cook.

"Oh, I almost forgot, I added an undetectable poison that I recently created to your food. I always wanted to experiment that poison on people but never had the opportunity to. Now, it seems it's successful." Daniel's eyes bulged and he coughed violently. Harry snorted with slight laughter. "Relax brat, I was just kidding." Daniel settled on the tea this time. "Your tea however, is definitely mixed with the poison I told you about. You'd better not drink it…" Hurriedly, Daniel spat all of the contents out of his mouth, panic rising.

Harry glanced up at his brother, eyes glimmered impishly. "You know what, brat? You're a sucker. You're too trustful to everyone you met. You need to do something about that in the future, or it would eat you alive. There was never poison in the first place." And with that, Harry turned back to his meal and his book. "Clean the mess, will you?" Daniel glowered at his older brother, growling lowly. Cursing to himself, he attended the mess without magic. He couldn't use magic as he's underage and he's not a wandless user like his brother.

Harry slammed his book shut and set it aside. Smirking at his little brother, who was scrubbing the mess, he raised his cup of tea. Daniel, to his credit, just ignored it and not allowed his brother antagonize him any further. "I never got to see your result on your second-year exams, did I? What did you get? Did you do well?" Daniel blinked his eyes at this. It's not often Harry took a major interest in Daniel's life. Nonetheless, considering how Harry didn't fancy Daniel shaming the family's pride, it's not a surprise.

"Um…yeah, I did well in exams, more than I thought I would. I can show you my report card if you want."

"Right, go get your report card." It wasn't a question, it was more of a command. Harry had to wait for a while before Daniel came back. When Daniel did return, he was with someone. In his arms was Rosaline Potter in her night gown, the tufts of her raven black hair looking chaotic.

"What is she doing up so early?"

"She woke up and was walking sleepily around the hallway, so I picked her up. Right, Rosy?"

The four and half year old girl yawned innocently in response. Daniel blocked her mouth with his hand. He carefully placed his sister in between him and his older brother. Harry served another, smaller, meal for his sister and the small girl looked at the meal with her charming cute chestnut brown eyes. She budged to the person next to her and looked up. Within a second of spotting Harry, she brightened, the drowsiness no longer wearing her down. She grinned toothily at him.

"Hawwy!" Harry's eyes twitched at the pronunciation of his name. Perceiving the sound of snickers, he nonchalantly whacked Daniel's head.

"Hawwy, where's my present?" she demanded, the grin dropping off her face.

"Later, Rosaline. If you're a good girl, I'll give it to you later."

The girl pouted cutely. "I don't want troll!" she huffed, folding her arms.

"Fine, no troll."

"Yay!" she cheered, chucking her hands up in the air.

"Finish your food first and be a good girl. Then, we'll see…"

Next, Harry gestured the report card from his other sibling. Daniel handed it to him with shaky hands. Scrutinizing it, Harry's eyebrows vanished by the hairline. He was very much amazed. Most of the subjects were Outstanding, except for Potions, History of Magic and Herbology. The brat had done it this time, it was extremely impressive. "W-well?" Daniel's anxious voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

"I must say brat, this is really impressive. Never knew, you'd end up in second place out of your year. Must put quite a shock to everyone," said Harry, voice dripping with genuineness and a bit of awe. All Harry knew about his brother's first year grades were mostly consisted of Acceptable and Exceeds Expectations, and were never Outstanding. Heck, the brat even got a Poor in his first year.

Flushing, Daniel sheepishly rubbed the scruff of his neck. "Y-yeah, but it could leave with more improvement. Hermione's results are much more impressive in comparison to mine. She got all Outstanding." At his brother's truly sincere looks, Daniel couldn't stop himself from being embarrassed.

"Was she impressed?"

Red tinged more on his cheeks. "Definitely. She couldn't stop complimenting me in the train and Ron was annoyed by her constant babbles. Though, she was a bit put out with my grades and I think she will take this up into studying more for next year exams so I won't beat her. But mostly, she was impressed and proud of me."

"Danny, you look funny." Rosaline giggled gleefully, the spice sauce smeared around her mouth.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, with a touch of amusement. "Danny, huh? All this time and I didn't know you were a girl. I might have missed that part, brat."

Cheeks stained with more red, Daniel halfheartedly glared his sister. She just giggled more, her adorableness amplified. Sighing at his sister's cute looks, Daniel seized a napkin and gently wiped the sauce from her cheeks. Unconsciously, a smile lit up Harry's lips as he sipped his tea once more. Whether or not they realized it, this is the first time the Potter siblings had spent time together.

"So, what electives will you take for your third year?"

Daniel swallowed, beads of sweat formed his forehead and it trickled down his cheek. "C-Care of magical creatures…" Harry nodded approvingly.

"And the other one?" Daniel stuttered more nervously, garbling something. "What was that? I didn't quite catch it."

"I-I s-said Divination!"

Silence greeted them, except for Rosaline, whom was devouring her meal messily, clueless to the tense atmosphere encircling her.

"What…" Daniel squirmed edgily in his seat, wincing at his brother's venomous tone, anxiety amassing in his chest. "Why in our family's name and our grandparents' ghosts, are you taking that useless of a subject? Callista would be apoplectic if she was here… She prohibited Sheila or any of us to take that garbage."

"U-um R-Ron said it was an easy score a-and he was taking the subject as well…"

"I knew he's a bad influence for you." Daniel endeavored to object at this, but knew when to keep his mouth a tight shut. "Take Ancient Runes instead, and drop Divination. If I find that you are still taking Divination, there will be consequences and I ain't kidding around, brat, I'm serious. I told you to take your studies more seriously. You'd best maintain your excellent results and not drop your grades from now on either, or else."

"Alright…" Daniel murmured, knowing how solemn his brother is. "I'll write to Professor McGonagall after this."

"This is for your own good, brat. Learning Ancient Runes will assist you more in the future. Just be thankful I didn't force you into taking Arithmancy instead. There's no such thing as easy way in life. It's always the hard way. Drill that into your head and stop making stupid decisions. If you want to rely on luck for the rest of your life, then you're more suited to be a Leprechaun. I can arrange that if you want."

Daniel toyed his food, face fell. The way his brother uttered it, it was as if Harry was ashamed of him. Oh great, the first heartfelt compliment from his older brother, and he blew it. He didn't like it when his brother was disappointed of him, he preferred more of Harry praise. He felt cheated, since he knew his brother's deepest secret, yet he failed him by letting him down. From that point on, Daniel was resolved on making Harry proud of him. Someone tugged the hem of his sleeve and Daniel looked down at his sister's concerned face.

"It's nothing, Rosaline. Go finish your food and clean yourself up afterwards." Rosaline did as her brother requested her to, like any good little girl, and silenced herself for once. She wasn't as naïve as people thought. She knew that her big brother, Harry, had just scolded her other big brother, Daniel.

Rising up from the chair, Harry hovered his plate and cup to the sink.

"Rosaline, after you finish, just go to my room. Your present should be on my bed. I'm almost late for my Quidditch practice, so I won't be around."

"Okay, Hawwy," Rosaline chirped, returning back to her previous cheerful mood.

Harry kissed on top of her head affectionately causing the little girl to giggle. "You'd better not disappoint me again, brat," he warned, observing his brother, who's back straightened in affirmation. "R-right I-I won't!" Harry bobbed his head. That smile on Harry's lips didn't last long as two of his parents arrived, both in their night attire.

"Mommy, Daddy!" Rosaline grinned, her hair was still messy from sleep.

James and Lily Potter were stunned to discover that all of their children gathered in the kitchen, what's more two of their youngest were with their eldest.

"Morning Mom, Dad." Daniel smiled, resuming back to his meal. "Both of you should try Harry's cooking, it's really good. Right, Rosy?"

"Yeah!" she asserted enthusiastically, rubbing her little stomach. "Yum!"

Harry's eyes locked onto his parents'. He chewed his bottom lips, his heart thumping violently for no reason at all. He desperately wished to say something, yet something thwarted him. His tongue just lolled over and his hands grounded into tight fists. The two youngest siblings were unmindful to the soundless confrontation and the atmosphere sinking to coldness, repelling away the last bit of warmness. Harry's lips quivered, struggling to erect his best smile for them. He failed. His smile was strained.

When Lily opened her mouth he instinctively interjected her with, "I woke up early and decided to cook something. It's simple, but it's enough for the rest of the fam- for the rest of us. There's more for you two by the pot."

"It's nice of you, Harry-"

Harry quickly interrupted his mother for the second time, "Well, I have to go now, I'm already late for something." With those quick words, Harry hastened out of the kitchen. "Harry, wait-" He skillfully dodged his father's hand and quickened his pace. His ears went deaf to the shouts of his father for him. Lily looked where to his son had just left and emitted a sad sigh.

Daniel and Rosaline exchanged baffled looks. "Uh, Mom? D-did we… miss something?"

Lily smiled, though it wavered. "It's nothing Daniel… It's just something between us and your brother. Nothing to worry about," reassured Lily.

The sound of James calling out for Harry could still be heard. Contrary to what everyone thought of, Daniel can be very astute to his environments if needs arise. If he didn't know any better, he says Harry was very uncomfortable with their parents. A blind man could tell that his brother's smile was too forceful. So could Rosaline. Confusion marred her adorable features as she looked over Daniel for an answer. Daniel just shrugged his shoulders in reply.

Harry's feet slammed on the ground and he mustered all of his concentration to not fall from travelling by Portkey. As soon as his father began to get a bit too close for comfort, he used his Puddlemere badge, which served as a Portkey, and took him away from the Potter mansion. Thank god there wasn't an anti-Portkey ward. He didn't take a shower, he merely changed out of his night garment, washed his face and brushed his teeth. He was too hasty to get out of the mansion to have a proper shower, but figured he could have one after training, which would be later at night. If it wasn't for his desire to escape the mansion as fast as he could, he would have shower.

It wasn't that he didn't crave to repair the tension between him and his parents, it's the fact he's still not at ease being in the same room with them. Even if his desire was great, he would still be uncomfortable with his parents. Harry sighed under his breath. It would take a very long time before the three of them settled down and partook in a proper conversation.

He surveyed the buildings in front of him, concealing his amazement at the size of them. Puddlemere's headquarters never ceased astounding him. Feeling smug given that he had not fallen on his arse after using Portkey, he took a step forward. Unfortunately, it triggered his body to lose balance and he tripped, releasing a high pitched yelp whilst his body ineptly plunged to the ground. Growling in aggravation, he glared at the ground, blaming it for his clumsiness.

"I'd better not see you playing like that in the upcoming tournament, kid. It was worse than pathetic." Harry only knew one person with a tongue that was so sharp it couldn't measure up to anyone else's. He hauled himself up from the ground, grunting at the man. The Coach was still the same as the last time Harry met him, aged with tremendous height, rough-looking facial features, broad shoulders, a peculiar mix of white-blond hair and arresting blue eyes.

"Welcome back, kid. Now, come along. Everyone's waiting in my office," Philbert Deverill barked, already retreating into the large main building.

Harry marveled why the Coach didn't just dispatch someone to greet him.

"Its standard protocol, kid. It's the Coach's job to greet their players," Deverill grouchily answered the unasked question.

"I didn't say anything, Coach." Deverill merely grunted in response.

Harry rolled his eyes, typical for the man. He pursued the man, trailing not too far behind. Along the way, Harry acknowledged people, players and employees alike. They were welcoming him back and some were glad for him to be here. Harry returned their gestures with slight awkwardness. Seeing the Coach going in his office, Harry lugged behind him. It was the polite thing to do. Then he entered the room, blinking his eyes a few times at the sight of Peter Gandalf and Jocelind Wadcock.

"Ah, Mr. Potter! It's good to see you again!" As usual, the Puddlemere's scout as well as the financial manager of the team was exuberant as ever.

"Um, so are you, Mr. Gandalf." Harry still had a difficult time not to freak out by the man.

Wadcock good-naturedly slapped him on the back. "It's good to have you back, mate."

"Enough with the pleasantries, you can all go squishy later!"

Harry murmured to the captain of Puddlemere's, "Is the Coach still like this?"

"The Coach never changes, mate. If he did, that's the end of the Wizarding world."

"Yeah, but I think he's more snappish than the last time."

"With the stress he's dealing right now, it's no wonder why his bad-temper isn't receding."

"What do you mean?" Harry was confounded by his captain's response.

"Potter, are you listening?" Deverill's voice boomed.

Transferring his attention to the man, Harry remarked, "Are you speaking to me, Coach?"

The man kneaded his temples, an angry vein popped in his forehead.

"I said you're going to train with the main players from now on! Merlin, kid, pay attention, will you?" Soothing his fury, he continued, "You and Raesly will be placed with the main players from now on, kid. Both of you will take turns participating in the official matches. I'm not sure putting you for the entire game would be wise, kid. I admit you're talented and in synch with both main Chasers, Wadcock and Griffiths, but I don't think you would do well under the pressure of playing full game. So, from time to time, Raesly will take your place. He's been in the reserve players for four years now and he did well in the tournament when he substituted the injured players."

Harry's lips thinned disapprovingly. "Raesly? Roy Raesly?"

Raesly was perhaps, the most arrogant person Harry ever met in his entire life and he didn't get along with the man well. The man downright hated him, especially after the match against Montrous Magpies in the last British and Irish Quidditch tournament where Harry was heralded as a hero.

"What about Brien Carras? He's the oldest member of the team. Don't tell me you're singling him out, Coach?" reasoned Harry. "He's much more skilful and experience than Raesly. He's way nicer too. Raesly's got attitude problem."

"And you don't, kid?" Flustered, Harry directed his most fierce and lethal look to the Coach.

"Ah, you see, Mr. Potter, that's just it," Gandalf butted in. "Mr. Carras has chosen to retire from playing Quidditch. He's now happily working at the ministry, under the head of the Department of Magical games and sports, Ludo Bagman."

Harry soured up at the news, running a hand through his hair. "I thought he was going to play for a couple of years more…"

"We thought so too, mate, but that isn't the bigger problem here." Wadcock couldn't ward the frown off his face, even Gandalf grimaced.

Deverill grumbled, "Aye, much worse…"

"What's more worst than not having Carras with us?"

"Supposed you haven't heard the news yet then? I thought Lord Greengrass would have told you." Wadcock sighed morosely. "It's Benjy, mate. He's not on the team anymore."

"What!" Harry rounded his captain. "What do you mean Williams's not on the team anymore? What the hell happen to him? Is he alright?"

"Oh no, Mr. Potter, you're quite mistaken. Mr. Williams didn't receive any heavy injuries or dealing with life threatening situation, none of that. In all actuality, he has transferred…well… to Montrous Magpies…"

Harry chocked on his saliva this time, his shock escalating. "What!" He was more than outraged, banging his fist on Coach's table. "He could have gone to any team, but Magpies? Williams is barking mad!" Harry had never quite exactly forgiven the Magpies' Beaters for striking the back of his head quite hard with one of the Bludgers. His head has never been the same since. Thank god, the old man repaired his head back to the way it used to be. If not, Harry was positive he'd have serious problems with his studies and his memories.

"Calm down, kid. I understand you're mad. But, taking it out on my desk isn't doing you any good! Blimey, kid! Do you want me to cut off your hand! That's my desk you're hitting!" Deverill bashed his own desk with more force than Harry had.

Dismissing the man, Harry carried on, "Why did he do it anyway? Is Puddlemere not satisfying enough for him?"

Wadcock shrugged his shoulders. "Their scout approached Williams in the last three months and persuaded him on transferring to Magpies. They offered him more than what Puddlemere can bargain. I think any player would be insane turning down that offer."

"But, I thought Williams was considerate enough to stay loyal in Puddlemere regardless what the other teams might barter with him… Can't he see that we're able to win the tournament for the second time? Now, without him… it's going to be a long road in the tournament…"

Gandalf smiled sympathetically at him. "Mr. Potter, I understand you're quite upset with the news, we all are. But, there is not much we can do."

"Yeah, but…"

"This is the reality, mate. Sometimes we forgot that you're new to this professional stuff and ignorant to how things going around here. Look at Wilda, she was once the star Chaser of Holyhead Harpies, but transferred to our team because we offered her something she couldn't resist."

"I guess…" Harry frowned, creasing his forehead. "If he's not the Seeker anymore, then what are we going to do? Williams is one of the best Seekers around. Compared to the reserve Seekers… hell, they're not even remotely close to his skills. Also, I'm pretty sure the Magpies will be a much tougher team this year."

"That's what we are trying to figure out, kid." Deverill's fingers clasped together, his chin rested on top of his hands. "It's too late for us to scout a talented seeker. We're in a sticky situation but this is what we are going to do. I'll need to focus every bit of my time training the reserve Seekers before the tournament. Pray one of them will at least be decent enough. Wadcock,-" The captain looked up. "-you'll have to take my place and prepare the team by yourself for the time being, some of the trainers will help you out. Go with the usual routine, you understand? Let the kid adjust to a much tougher drills and if Raesly is too much of a prick, then let him be the sole target of the Bludgers for the rest of training. That will shut him up. The same goes to the kid if he ever whines."

Harry's eyes twitched madly, smiling sweetly at the last comment. The impulse of strangling the man was almost overwhelming.

"Understood, Coach," Wadcock solemnly complied. "Let's go, mate, I'll guide you to your new locker."

Harry took a deep breath, pacifying his emotions. Though, seeing Deverill's smirk, he lost it. Fortunately, Wadcock saw this and yanked him forcefully by the arm. The captain of Puddlemere United had no qualms that the kid would assault their Coach if his patience wasn't anywhere in sight. Harry, instead, settled with glaring the man from faraway, grumbling and looking obviously displeased.

With Quidditch training gear on, his Nimbus 2001 flung to his shoulder, Harry walked side by side with Wadcock. Harry was grousing something about the Coach, muttering in not-so-hush tone on plotting ways to humiliate the man. Grinning, Wadcock's eyes glittered amusedly, but he didn't bother reproaching the young man. He found it quite amusing that every single player, counting himself, were so fearful and showed absolute obedient to the Coach, whilst the kid displayed none of those.

Appearing at the field that was intended for the main players only, both was greeted by a familiar haughty voice.

"Oh great… Who let Potter in? What's wrong? You lost Potter? This place isn't for snobby kids, so run along and let the grownups handle this."

"As a matter of fact, I am lost, you don't mind showing me to the second field, would you?" Harry countered with a snide. "Of course, following a berk would be a sign of apocalypse for me. Though it may have to do with someone who's a complete duffer and that, he would only lead people nowhere but lost."

"Why you…"

"Raesly, that's enough!" Wadcock shielded Harry and protected him from the fellow by stepping in front of the kid. "If you got a problem, take it to Coach! He's the one who handed out the order. Either that, shut up and listen to me, I'm the Captain around here. And, you need to lay off Raesly, Potter."

The man smoldered in rage, but shut himself up.

Harry rolled his eyes, muttering, "What a pillock."

Wadcock shot him with a look to back off and Harry elevated his hands in surrender. He then strolled to the rest of the main players when they waved him over. For the better, most of the main players he knew were still there, the two Beaters, Maxwell Montmerry and Katy Fonger, the Keeper, Casper Doukas, and lastly, the other main Chaser, Wilda Griffiths. Harry nodded in acknowledgement after they greeted him with visible relief. It's no surprise that Raesly is not the most popular around. A loud whistle attracted their attention and without wasting any more time, Wadcock commenced the training.

Harry suppressed a groan and did as he was instructed without much of complaint. He hasn't had shower yet, his head was more or less on the edge of explosion with all the problems pressuring his brain and he's unquestionably not in the mood for nine hours training Quidditch. Damn it, the Coach was right about him. If it weren't for the Coach's words, he might bleat to Wadcock.

26 July 1993.

The wind howled viciously. Harry grounded his teeth furiously at the ferocity as he nearly lost control of his broom. Rain was bucketing down unremittingly over the area. He had to reaffirm his hold on the Quaffle, for multiple times it had almost slipped from his grasp. Broom wriggling a bit from the wind, he cleaved his broom steadfastly, not leading it anywhere but his destination. Narrowing his enticing emerald eyes beneath the goggles he was forced to wear, he spotted an incoming Bludger just upfront. With this heavy rain and near zero visibility, he swerved his broom violently, shirking the Bludger.

Today's match was between Kenmare Kestrals and Puddlemere United. The weather today was grating on Harry's nerves. It affected his performance deeply. His flying was not suave as it always been. One thing for certain, he hated playing Quidditch when it was raining, mostly because the heavy droplets from the dark clouds shrouded his vision. It was slowing him down greatly. Not to mention this was the worst weather Harry had ever played in his entire life. Even without thunderstorms conquering the clouds, the heavy rains still didn't bode well with Harry.

Shivers ran down his spine, spreading all around his body. He was soaked to his skin and frozen, hardly able to see the Quidditch pitch, let alone his teammates.

The worst part was he had been under such weather for a long time now. This proved that he's still lack of experience in the professional field. In Hogwarts, someone would've caught the Snitch after playing the game for an hour, be it any team. Hogwarts, by now, would have finished the game already. Yet, in the professional field the Snitch was much harder to catch and speedier than Hogwart's Snitch. With this weather, the difficulty of catching the Snitch was bordering the impossible. A professional game would've generally taken up two to three hours in concluding the game and Harry knew that.

However, in the last tournament he had only been playing for an hour or so, no more than that. Now, as he flew around with his Nimbus 2001 for an hour and twenty five minutes, parts of his body began to feel numb from exposing himself to coldness for such hours. He loathed admitting it, but the Coach was right. Harry was not good enough at handling the pressure of playing a full professional game. It's frightening how the Coach knew him quite well. Harry thought only the girls would thoroughly understand him, inside and outside, and not anyone else.

His breath grew shabby as Griffiths waved her right hand frantically for him to pass. With great care, Harry took aim and threw it to her. Out of the blue, a Bludger smashed his forearm painfully the instant Quaffle was released. Gasps resonated across the stadium, no doubt from the crowds. His broom spun violently without direction whilst Harry hollered in pain, but he abruptly regained control of his broom again and simply hovered in the air for a while.

He stretched his arm and relief swelled his chest. He was thankful the protection gear that sheltered his arm. Although the gear itself was torn to pieces, it didn't matter since he could still play. While the roars of approval from the crowds overwhelmed the heavy thud of rain, Harry mopped both of his goggles to get a better view. A little portion of uneasiness elevated in his chest as Griffiths scored another points for Puddlemere. Swerving his broom around, Harry united back with Wadcock and Griffiths, now defending. Pulling back his wet hair, Harry let loose a huge breath.

"Alright, mate?" Wadcock shouted for Harry to hear.

Not fancy to come clean with his weakness, Harry built up his most rough expression and thumbed up. It was not a successful attempt, nevertheless. In truth, it looked ludicrous on him with his body trembling all over. Wadcock and Griffiths traded disbelieving looks, unsure whether they ought to laugh at the hilarious sight or be worry of his wellbeing. It's palpable to them that Harry was not custom to cold weather as he was virtually freezing to death. Little by little, his performance was dwindling away as he spent more time in the air.

Regardless, he can still score and passed the Quaffle to them accurately, giving them no reason to chuck the kid out of the game. No, not yet. He wasn't showing any sign of renouncing the game and he was essential in the game. Confirming two of the Chasers' attentions were on him, Wadcock presented the next formation by using hand-signs. Both nodded their head in understanding. At this, Wadcock and Griffiths distanced themselves from Harry, disappearing through the heavy curtain of rain. Harry knew the job he was given by Wadcock and it was to distract the opponents, as well as to utilize the weather.

Locating the three Chasers, Harry darted to them, charging straight on. He sensed two incoming Bludgers from each sides and he dived his broom before they could collide him. He raced to one of the Chasers of which was carrying the Quaffle. The remaining Chasers were trying to block his way and he skillfully dodged the first attempt. Unfortunately, with the rain, a hand got to him. Though, with incredible luck, Harry managed to duck his head but in its place, the hand caught his goggles and the Chaser ripped them off his face. Harry's head was thrown aback when the Chaser did that to him.

Harry snarled for losing his goggles and the pain, nonetheless didn't waver his advance. Striving for the Quaffle, Harry stole it efficiently from the player. With that, he didn't waste time veering his broom sharply and took off to the other side of the goal posts. He had to flutter his eyes rapidly due to the loss of his goggles. Widening eyes momentarily, he dipped his head down, scarcely avoiding a Bludger. Glancing at his surroundings, he noticed that the three opponent Chasers were cornering him at both sides and in front. Determination was set on his face as he tried to shake them off, taking advantage the rain.

What they weren't aware of, was Harry releasing the Quaffle in the middle of flying aimlessly and Wadcock caught it. By the time, they realized it, Wadcock had passed it to Griffiths and no one was marking her, leading to another set of points for Puddlemere. Harry placidly repositioned himself back with his teammates, shuddering all the way. Ruffling his wet hair to get rid of the water, he also wiped his face with his two glove hands. Harry didn't know why, but is it him, or the rain was becoming heavier than the usual?

Fifteen minutes had gone by, and Harry barely felt his hands holding onto the broom. The rain wasn't lessening. It was doing the opposite. Keeper Doukas made a stunning block by kicking the Quaffle away from entering one of the hoops. Wadcock quickly went for the Quaffle and hit it strongly with the tail of his broom. The Quaffle bounced to Griffiths and she snatched it. Despite the blurry vision, Harry commanded his broom, pushing it to its highest speed. He looked over his shoulders. Griffiths was keeping up with him.

He did not decelerate the speed of his broom to hang around for her.

One hand steering the broom and another opened to the direction of Griffiths, silently requesting for the Quaffle. Griffiths was struggling to situate it on Harry's palm. Succeeded in her task, a grin curved her lips and she screamed words of encouragement for Harry. She slowed down her broom after that. Harry kicked off the broom up a notch more as he convinced the Quaffle was in his possession, disregarding the rain whipping against his face. The intensity of the wind was proving to be hard for him. Nonetheless, he didn't back down, he was almost there.

He clutched the Quaffle strongly.

Eyes large, Harry moved his head to the right, and a rapid Bludger whizzed past him. Now panting, Harry loudly bellowed a battle cry, picking his broom up the pace more and more. Harry faked a convincing shoot for the Keeper except he didn't fall for it. Once Harry threw it to the last goal, the Quaffle was deflected by the Keeper. By now, every professional Quidditch player in the tournament grasped Harry style of play. Of course, Harry comprehended that the same trick doesn't work twice. What they didn't know was Harry never the type to give up a fight. Like a bullet, Harry sprung for the Quaffle.

His broom was plummeting to the ground at breakneck speed, urging his broom through the turbulent air. The Quaffle was almost contacting the ground.

"Come on!" Harry bawled at his broom, left hand stretching out for the Quaffle. "Faster!"

Now with just meters more above the ground, he glanced behind him, spotting his Captain in a flash. At this, Harry right away slapped the Quaffle up the sky, straight to Wadcock. "Go!" was what manage Harry to exclaim before him and his broom crashed to the muddy ground. Harry, not looking forward to another episode of his broom being destroyed by such impact, he unthinkingly embraced it to his chests and used his body to screen it. Body slid to the ground painfully, and then rolled around for while before coming to a halt, supine and immobile.

Perceiving the boisterous approval cheers from the crowds, Harry circled his body around, lying flatly and his eyes gazed up the sky. He was wheezing for air, chests heaving up and down. Splattered with mud from head to toe, he ignored it. Body aching excruciatingly from the fall, he ignored it. He clenched his broom and his head twisted to it. He was relieved to see it was not damage. Then, he looked up the sky, rain pouring down on him. That, he ignored it as well. A lazy smirk curled his lips as he knew another points was awarded to Puddlemere. Every last person in the stadium had better have caught the insane stunt Harry just pulled, because in the near future, he would not be doing it again.

Still breathing heavily, Harry's eyes tiredly fell for darkness, drifting to drowsiness.

"The lad got some fighting spirit in him, a'right."

"Hmm hmm, that was some fall from him."

"Didn't his profile say he's a Ravenclaw?"

"Seriously? With the stunt he pulled, I thought for sure he's in Gryffindor."

He could hear voices whispering around him. But, it made no sense to him, whatsoever. He didn't have a clue where he was, or how he'd got there, or what he'd been doing before he got there. All he knew was every inch of him was aching as though he had been beaten into a pulp.

Wind…rain…cold… passing the Quaffle to his Captain before…

Harry snapped his eyes open, and sat upright. Immediately, he regretted it as he groaned at the strain of his body began its onslaught.

"Mate!" said Wadcock, who was extremely soaked under the mixture of water and mud. "How're you feeling?"

"Forget that. What about the match? What happened?"

That drew slight chuckles all around. Trust the kid to look right through the pain.

"Harry, we lost…" smiled Griffiths, a little bit forlorn, from behind Wadcock.

"What? B-but, we're in the lead!"

"It's not your fault, Potter." It's from one of the two beaters, Maxwell Montmerry. "We didn't stand a chance with their seeker. Theirs was more superior to ours, so it's no one fault, really. It's just our luck the snitch was right beside the opponent's seeker."

Katy Fonger, another beater, nodded her head. "So, take it easy, Harry. We'll get another chance."

"Yeah, but-" Harry abruptly halted his sentence after spotting Doukas vainly keeping his face straight. "Hold on, I smell something fishy around here." He scrutinized each of them warily. "You all have been playing me, haven't you? I knew it! You've all have been teasing me non-stop ever since I got back!" They did laugh at his demise. "So what? Did we win or not?"

"Hey, chill out, Potter." Montmerry chuckled contentedly.

"Don't worry, mate," said Wadcock, grinning widely. "We did win."

"Your last stunt made a difference out of them. It completely demoralized them after watching that." Fonger beamed at him.

"Yeah, it's a shame you fainted from such fall," Griffiths asserted, tousling his hair.

Harry grunted irritatingly at the woman's gesture and eluded her second attempt.

"No… even if I didn't pass out, I don't think I can handle under the duress of playing a full game. Usually in Hogwarts, the match ended after an hour or so. In professional, it drags me on for hours and hours. Also, if you all remember, I only played for hour or a half of hour in the last tournament. Don't get me wrong, I love flying and Quidditch, but I don't think two hours up in the air does me any good. Damn…the Coach was right…"

"Damn straight, I'm right!"

Harry puffed out a frustrated sigh at that very familiar tone.

His teammates grinned at his disgruntled expression and one by one, they dispersed, leaving him and Deverill alone.

"Hey, wait! Where do you think you all going? Don't leave me with him behind!"

"Sorry mate, gotta go." Wadcock winked as he was the last one to exit the infirmary.

"Oh great," Harry muttered. "You're not going to lecture my outrageous flying, are you, Coach?" He was being cynical. "If you are, I'm sorry to say that I'll have to pass on your oh-so-exciting words."

"What are you saying, kid? What you did earned approval from me! I always hoped that the cowards I've been training would do the same thing like you did, but none of them had the guts like you do."

"Really?" That's the highest praise anyone could get from the grumpy man. "Uh… Thanks Coach?"

"You must be joking, right kid?" Harry's expression morphed to exasperation. "What you did was really stupid. There are times in a battle when it's best to retreat."

"But to those who took the first initiative and willed themselves in motivation can lead us to victory."

"You're full of yourself, aren't you, kid?"

"And you aren't, Coach?"

It was an intense silence for a few minutes and the two were unaffected by the pressure.

"Tell me, Potter… You never lose in any competitions or fights that you participated, did you?" Deverill was somber, pondering.

Harry felt bewilderment at those words. "Like everyone, I have my ups and downs, Coach. There is no such thing as constant winning in one's life. That's absurd."

"Is that right, kid?" Deverill drawled. "I think you misunderstand me. Have you ever experienced losing at a game or in a competition?"

"Of course I-" Harry scrunched his forehead. "Why are you looking at me like that? I did lose to someone many times. I never won against to an old man I know of. Notwithstanding how much hard work I am in certain department, he still defeats me."

"Ah, I see… so you lose to one person, not in a game nor a competition, or any of those sorts that involves with lots of people."

Harry frowned at where this conversation is leading. "It's still counts as defeat, doesn't it? So to your question, yes, I have experienced losing in my life."

"Well, let me rephrase that, kid. Have you ever undergone the feeling of losing in a game or something?"

"What do you mean by that?" Harry's frown deepened. "What's the difference to those questions?"

Deverill shook his head, "Kid, you should feel losing early in your life, before you grow accustom to winning. It's a bad thing for you. Some people aren't fortunate enough to feel losing later in their life, even if this is a rare case."

"Coach, you've totally confused me now. I have no idea what you are on about."

"Forget it," Deverill brusquely cut off the conversation. "Now, onto the more serious part. I'll just cut straight to the point on how serious your injuries are. Kid, you're not going to play for the next game. For you to heal completely it will take two days-" Harry protested to this. "-Hey, hey, listen!" That silenced Harry. "I know you will miss the next match but we don't have much of a choice. Look, as much as we both don't like this situation, it's for the best. Your muscles have been torn apart from that fall. The Healers did their best in repairing it, but it will still take you two days to be in your top condition. I, for one, think this will be the best. Putting you in the game while you're in a recovery is not an excellent idea, kid and I believe in these two days will prepare you, not only physically but mentally as well. After our match with Tutshill Tornados, we're going up against…"

"The Magpies…" Harry breathed, realization sunk him.

"That's right and Puddlemere need every best player they got if they're going to survive against Magpies. I know you're still bummed about what happened with Williams and chances are we're going to lose. Odds are against us in this tournament."

"Don't say that, Coach." Harry scowled. "You never know the outcome of the future. I say we can still win. We beat them once, then we'll just have to do again."

"Kid, I don't know if you realize this or not, but every professional player has already memorized your style of play. You can't score continuously anymore. You're good… Merlin, you're my best player, kid! But, your tricks have already run out, it won't work anymore. What's more, our best Seeker is on the opponent's team and I don't care what you're saying, but in Quidditch, the Seeker is the key to attaining the victory."

"We've done so well in the tournament without Williams-"

"We can't rely on luck for the rest of the tournament, kid! Listen to yourself! This is what I meant by becoming too attached to winning!" Deverill yelled. He heaved a sigh after that, now feeling very old. "Your confidence is something, kid, I salute you for that. But, having high hopes is bad, very bad. So don't do that, kid, it will just disappoint you if things aren't exactly as you plan out. We can plan as much as we want to, but not things go the way we want." Deverill rose from the seat he's been occupying. "For the better, kid, I think we should get ourselves knock out from this tournament and I think Magpies will help us that."

"You're insane, Coach. Why would you want that? You told me yourself that winning the cup is everything to a professional team. That, the cup is your golden ticket for better life and now, you're throwing away what you're fighting for?"

"Kid, I know what I'm saying. I've been a Quidditch player before I became a Coach. Quidditch is my life and I see many things in my life already. I'm approaching sixty five now." Deverill's expression was undeniably grave. "I saw potential players I trained rise to fame and they fall after another player trounced them. I saw how injuries stole their abilities to play Quidditch and that, it destroyed them." He exhaled his breath noisily. "I trained someone like you once. He was a promising player, a very promising one. The funny thing, kid? He was like you. I asked him once if he ever 'lose' Quidditch to anyone in his life and his answer to my question was no. He exhibited great confidence in his answer. When we lost in a game, he never played with us. Sometimes, injuries prevent him or sometimes, I deliberately didn't put him in the game. He was a lot like you that it almost hard for me to differentiate you both. There was one time he played in a game and we…we lost…" The man was engrossed in his own little story. "You know what it did to him, kid? It crushed him completely. He was too affixed to victory, that the thought of losing never cross his mind. He was in his middle age. After that game, he disappeared, and no one ever heard of him…" He blew out a shaky breath. "Last time I did heard him was he died in the first war and you know what the worst part is? He was on the wrong side. That's right, I found out he joined with you-know-who… I never think a brilliant man such as him would sink so low…"

Deverill glanced Harry over his shoulder with those cold arresting blue eyes. "I'll be damned if I let another person, especially one as young as you are, turn out like him. We did get to taste being number one in the last tournament, so it's fine if we don't get to be in this tournament. I know what I say about winning the cup is important to us, but the way I personally see it, my players' life are more important than some useless trinkets. There are more important things in this life than victory, kid."

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it, didn't know how to respond to the man's little tale.

"Well, I'm different from him, Coach. I'm more of… special case…" Harry choked out the words, looking away.

"That's what he said…" Deverill said. "Rest, just rest, you'll need it. Focus on healing, Potter. We'll discuss more about the tournament after you recover."

29 July 1993.

Whistling in familiar tune, Harry shuffled his way out of the bathroom. There were still droplets of water on his hair and his body. Eyes roamed to the Daily Prophet on his desk, and Harry grunted, disgruntled over the news. It was yesterday's paper and on the sports section, it detailed Puddlemere United was beaten by Tutshill Tornados. He tousled his hair, still frustrated over the defeat. If he was to play with the rest, there's no doubt victory would be in their grasp. But no, instead, he was on house-arrest.

Once the Coach made up his mind on something, it's absolute, no changing at the last minute whatsoever. Harry had been in an extremely bad mood for the last two days. But the worst thing in his house-arrest was his parents trying to spend time with him. Not desiring to strain their relationship further with his bad mood, Harry locked himself in his room, only sneaking around the house to get something to eat.

Although he did get pleasure out of his little brothers discomfort after he unintentionally caught him dressing in woman's clothes, while playing with his little sister. Rosaline even called him Miss Danny in one of their playtimes. Each time Daniel perceived someone calling him 'Danny', he couldn't stop blushing furiously. One thing for certain, it proved his little brother loved their younger sister so much to the point that he couldn't bring himself to rebuff any of Rosaline's requests, even if it is deeply humiliating.

If Harry was honest, he would reject playing with Rosaline if he had to wear a dress that was specifically designed for women. Where Rosaline attained such dress that fitted Daniel's size, Harry had no idea. Passing the long mirror, Harry admired his muscular body, smiling a little. His eyes traced the muscles of his body, from his collarbones, the blade of his shoulders, his arms and then, down to his stomach, shaping the v-shape figure. He did really grow up from the little Harry. His mood lightened up a bit at this.

He had to admit, his body did look gorgeous. With all his vigorous Muggle martial arts training from the old man, and with Quidditch on top, it's no surprise. Moreover, he privately upped an extra training session in the early morning for himself. It's no wonder the girls blushed heavily when they caught more than a glimpse of his shirtless body or when he simply wore sleeveless shirt.

Appreciating the structure of his body one last time, he began to prepare himself for the day.

The Coach was right, mused Harry in the midst of putting his clothes on, he is full of himself.

A green fire burst from the fireplace of the hall of Puddlemere United's Headquarter.

"Uah!" yelped Harry.

People who were passing by watched in great amusement at the youngest member of their club landed in an improper heap. Rosy red bloomed on his cheeks, and he glowered each of them, daring them to comment on his mortification. Grumbling, he mutely cursed his lack of skill concerning magical travel. He just didn't get it. He was excellent in different fields such as physical combat and Quidditch, but he was terrible once it related to magical transportation. Maybe it's the price for being natural in other stuff, so in turn he has zero talent when it involves magical transportation. Harry's face dusted with more red as Wadcock and Griffiths approached him.

"Mate, seriously, can't you stay away from injuries just for a while? We're not even in the official match yet. For Merlin's sake, Harry, you really can't stay away from troubles, can you? You even beat my record on my times in the infirmary!" laughed Wadcock, Griffiths giggled behind the man. Harry's glare, if possible, increased tenfold. Both of them just laughed harder, unfazed by it. The captain presented his hand to the young man. Harry gratefully clasped his hand to it and he was pulled up. More of a habit than necessity, Harry brushed at the specks of dirt on his clothes. "I just don't get it. From what we could tell in your profile, you got excellent results in your studies, as well as nearly describe perfect by most people. Hell, you even outclass most adults in Quidditch. So, how come you always fell on your arse in travelling magically?"

"No idea," Harry tersely answered. "It's a curse, I tell you. It must be in the Potter's genes."

Some time ago, Harry witnessed both of his younger siblings not doing so well after experiencing magical travel, be it by means of Floo, Portkeys or Apparition. For Rosaline's case, she will felt nausea rising up and it took a few minutes for her to cool it down. What's worse, occasionally she vomited from it. For Daniel's case, he would slip and fall in a much more embarrassing manner than Harry. It doesn't matter if the ground was soft or hard, he would still slip. It was as if there was some kind of liquid to make the ground slippery.

Therefore, Harry had concluded that since every Potter is natural at something, they're awful in magical transportation, with the exception for brooms.

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure it will be 'cured' someday." Griffiths grinned, eyes glittered roguishly. "Or better yet, the curse will be lifted in the near future."

"Why can't any of you stop teasing me? I'm not a kid anymore."

"To Coach, you're still a kid, mate. He calls you that every time."

Harry swore under his breath, mentally imagining different kinds of torture for their Coach. One of those 'horrifying' tortures consisted in chaining up the Coach and tickling him to death with feathers. "Glad to see you two are joking around and not so down then."

"Oh, we are still a bit bummer, but it won't do us any good against the Magpies. We should just focus ahead, instead of looking back to our mistakes." Griffiths assented. By now, the three of them were striding over to the locker room.

"That's right… That's just how we are, 'moving forward' like the Coach told us to."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "He did?"

"Well, yeah. Every time we lose in a game, he never failed to remind us those words." Wadcock looked at him strangely. "You were with us, right?"

"C'mon, Joce. Harry was never around when we lost a match."

"Really?"

Griffiths nodded her head, eyeing Harry with strange curiosity. "Come to think of it, it's odd how we always lose whenever Harry wasn't there with us."

"Maybe that's the problem. It's a sin not to include him in every game," joked Wadcock, an amused look plastered on his face.

"I suppose…" Griffiths agreed. The two of them grinned in Harry's direction.

"I'm delighted the two of you were aware of my absence," said Harry mordantly. "What a deductive skill you two possess. I must take great caution in my actions from now on."

Wadcock punched him by the shoulder lightheartedly. "Oh, bugger off, mate. It's natural for you to play with us now."

"Is that right? And here I thought I was only a boy-scout."

"You still are…" Griffiths teasingly pinched Harry's right cheek.

"Oh, shut up, you!" Harry snapped at the woman. "For the hundredth time, I'm not a kid anymore so don't treat me as one!"

Wadcock dismissed them both as he mulled over something, more like someone. "I kind of feel sorry for Raesly though."

Harry's eyebrows creased together. "Why would you feel sorry for that berk?"

"Because he felt he was the reason why the team lost," said Griffiths. "He's probably blaming himself over the defeat."

"If you think about it, mate, it kind of… make sense."

"How so?" Harry wore his bored expression.

"Each time you played with us, we always won, even if you only played half of the game, and Raesly, the other half of it. And after you went to a recovery and he participated for a full game, the team's lost… Well, its obvious how Raesly going to take it, wouldn't it?"

"We tried consoling him, but it didn't work." Griffiths mumbled. "Katy and I even invited him to join us shower together, but he still won't budge."

Wadcock did a double take at that bold declaration, jaw's dropping. Harry's own face glowed with a brilliant shade of red at such thoughts.

"What?" Griffiths looked at the two males.

"You acted as if inviting a male to join a shower with you, is a daily thing to do!" Harry hissed, cheeks still warmed. "With Fonger no less!"

"Oh?" Griffiths was amused. "Harry, Harry, Harry… It's not like you haven't heard that line from anyone before. You said it yourself, you aren't a kid anymore."

"I am!"

"Then what's the harm of doing it? It's just teammates showering together, nothing more… Well, it depends on the situation, of course…" Griffiths now had conniving expression on her face. "Now that I see you in a different light, Harry… You are exceptionally handsome, and who knows what you've been hiding under that Muggle clothes of yours. So, how about it, Harry? Want to take up my offer on showering with me after practice, later? Who knows, it could lead to more… I bet Katy wouldn't mind joining us as well…"

"I think I'll pass, Griffiths," Harry grumbled.

"Are you sure? Just think how our bodies would mingle together and…" she trailed off good-naturedly.

Harry blushed harder at envisaging his two teammates' nude bodies pressing against his. He stomped his way to the locker room in a pace that's quicker than normal. The sultry smirk loitered across Griffiths's lips as she jogged to catch up with him, abandoning Wadcock whose jaw still hung open.

"Why didn't she offer it up to me? I'd gladly join her…" That was what he finally whispered once he was shaken out of his stupor.

Roughly shoving Doukas and Montmerry aside, Harry marched to his locker. He deliberately missed their indignant shouts of 'Hey!' that were clearly aimed in his direction. Unlocking his locker, he snatched a towel and wiped the heavy sweats off his face. Wadcock just grinned at the kid's attitude, disheveling Harry's hair as he passed him by and proceeded to his own locker. At the casual gesture, a deep heavy growl surfaced from Harry's throat. He thought he made it comprehensible enough that he didn't like to be treated as a kid.

"Potter, Wilda is looking for you! She said the offer still stands! She's waiting for you to join her and Katy in the girl's locker right now!" Harry felt a rush of blood to his cheeks at the insinuation from Doukas. "Lucky sod, they never invited any of us…"

"Tell her to piss off!" Harry snarled, shrugging off his Quidditch practice gear along the way. "I'm not even remotely interested on picking up her offer."

It was another end of training session and Harry was drained of energy from the long hours of practice.

"Why? Wilda is hot, as is Katy. Neither is seeing anyone right now, so what's holding you back?" Montmerry cut in, locking his locker. His muscular body was exposed to nakedness apart from the towel, concealing his manhood. "Don't tell me you're batting for the other team, Potter?"

"Put a sock to it, Montmerry."

"Did ya?" Wadcock laughed, "We did heed to one of the rumors that you were a flirter in Hogwarts."

Banging his locker shut, Harry seated himself on the bench, still in his uniform. He rested his back against the locker, loosening his sore muscles.

"So, why didn't you, Potter?" Montmerry reiterated. "You know, take up Wilda's offer?"

"Because unlike males these days…" Harry articulated, closing his eyes patiently. "I don't just think on sex, or how hot their bodies are. I maybe a flirter, but I am decent enough to respect women and not consider them as playthings. Besides-" Harry paused, and then murmured in trepidation tone, "-the girls will kill me if they find something like that."

"Point taken, mate." Wadcock grabbed another towel and mopped the sweat off his bare chest.

"Girl? Who is this girl?" Montmerry's curiosity peaked up, sliding a seat next to Harry.

"Max, he said 'girls' as in plural and that's more than one." Wadcock hurriedly shuffled over to them. "So who are they, mate? You're girlfriends? Keeping yourself to more than one woman, eh?"

"None of your business."

"Ah, c'mon, mate." Wadcock was adamant, slapping Harry's right shoulder lightly.

"One of them is gotta be Lord Greengrass's daughter, right?" Harry discounted the Beater's words, steadily closing his eyes. "I was right, didn't I?"

"Merlin, his daughter? Whoa, now that's a real beauty right there, mate. I laid my eyes on her, one time, when I visited the Greengrass manor with the Coach and-" Wadcock whistled in an appreciative tone, eyes unfocused for a little. "I might have a huge crush on her."

"That bad?"

Wadcock shrugged his shoulders. "It's not like I can help it, Max, she's very beautiful… She's not like everyday beautiful girls, she's more than that, like a Veela of sorts. Of course, I don't want my career to be terminated early, so I stay my distance away from her. It's not wise to make an enemy out of her father. But, I tell ya something, Max, she got most of her looks from her mother, that's for sure." Wadcock carried on the conversation, both men not noticing Harry's closed eyes jerked in annoyance.

"If you both desire to keep jobs for the remainder of your miserable life, then change topic and I may forget this discussion ever happen. If not, I might blurt something to Lord Greengrass in one of my conversation with him. I can't honestly imagine how furious he would be if two of his employees are fantasizing his wife and daughter." Harry peeked an eye at their expressions and was satisfied.

"Potter, Wilda is asking for you again!"

"Tell her I'm not interested, Doukas!" Harry yelled, snapping his eyes to fully open. "Why don't any of you go on my behalf?"

The three men swapped looks at Harry's words, before darting out of the men's locker room and elbowing each other along the way. Harry shook his head, mumbling something suspiciously sounded like 'crazy'. After several seconds, there were sounds of rustling, twin shrieks and several banging noises from the other side, combined with moans of pain. To Harry's admiration, he was greeted with the sight of three men flying out of the girl's locker with force Harry never thought could be possible from a woman.

An amuse smirk curled his lips as the Coach loomed over them and cast disparaging looks to each of them (Do you maggots have death wish, or something? Look at you buffoons, already hurt yourselves before the match even begin! Disgraceful lots! Get up!). Harry fluttered his eyes as Raesly walked in the locker room, disregarding his surroundings and Harry's blatant stares. The captain was accurate on how Raesly would beat himself over the team's defeat. The guy looked hopeless and blank. Harry didn't know what compel him to, but his mouth moved on its own accord.

"Hey pillock…" Harry mentally bashed his head on a wall and quickly regained himself, "I-I mean Raesly!" The guy overlooked it regardless of how clear Harry's tone was. "Are you deaf, Raesly? Hey, I'm speaking to you. I want to talk about the last match."

"What, Potter?" Raesly snapped, glaring the youngster with all the rage he could accumulate. It unnerved Harry a bit. "Are you trying to mock me, or ridicule me for losing the match? Take your pick, Potter!"

"Did I say that?" Harry inquired nonchalantly. "Did I, Raesly? Because, I'm sure I said 'I want to talk to you' and not 'ridicule you' as you eloquently put it."

"What else do you want to talk about? Fine, I screwed up, big time! I messed up! I admit I'm not good enough and don't have natural talents like you do! And, the team would have won if you were there!" Raesly roared, voice dribbling with so much venom. "There, I said it! Satisfied? Pleased? Overjoyed? Ecstatic, maybe?"

"I am." Straight away, Harry was on his toes and the neckline of his uniform was being gripped tightly. Raesly was preparing to pummel the kid, his right hand constricted into a fist and raised up. "Just for the record, satisfied and pleased are the same, so are overjoyed and ecstatic." Rage flooded him, and Raesly was more than ready to throw the first strike. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hit me." Raesly tried again, but couldn't bring himself to.

Harry's eyes glanced at the man's fist then to his face. "You're full of yourself, aren't you, Raesly? That's what you are, nothing but an arrogant man. You think the team lost was because of you? That's crap, Raesly and you know it. Just because I didn't play the last time, or that you play full time, doesn't mean anything. The team lost wasn't because of you, or anyone else. It's no one's fault. If we lose, then we lose, there's nothing we can do about it. In every game, there will always have the victor and the loser. But that's the point of competition, isn't it?"

"What are you trying to say, Potter?"

"Sheesh, watch where you're spitting and you better check your breath after this." Harry grimaced, cleaning the bits of Reasly's saliva off his face. "I'm saying you can act all sullen over the defeat, but don't ever, I mean ever, think the teams' loss is only on you. When the team suffers defeat, we all share the burden and when we win, we all celebrate it. That's the point of being in a team, isn't it? So, stop with this 'pity card' you're playing and start acting professional. If you want to rethink your mistakes, do it afterwards. If you want to carry on your despondent, then by all means, feel free to do so. If you even end up suicidal, hell, I'll cheer you on! But save those for later and not now, because we're going up against Magpies tomorrow."

Raesly slowly dropped his fist, his grip on Harry loosening considerably. "I-I guess you're right, Potter." Harry's words had touched him right to the heart.

"Riiight… Of course I am…" Harry drawled. "Can you let me go, now, dumbass? I don't know about you, but I am not planning to stay like this all day long."

Raesly growled and liberated Harry, but not without a good rough shove. Harry reeled in unfashionable way and fell on his arse, grunting. He rubbed his aching buttocks. Harry had to acknowledge Raesly's strength though, and with his tall height more superior to Harry's, it now caused Harry to reconsider his choice of words for the man in the near future. Raesly just glided pass him and straight to the shower. Harry's half lidded eyes gazed the man's retreating figure, before he swiveled his eyes back to upfront. A deep frown etched on his face.

There, by the door, four men were watching the whole confrontation. With a somber look and arms crossed over his chests, the Coach nodded his head approvingly. Wadcock, Montmerry and Doukas, all grinned and they seemed to have several missing teeth. Nevertheless, they gave Harry two thumb ups at his successful attempt, faces still covered with injuries inflicted by Griffiths and Fonger.

30 July 1993.

"Alright, you maggots, pipe it down!" The whispers around the room didn't abate. "I said, shut up! What are you cowards, deaf or something?" Harry was the only person who was still whispering, though he did it so purposely. "You wretched kid! If you don't shut your gob, I'll stuff your broom down your throat!" Harry was about to retort, but the Coach interrupted him, "I swear in Merlin's name, I'll do it, kid!"

Harry settled with bored expression instead and hushed himself, facing away. Sniggers and giggles rang across the room at the kid's attitude towards the intimidating man. Shaking his head, Deverill face palmed, marveling at how the hell he put up with the kid all this time. He swore he had new gray hairs and wrinkles from getting angry all the time. The source of all his fury was none other than from the kid himself. Conversely, Deverill did appreciate what the kid was trying to do. He was easing the players so they felt better about the task that lay ahead of them.

"You all know your stations for this match, aye?" All players nodded their heads. "We go as we planned and show them no mercy, even if one of them was once our own. Show them what it means to cross Puddlemere. Don't give those fools a chance and for Merlin sake, don't let Williams get anywhere near the Snitch. Keep the snitch out of his line of sight if you can!" People's mood dampened a bit at the mention of his name. "Look at you fools, looking like someone is dead or something… So what if Williams is on the opponent's team! He'll regret leaving Puddlemere! We don't need him! We have each other! We are Puddlemere United after all, so we don't easily give up!" The roars from the players were crammed with confidence and full-spirits. "Just remember, everyone…" The atmosphere changed at Deverill's soft tone. "This is the game we all love… There's no need to work hard over some trinket that we already have! Just enjoy the game and play like never before…" The Coach looked at each of his players with a proud face and smirked. "There is no place for me to be in this world, rather than being here with you maggots." This elicited smiles and grins from all the players. "Try not to get drunk on victory too much after we win this match and let's just focus on playing our best, you hear me, you cowards?"

"PUDDLEMERE!" was the response the Coach got.

"Potter!" Deverill bellowed, summoning the young man.

"What do you want, Coach?" Harry cast a fleeting look at the bench for the reserve players. "Make it quick, I don't want my seat to be taken."

"You got a real attitude problem, don't you, kid? Show some respect to your elders."

"If you stop treating your subordinates like piece of shit, I may possibly reflect my attitude."

"Cheeky bastard."

"Old weasel," Harry prompted, before questioning him seriously, "So, really, why did you call me, Coach?"

"Right, straight to the point then." Deverill bobbed his head. "You're going to play a full game, Potter."

Harry began to chuckle in such sudden way. "You're joking, aren't you, Coach?"

"Kid, do I look like the type to joke around?"

"Last time, you did trick me into believing you were impressed with my outrageous flying, when in actual truth, you were reprimanding me for it-"

"I know what I'm saying! That was a rhetorical question, you imbecile and you're not supposed to answer it." Deverill was irked. "What? You're not up to the challenge? Afraid you'll faint like the last time?"

"Do I hear the Coach taunting a player? That's new…" Raesly splashed to Harry's mind. "What about Raesly?" The Coach simply pointed his thumb to the said man. Harry was annoyed to see Raesly sitting on Harry's 'own' seat by the bench! "That pillock is stealing my seat. What is he doing?" (Hey Raesly, get your fat arse out of my seat! That's the best view to watch the game!)

"Would you stop worrying over a seat, Potter? Merlin. Focus kid!"

Harry's features converted to solemn. "Are you serious about this, Coach? I can save my energy if Raesly play first. We both know that my style of play was never defensive, it always more on the offensive. Raesly is more skilful in defensive than I am. His body practically got the right build for it."

"As much as the plan appeals to me and it worked against the other team, I have to suggest the best players we got to be on the field right now. The Magpies are much tougher than the last time, so there's no need for us to hold back. We'll be going full-scale offensive till the end of the game. They ought to know by now that their Chasers are unmatchable against our own, so they'll probably search a way to finish the game as quickly as they can, which means they all will be concentrating on seeking the Snitch for Williams. You'll just have to endure the long hours, kid. If you can't go on, then we'll substitute you with Raesly," reasoned Deverill. "Listen, Potter, if we lose this match, then it's fine… Nobody will fault you for it. For the very least, we had our fair share on winning the tournament in the past. We already brought back Puddlemere's honor and that's more than enough, so don't push yourself too hard, you understand?"

Harry made the point of turning his back to the Coach. "And, I'm telling you, Coach. We will win again."

A strong hand placed on Harry's right shoulder. "I'm just looking out for you, kid. I'm only preparing you for the inevitable. I don't have any desire to allow history repeat itself again. You have to accept losing in your life, it's the only way for us to live our life, by accepting something even if it is bitter sweet."

Harry's enticing emerald eyes looked over his shoulder, vacantly staring at the man with cold hard gaze. "I am not the person you told me of. I am myself. Get that into your thick old skull, Coach." He shrugged the hand from his shoulder, letting it brush past him.

Extending his hand painfully, Harry intercepted the Magpies' pass, and swiped the Quaffle from the air. He shouted with surprise as he roughly lost his footing on the broom. Harry reproached himself as he had to be careful about pushing certain boundaries. There are things that cannot be pushed, for the consequences that can befall upon you can turn out not to be good. Bringing the Quaffle to his stomach, he embraced it firmly. Eyes glimmered, face toughened up, Harry commanded his broom to the opponent's goal post, quite intent on scoring more.

The game had been going on for an hour and ten minutes, with Puddlemere United leading by 350 to 280, a seventy point difference. The Magpies' Beaters weren't withholding anything and Harry was their main target throughout the entire game. Harry himself hadn't made much of an impact, considering the Magpies' Beaters were now well-prepared and very motivated in defeating Puddlemere. Additionally, their Chasers weren't far behind the Beaters. From Harry's observation, they must have been training quite vigorously to win the tournament cup this time.

Harry's eyes widened, and with not enough time to elude the speedy bludger in front of him, he shielded his face with his right hand. As the surge of searing pain coursed him, Harry hissed, the Quaffle on his right hand going astray from the vicious assault along his Quidditch gear on his right forearm. That's the second time his right forearm's gear had been destroyed. Didn't they know how expensive Quidditch gear was these days?

With an anguished expression, Harry jiggled his hand vehemently, attempting to lessen the pain. All his efforts were to no avail, as the pain didn't diminish.

Harry ducked his head as quickly as he could to evade another Bludger from behind him. He growled at the cowardly attack and was starting to grow weary of the opposing Beaters unrelenting harassment. The jerks never knew when to quit. At the bark of his Captain's order, Harry whizzed to his teammates. His flight was a bit rocky due to his injury. He scowled at his two teammates and shot a look to not comment anything about his arm.

"Listen, is there a rule where I can't deflect a Bludger with a Quaffle?" yelled Harry, amongst the vociferous cheers from the crowds.

"No, not that I know of, mate," Wadcock responded in similar tone.

Griffiths flew a bit closer to the young Chaser. "What are you planning, Harry?"

"The Magpies' Beaters are becoming a hindrance! I have to take them out," answered Harry. "Help me get the Quaffle and leave the rest up to me. If we can take out one of the Magpies' Beaters, the game is ours to take. Their combination and teamwork are more deadly than the last time. It's our only chance. We can't delay anymore! We need to outscore the Magpies before Williams ensnares the Snitch."

Wadcock looked at Griffiths, staring into her eyes and silently conversing with her.

"Sounds like a plan!" Griffiths nodded her head. "Alright you two, follow my lead. Wilda, get behind me. Potter, you behind Wilda." Immediately, they all lined up accordingly. "Draw out the maximum speed of your brooms and keep up with me. Potter, once it's your turn, steal the Quaffle from Fulber. No mistakes!"

Without wasting any more time, they zoomed to the sole Chaser who's been holding the Quaffle the whole time. All three charged dangerously towards the Chaser, whose eyes widened at such a daunting formation. He endeavored to pass it to another of his teammates, but his body wasn't responding. It was as if it had been dominated by the pressure of the Puddlemere's Chasers spectacle. At the last minute, nearly crashing to each other, Wadcock slightly steered his broom to the left, scarcely avoiding the opponent's Chaser who had closed his eyes in fear.

This action follow suited by the rest of his two teammates, with Griffiths opting to move her broom right and Harry finally robbing the Quaffle from the man. A rare grin slipped Harry's face at Wadcock's devious plan. The crowds more or less burst to applause at such tremendous play from Puddlemere and now, it was Harry turn to shine. Not slowing his broom down, he pinpointed the location of Magpies' Beaters. Identifying them just ahead, he prepared himself for the anticipated assault.

Not giving Harry anymore chance, one of them hurled the first Bludger. In accordance to it, the other Beater launched the second Bludger.

At this, Harry's hands quickly let go of his broom and forced the broom to go straight ahead with his knees. It was very, very difficult to execute such a thing, but it was a success. Both of his hands clenched tightly onto the Quaffle, and muscles coiled in preparation. With great effort, Harry deflected the first Bludger using the Quaffle in his hands. He directed the Bludger to the second Beater and it hit the man's face. Not dropping his concentration yet, Harry resumed his defensive posture and got ready for the second Bludger.

He repelled it as well, bouncing the furious Bludger to the other Beater and it concluded with the same result, akin to his teammate. Harry couldn't stop the happy laughter that erupted from his throat as both Beaters descended from their brooms and plummeted down to the ground. Nonetheless, his moment was brief as his broom started to wobble violently and he had to pass the Quaffle to Griffiths. Both hands cleaved to his broom and Harry significantly decelerated it, visibly discharging a breath of relief from such precarious experience.

"Blimey, that's bloody wicked, mate!"

Judging from the crowds' wild thunderous cheers, they readily concurred to Wadcock's words. Most were rendered speechless at Harry's performance.

Harry's only response was, "The Quaffle, to me, quick!" Griffiths, with confounded expression, flung the Quaffle at Harry's request. After receiving it, Harry kicked his broom into top speed. Naturally, everyone thought the young player was aiming to score another set of points. Nevertheless, it was a shock when Harry tossed the Quaffle powerfully towards an individual, and not in the direction of the goal post.

The person was none other than Williams.

People were too entranced by Harry's fluid movements that they absolutely forgotten about the Snitch and it instigated to Williams taking the advantage of it. The Snitch was just about to be in the palm of his hand when out of nowhere, his broom was struck by a Quaffle, causing it to spin erratically. Williams looked at the person who was responsible for losing him the opportunity to grasp the Snitch. From afar, Harry shrugged his shoulders in ingenuous manner, accompanied with a triumphant smirk. Williams puckered his lips in dissatisfaction, unwilling to get livid at his once teammate.

The crowds, unsurprisingly, exploded to cheers in a barbaric manner.

Harry frantically gasped for air, wiping some of the sweat off his face with the sleeves of his uniform. The game had been going for a total of two hours and fifteen minutes, the longest time Harry ever played Quidditch. He was starting to reach his limits and he knew it. He was also aware that his teammates' breath was mirroring his, and becoming slightly labored. Out of the players in the field, Harry was more likely the most exhausted. He thought his endurance was good, but he was proved wrong.

The Magpies weren't giving up either. They were keeping up with Puddlemere's pace excellently. All of them were as determined as hell to beat Puddlemere, counting Williams as well. Williams viewed this match as a way of saying goodbye and by winning the game, he'd cut ties with Puddlemere once for all. Harry and the rest of Puddlemere's players, however, weren't giving him an easy play. They all had been watching Williams extra hard ever since his last pull on almost catching the snitch.

Still panting, Harry dashed his way forcefully to the opposing Chasers. Like a slippery eel, he slithered his way to them, sneakily stealing the Quaffle. He ignored the stunned looks from the Magpies and whooshed to the goal posts, not waiting for his teammates. Right hand clasped firmly on the Quaffle, he tossed it with every bit of strength he still had left in his body. Afterwards, Harry used the broom to support his body from falling, his head down, simply hovering in the air. The crowds gave away the answer away as he indeed scored again.

Losing is not an option for him…

He raised his head high, steeling his body from shaking violently.

He must win no matter what…

What good would it do if one lost?

Nothing, that's what… There's nothing to be gain from it…

Harry slapped his face with both of his hands, struggling to get his head in the game.

Winning isn't everything . Losing is where one will rise up again and become much stronger than he previously was. Losing is where one will learn from his mistakes and not repeating it for another time. Losing is where one will learn to be humble. Experiencing bitterness is where one will gain everything…

Harry snapped up at those words, blinking his eyes. Where did that come from? It wasn't the old man's voice. It was from someone else. It's almost as if it was from his own voice… Of course, it didn't make sense at all. It might have been some jumbling thoughts came floating to mind and nothing more. Harry relocated his full attention to the game and was astounded to hit upon Doukas abandoning his broom to block the Quaffle from sliding through the lower last three hoops. In turn, Griffiths caught the Quaffle and without further ado, she rushed to the other side of the goal posts.

Not having the energy to escape a Bludger, she dispatched the Quaffle to her captain accurately. The Bludger took her unerringly to the stomach and knocked her from the broom. Not wishing his two teammates' sacrifice to be in vain, Wadcock tore past all players, failing to notice even his own teammates. The pace of the game was so chaotic now, it ensued in both sides to no longer care to stick with their formations.

Harry waved his hand madly for Wadcock.

Seeing Harry, Wadcock promptly chucked the Quaffle high up in the air. Hastening to the Quaffle, Harry took his cue and precisely the right time, he smacked it with the tail of his broom as hard as he could. Regrettably for Puddlemere United, the Montrose Magpies weren't going to just stand by and watch. The Captain of the team, Fabius Watkins, lashed out an exhausted yet swift kick, directing the Quaffle to another direction as well as impeding another score for Puddlemere. Without another thought, Harry pursued the Quaffle, planning to execute one of his foolish stunts.

The same stunt in which caused him to recover for two whole days. Fortunately, what he had in mind was much safer than his last stunt.

With a roar of lion, Harry flew to the Quaffle and leapt off his broom, his right hand not letting go of the broom no matter what. Teeth gnashing furiously together and hand reaching out for the Quaffle in the midair, Harry seized it at long last. "Hah-hah!" Harry grinned, mounting back to his broom. Just on the brink of touching the ground, he rocketed up the sky. The cheers from the crowds was so deafening that, to Harry, it was the only thing he could heard. Not the sound of his Quidditch robes rippling violently, the shouts of other players, his incessant ragged breaths, just the cheers. It was breathtaking.

They were captivated by how Harry would go lengths in ensuring the team's victory. Jumping off the broom just to get the Quaffle and clambering back the broom were no small feat. Most of the crowd were more or less gasping, hands on mouths, rising up from their seats and swearing Merlin's name. There was not a single player whom was brave or was fool enough to carry out such stunt. But it was these sounds that motivated Harry more. He evaded another Bludger, closing in the goal posts. He hoisted the Quaffle above his head, basking the attention of the crowds.

However, his celebration was short-lived as soon as a bang split up in the air from the referee's wand, concluding the game. Harry's eyes grew large in a complete shock as he gradually slowed down his broom. The crowds and all of the players, including him, were too affixed by his performance that they had completely missed Williams chasing after the Snitch. His eyes swirled to the magical screen in full of disbelief. His breath began to shallow and he suddenly felt suffocating, the Quaffle on his right hand was unconsciously let go.

Harry did not know if it is from exhaustion, or that it's from the shock. All he knows is that he had a very difficult time to breathe.

His wide eyes watched as the Magpies celebrated their victory. They were so close into winning the game, but the conclusion wasn't what Harry expected it would be. Out of the blue, a furious Bludger strike his back. Eyes popping out of their sockets, Harry choked, coughing violently. He didn't have to wait for so long before another one smashed his left shoulder. He didn't have time to react to the intense pain before another Bludger smacked his right cheek, knocking him off his broom. He was sure the bruise on his face would be swollen.

Body hitting the ground with a thud, Harry cringed when his right shoulder cracked from falling at such a high height. The world was dazedly spinning around him, and his expression was one of anguish. Even as his sight grew shadowy, he just barely heard the outraged shouts from Puddlemere's fans as his eyes stared straight to the sky. Abruptly and willingly, he succumbed to the darkness.

"I am going to murder those two Beaters one way or another…and I'll do it slowly and painfully." The statement was from none other than Daphne. Every occupant in close proximity to her flinched and some nearly wet themselves at such cold voice. "Father, I want them to be miserable for the rest of their pathetic life. I want regret to be their only companion from this point on, do you understand me?"

"Now, now, Daphne love, that's a bit exaggerating, don't you think?"

Peter Gandalf, Puddlemere's scout and financial manager, mouthed 'a bit?' in trepidation to Philbert Deverill.

The Coach of Puddlemere swallowed the lump of his throat. "Remind me not to get on her bad side…"

"What are you saying, William? That's an act of compassion compared to what I had in mind…" Elizabeth was outraged, and was spouting more of her venomous threats, resulting in Puddlemere's employee's edging away from the woman, horrified of her. "How dare they strike Harry after the game ended! It's such a cowardly attack! Oh, I'm so mad right now! Throttling someone feels like an excellent idea for me to appease my anger…"

Once more, her declaration caused another wave of Puddlemere's employees stepping further away.

"Scratch that, remind me not to get on either of their bad sides, mother and daughter, especially if it concerns the kid. I'll have to treat the kid slightly better from now on, which includes the rest of us as well. Wait, notify this to everyone this instant, go." Gandalf nodded his head rapidly, whimpering slightly and swiftly attending to it.

Tittering uneasily, William Greengrass adjusted the collar of his attire, visibly loosening it up. "Please, both of you, calm down. It will do no good to anyone if you smolder yourselves in rage." The head family of Greengrass cowered under the glare of his wife.

Deverill cleared his throat and immediately regretted it as all attention was on him. "Excuse me, Lady Greengrass, but I believe Potter is the main concern here. If any of you mind, I can tell you his condition at this time. The healers have already checked him and healed those injuries of his."

"How is he?" pestered Callista, her hypnotizing azure eyes shining worriedly.

"Is his injury that bad?" Sheila's posture exactly matched her best friend, reciprocating the concern.

"Will Harry be alright?" Indisputably followed by Regine, her scarlet slight wavy hair was fastened to a loose ponytail.

All three girls abandoned their families without a second thought and tagged along Daphne's family in favor of visiting Harry, whom at the present, resided in Puddlemere's Headquarters infirmary section. They were too concerned for their male friend that they had completely neglected the other famous Quidditch players.

"Yes, yes, and yes. The ki-" Deverill bit his tongue and corrected himself at once. "Potter is fine, he's resting at the moment."

"I say we should hunt those two adults like I first proposed and inflict them with so much pain that they'll feel sorr