A Star Is Born Chapter 7 (Patreon)

(A/N) Before you all read this chapter, let’s talk about it.  If you read my story “The Survivors” you know I usually like to paint really happy scenes in the beginning of my stories.  This allows me to build some attachment to some characters, and do a little world building of what’s been going on in their lives.  This isn’t going to be forever, but it is going to be the first 15-20 chapters.  Harry is going to seem pretty normal right now, he is adapting to life as a Quidditch Star, and probably having a little too much fun, but who can blame the guy.  I tell you all this, because I want you to know this isn’t just Porn with a plot. I have big crazy plans for this story.  I am thinking about 40-50 chapters, but maybe less.  For now just enjoy the ride, and tell me what you guys think!  You guys really do influence the stories direction, so don’t stay quiet, especially since you are all my 5$ patrons, I want you all to be happy as my biggest supporters, and most of the time I am pretty pliant on your ideas, so strap in for a party chapter, and maybe I can get you guys another double update this week!  Cheers!

Chapter 7

The Puddle Jumper, the familiar nightclub known for its infectious energy, welcomed Harry and his group with open arms. As they stepped through the entrance, the vibrant music enveloped them, setting the tone for an unforgettable celebration. The dazzling lights danced across the room, illuminating the polished dance floor and creating an ambiance Harry had only ever experienced in one place.

Finding a place to sit in the VIP section was simplified by the owner's forethought in reserving the largest, most centrally located tables specifically for the Puddlemere United team and their friends. Yet, the tranquility of their designated space was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer wave of excitement that accompanied their arrival. It was a tangible thing, a buzz that rippled outward from the dance floor all the way to booths around the club. 

Eager fans pressed forward, hoping for a moment of connection with Harry and his entourage. They sought high fives, fist bumps, and handshakes to share in the thrill of the recent victory. While the crowd remained respectful enough not to swarm, their focus remained fixed on capturing the attention of Harry or other members of the team that were around.

The slow trek through the gathering crowd threatened to become a bottleneck, but the DJ’s sharp intuition saved the moment. With perfect timing, a booming announcement of the team’s arrival cut through the noise, followed instantly by the driving pulse of a new track. This clever diversion allowed the players—still basking in the fans' admiration—to navigate the room and finally reach the safety of their reserved table.

The group of ten Harry had brought filled one of the tables just off the dance floor, and Seamus whistled next to Harry as the group settled, “Merlin, Potter, I could get used to this.”

Harry leaned back slightly in his chair, and couldn't help but agree and grin at the joyously chaotic scene unfolding around them. He watched, completely captivated, as people attempted to follow the infectious beat of the lively, booming music. It was a rhythm that may have pulsed with a raw energy through the very veins of the audience, but its execution by the amateur dancers was anything but harmonious. Limbs flailed with a passionate disregard for coordination, and the collective attempt at a synchronized movement dissolved into a purely individualistic, ecstatic frenzy. There was no denying that the crowd was invested in the moment, and that their boundless energy was highly infectious, sparking a shared euphoria in the dimly lit space. But as the more proficient dancers swirled and spun with dizzying abandon, and bright, uninhibited laughter echoed across the vast , a different rhythm began to assert itself beneath the thumping bass—the distinct, slightly off-kilter rhythm of intoxication, a clear signature of the night's rising revelry. The air itself felt thick with the heady mixture of cheap perfume, spilled drinks, and the pure, unadulterated joy of letting go.

As Harry turned his attention to his own table a large tray of shots was pushed across the table by a waitress that couldn’t have been more than a few years than Harry, who passed through the area, and Seamus cheered at the arrival of alcohol, as he distributed the shots to each person at the table with a slight flick of his wand.  Susan was to Harry’s right, and looked excited by the start of their night of celebration, while Ron and Hermione across the table looked at the alcohol with trepidation, clearly remembering draft night, and undoubtedly the hangover that followed.

Seamus stood up above them all raising his voice extra loud, “I’d like to propose this toast.  To Harry Fooking Potter!  The chosen one, and the one who is going to bring a championship to Puddlemere!”

The men all laughed at the Irishman, while the women just shook their heads, but each smiled at the words, as their voices were drowned out by the club's music, but Harry caught the gist of the returned toast, and took down the shot with ease.

When the shot was done, Fleur was out of her seat, dragging Bill to the dance floor, much to the hilarity of the assembled group.  The woman looked predatory, in her desire to dance with Bill, and Harry was certain he heard Seamus mumble something along the lines of, “Lucky bastard,” Under his breath.

Harry watched as Fleur danced on Bill, drawing more than a few eyes of the crowd, and Harry glanced across the table to see Ron groan, causing the Seeker to chuckle at his discomfort.

Glancing around the pub, taking in the scene, Harry noticed that positioned strategically near the velvet rope that delineated the team's private booth, a pair of the club's most undeniably beautiful fans had launched a campaign to draw some of the players attention. A striking brunette and an equally stunning blonde, both clearly well-aware of their alluring effect, subtly moved their hips in overtly provocative ways, using their proximity and undeniable beauty to try and seduce their way into the VIP area.

Harry was certain if Conner or Jason were here they would have been immediately successful, but the two beaters were conspicuously absent from the evening.  In fact Harry realized that most of his teammates had clearly found other places to celebrate their first win, except Oliver, who was moving through the crowd, shaking hands with everyone, but was looking surprisingly sober considering the circumstances.  The others, like Ryan Jackman, were all backups, and spread out across the VIP area in small groups.

It figured most of the players would want to be with their families or closest friends for the evening, especially after the adrenaline of their first season victory. Harry scanned the room, noting the distinct absence of the team's primary beaters, Conner and Jason. Judging by the way some of these persistent fans were eyeing the VIP section, specifically tracking Harry and Oliver, the two single beaters were missing out on a prime opportunity for some post-game attention.

The Wizard that was running the music, a flamboyant character with a magically amplified voice, took a brief break in between songs to capture the crowd's attention. He leaned into his wand, making a booming announcement that cut through the chatter: “Witches and Wizards, give it up for our Puddlemere Quidditch team! I see Captain Wood out there making the rounds, and our very own Rookie Phenom, Harry Potter in the house! Show our stars some love!” The club erupted in cheers, with spotlight charms briefly sweeping over their table, bathing Harry in a sudden, blinding glow.

Harry tensed under the light, the roar of the crowd distorting into the familiar shriek of spells tearing the air. For one disorienting, terrifying moment, the spotlight became the flash of a green, lethal curse—a phantom memory of a battlefield, a cold terror that gripped his chest and reminded him of the trauma he was trying to suppress. He quickly pulled it together, and offered a wave to the cheering crowd, and the DJ cried out, “Someone get our rook some shots!”

A few small fireworks, charmed to sparkle in Puddlemere United navy and gold, went off in a dazzling display over the Wizard's music stand, their crackle nearly drowned out by the renewed roar of the crowd. The applause continued, mingling with the lighthearted laughter of the audience as they enjoyed the spectacle. In no time at all, another young waitress navigated the crowd, balancing a tray to bring Harry a single extra tall shot. Harry took the glass, and took a deep breath, trying to relax, while holding it up in a silent salute to the flamboyant Wizard running the music, who caught his eye with a wink. With a swift motion, Harry threw the drink back to the raucous approval of the fans, the burning liquid adding to the growing warmth of the evening's celebration.  As the liquid went down his reminders of the battle seem to go down with it.

“That’s our Seeker!  Now let’s turn this party up a notch.” The wizard cried, and the music became louder than before, and the lights seemed to strobe in frantic excitement, re-creating the party atmosphere in an instant.

Harry took a moment to try and enjoy the moment. The brief lapse of terror had come and gone, and he felt himself breathing normal again. A little alcohol could cure anything right? A more confident smile crossed his features now as he put his arm haphazardly on the cushion behind Hannah to his left. The blonde witch was striking; her pale, nearly white hair was still styled in two immaculate braids that framed a delicate, sharp-boned face, and she had used some light transfiguration to turn her Quidditch skirt, and t-shirt into a more club-like attire.  The t-shirt was now a low cut tank top, that was a satin like material, and her skirt, now had matte velvety look to it. Her blue eyes, normally soft, now reflected the frantic strobe lights with a gleam of excitement and wonder. When Harry put his arm behind her, she just offered the man a small smile. She chose not to comment on the slight touch at all, but her eyes fixed briefly on his, before turning their attention back to the dance floor.

Hermione and Ron were the first to go, offering him congratulations again.  When asked why they were leaving so early, Ron groaned, “Watching Bill and Fleur out there on the dance floor is unsettling.  I think the whole club wants to sleep with one or the other.  It’s throwing me off my dinner!”

This caused Harry to chuckle, and hug the pair as he wished each of them a goodnight.  His eyes went towards Fleur and Bill who had yet to even return from the dance floor, and Harry knew Ron was right, they were attracting a lot of attention.

When Harry sat back down, he didn’t place his arm around Hannah again, instead placing both on the table, and leaning against it, to overlook the chaotic scene.  Taking a sip of a pint Seamus had put in front of him, he began to nod his head with the music, and laughed as Bill spun Fleur around causing her skirt to slightly raise, which caused wolf whistles from some of the crowds.

“Harry!” A voice to Harry’s right called, and his eyes went towards Hannah, who had slightly pink cheeks.  Harry wasn’t sure if it was warm in the room, or if the alcohol made her flush, but he offered the girl a smile.

“Hannah!” He called back loudly with a crooked grin.

The girl giggled, as she offered one one of her hands, pushing one of her blonde braids behind her with the other, she offered him a grin, “Want to dance?”

Harry shrugged, glancing at Susan, who nodded in approval, before saying, “You’re on!”

Harry reached for Hannah’s hand, who dragged him onto the floor, nearly bumping into the two scantily dressed witches near the VIP entrance, not even deigning them with a look.

When the two made it to the floor, Hannah turned with a smile, putting her arms around Harry’s neck, and swaying her body to the music, along with the rest of the people on the dancefloor. Unsure of where to put his hands, Harry was fueled tentatively by the alcohol consumption as he delicately put them on Hannah’s hips, and searched her eyes for approval. Her blue eyes clearly showed her delight and, just seemed to pull him closer if it was even possible.

The music pulsed through the floorboards, a rhythmic vibration that Harry could feel in the soles of his shoes. Hannah moved with a natural grace, her laughter light and melodic even over the thumping bass of the club. Harry, usually more comfortable on a broomstick than a dancefloor, found himself relaxing into her rhythm, the proximity to Hannah and the lingering warmth of the shots making the world outside their small circle fade into a blur of neon and shadow. Every time their eyes met, her grin widened, silently encouraging him to lose himself in the celebration of Puddlemere's victory, and forget about the horrible places he had been just a year ago.

The two danced upbeat for the remainder of the song, before Hannah practically fell into him laughing, as he threw an arm around her, and guided her back to their table.  Susan awaited the pair with a large grin, “You two have fun?”

Hannah pretended to swoon into Harry, “A little alcohol and he is as good on a dance floor as he is with his wand.”

The joke made Neville and Dean snort into their drinks, clearly enjoying the scene, while Seamus joked, “Eh, maybe he should stick to Quidditch!”

Susan shot a challenging smile at the Irishman, “Think you can do better?”

Scoffing the Sandy colored man, offered his hand, “Oh come on red, I have the blood of the Irish, let me show you how it’s done?”

Laughing, the redhead agreed, and took the man’s hand, causing a surge of jealousy to go through Harry.  Knowing that he was just friends with Susan and had no right to feel that way, especially after dancing with her best friend, he turned his attention back to Neville and Dean who were standing just in front of the table with drinks in their hands, “Surely you two aren’t going to let the prat show you boys up?  Lots of pretty ladies here tonight, fellas.”

“Most of em look taken to me.” Dean said, eying Hannah, before glancing back at the dance floor, while Neville just nodded his head, eying the two beauties still dancing near the VIP entrance, “Or more interested in you.”

Harry’s head turned towards the two women, while Hannah taunted them a bit, “Come on boys, you are heroes!  You fought in like the biggest battle Wizarding Britain has ever seen at seventeen and you can’t go talk to some beautiful women? I thought you boys were Gryffindor?”

“The best I ever knew!” Harry swore, in their defense, “I tell you what, order another round of shots, and I will be right back.”

Turning his back on the table, Harry navigated the short distance to the front of the VIP section. The two women he had noticed earlier were still there. The brunette, ever observant, caught sight of his approach first. She leaned in, elbowing her blonde friend with a knowing smirk as Harry closed the gap between them. Both women turned fully toward him, their expressions blossoming into radiant, practiced smiles that spoke of both admiration and intent. “Ladies,” Harry greeted, pitching his voice to be heard over the music.

“Harry,” they chimed in unison, the familiarity in their voices suggesting they had been anticipating this encounter all night. “Great game today,” the blonde added, her gaze roaming over him with an appreciative shimmer.

“You were really good,” the brunette agreed, her voice a soft purr that barely reached his ears.

Harry offered a slight, courtly bow of his head, accompanied by what he hoped was a disarming and charming smile. The adrenaline of the game and the warmth of the previous drinks gave him a boost of confidence he wouldn't have possessed a year ago. “Thank you, ladies. Obviously, you have the advantage of knowing who I am. What are your names?”

“Queenie,” the blonde replied, her sultry smile deepening as she tilted her head slightly.

“Jasmine,” the brunette added, batting her eyelashes in a rhythmic, playful cadence.

Under different circumstances—perhaps if he hadn't spent the last few weeks getting to know Susan —Harry might have found himself completely tongue-tied by the sheer allure of the two beauties standing before him. However, he remained focused on his self-appointed mission to help his friends. He maintained his charming smile, keeping his tone light and inviting. “Well, it's a pleasure to meet both of you. Do you want to join us in the VIP section? I have some really cool guests back at the table that you two definitely should meet!”

Jasmine, the brunette, let a flicker of a frown mar her pretty features for a split second, her eyes darting briefly toward the table Harry had indicated, as if assessing whether the trade-off was worth it. She quickly masked it with another smile, leaning slightly closer to Harry. “What about you? Do you need some—”

“We would love to, Harry!” Queenie interrupted, her voice bright and decisive. She reached out and wrapped her arm firmly through Jasmine's, effectively steering her friend’s attention away from whatever individual proposition she was about to make. Her eyes remained locked on Harry, radiating an eager excitement to cross the velvet rope.

“Perfect.” Harry said clapping his hands together, and opening up the velvet rope for them to come through, that caused some wolf whistles to follow.

Harry waved his hands jokingly at the crowd, and guided the two women towards his table, when they arrived he introduced the pair, “Queenie, Jasmine, meet some of my closest friends, Hannah Abbott is the lovely lady here, then there is Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas.  These lads are war heroes.  Fought with me in the final battle at Hogwarts.”

Jasmine and Queenie both gasped, while Jasmine leaned towards Dean, saying loudly over the music, “We’ve heard rumors of what it was like at Hogwarts.  That’s amazing, you must’ve been so brave!”

Queenie seemed to survey Neville, who looked almost shell-shocked, so Harry decided to nudge him a little more, “These lads are both real Gryffindors.  Neville here decapitated that bastard's snake, to give him one final kick in the face, before we won the war.  He started the final fight, probably one of the bravest things I’d ever seen.”

Neville straightened at Harry’s words, and offered him a grateful look, as Queenie seemed to push away any remaining reservations and began chatting with Neville.  It hadn’t taken Dean long to work his own charm, because by the time Harry had turned his attention to the man, the two were on the dance floor.

The next round of shots arrived, and with the last help of liquid courage Neville guided Queenie out onto the floor, and began dancing with the beautiful blonde witch as well.

Hannah laughed to herself, as she leaned into Harry, “I didn’t know you were such a good wing man, Harry.”

“I have my moments, luckily those two make it easy after everything they’ve done.” Harry said with a laugh, but his eyes went back to Susan on the dance floor.  She had her arms tangled with Seamus, as the two shared their own shot, and a laugh.

Thankfully Hannah did let Harry stew on it, as she pulled him into a conversation, “You know I am running the Leaky Cauldron now, you should come by and visit me.  Susan tells me you are a hell of a cook, but I bet I could teach you a thing or two.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as he leaned over to talk loudly in her ear over the music, “You are running the Leaky Cauldron?  What happened to Tom?”

“He wanted to retire, and he was old.  My family bought the place, and I needed a job after Hogwarts.” Hannah admitted, “I have to say I really enjoy it though.  I am trying to make the place more lively.”

“It needed it.” Harry laughed, before adding, “But you can cook?  That’s awesome.  I didn’t think Purebloods did that?”

This made Hannah laugh in return, “You’d be surprised.  I always liked it though, and now I get to do it for a living.  It’s honest, and I enjoy making people happy.”

Grabbing two of the extra drinks on the table, Harry raised his little glass and offered her the other, “To making people happy, and discovering our own paths along the way.”

The two shared the drink, and Hannah went as far to mimic Susan and Seamus' move, by interlocking arms, and taking down the Puddle Buster shot.  The blonde shivered at the alcohol taste, and said, “You know I was one of your biggest fans when it came to Quidditch.  I think I was the only person in Hufflepuff that thought you could beat Cedric.”

The name of Harry’s old rival turned friend made him wince, as a flash of green light crossed his vision in memory.  Hannah looked mortified when she realized she had given Harry an unpleasant reminder, and immediately apologized, “Merlin, Harry, I’m sorry, the alcohol…I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.” Harry promised, shaking off the bad feelings, and reaching for an abandoned Puddle Buster shot on the table, “That was a long time ago, and while the memory is still painful at times, it was those moments that gave me the strength to keep fighting during the war.”

“To finding strength in unlikely places then.” Hannah said, grabbing another abandoned shot, clearly desperate to put the train derailment behind them.  Shrugging off the alcohol, Hannah attempted to get them back on track, “But really!  I watched all your matches, and your third year team was probably one of the best Hogwarts has ever seen.  Three of you even went pro!  That never happens!”

Harry knew that Angelina was playing for the Magpies, she had written him a letter, and offered her congratulations on him going #1 in the draft.  Briefly he wondered what Katie and Alicia were up to these days, and resolved himself to write to them, or make sure their letters did not get lost in the conglomeration he had received.

“You might’ve been one of my first fans then.” Harry joked, “My own house thought I was brilliant and an idiot, and it depended on what day you asked them.  That was what determined the answer you would get.”

Hannah giggled at this, “I might’ve even had a Gryffindor scarf with your name on it in sixth year.  Susie teased me relentlessly when she found it.”

“Find it, and I’ll sign it for you.” Harry joked again, making the girl laugh.

“I might hold you to that.” She said leaning in closer to him than she had all night, before an upbeat song came on, and her eyes lit up with excitement, “I love this song!  Come on, Harry, let’s dance again!”

As he let Hannah lead him back into the thick of the crowd he moved with a relaxed ease, no longer fighting the rhythm or the attention. Instead of shrinking away, he leaned into the vibrant energy of the Puddle Jumper, ready to lose himself in the music and the thrill of their first victory with his beautiful friend.

When the final notes of the song faded into the thumping bass of the club, Oliver was suddenly at Harry’s side. The Captain looked properly pissed—the good kind of drunk that made his accent a little thicker and his grin wider—and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as the man threw a heavy, companionable arm around his shoulders. Hannah, still swaying to the lingering rhythm in front of the pair, caught Oliver’s eye and laughed along with them. "She’s really pretty, Harry," Wood shouted over the music, nodding toward Hannah with an exaggerated sense of approval. "I’m proud of you, lad!"

Harry’s laugh was genuine, fueled by the excitement of the celebrations and the warmth of the alcohol settling in his system. He threw his own arm around Oliver, steadying the older man slightly. "You alright, Cap?" he asked, shouting to be heard.

“I’m alright, just did a few too many rounds with your Irish mate," Oliver admitted, gesturing vaguely toward the center of the dance floor. "Lad can drink, I’ll give him that." Harry followed the gesture to see Seamus Finnigan holding court in the middle of a circle of fans, dancing with a frantic energy that was uniquely his own, but clearly impressing the crowd.

Frowning slightly at the sight, Harry scanned the immediate crowd for Susan. He spotted her standing a few feet away; she was still smiling, but the expression seemed a little forced now as she watched Harry, Oliver, and Hannah in such close, jovial proximity. Sensing her hesitation, Harry shook his head and gestured for her to join them. Susan moved through the dense crowd, weaving her way toward him with a practiced ease. When she finally reached his side, Harry leaned in close to her ear. “What happened with Seamus?”

“He is a good dancer,” Susan said, punctuating the statement with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Too good, apparently. He got enough attention from the crowd that he didn’t seem to need mine anymore.”

“Seamus is an idiot,” Harry said with a laugh, but he felt a distinct surge of relief on the inside. He pulled Susan a little closer into the small circle, wanting her to feel like a part of the celebration rather than an observer.

Before Harry could say anything else, Wood reappeared, having somehow acquired a fresh bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey. Harry’s eyes widened, and he immediately held up his hands in protest. “Wood! Absolutely not. I’m not chugging that again.”

“Nope, Captain’s orders!” the man countered with a roar of laughter. He began moving through the nearby fans, offering messy, generous pours of the amber liquid directly into eager, upturned mouths. Harry watched with a slight twitch of a memory; he clearly recalled Oliver doing the exact same thing on draft night, and he knew there was no stopping the man once he was in this spirit.

A rhythmic chant of Harry’s name began to ripple through the dance floor. He watched, impressed and slightly horrified, as Hannah took a long, brave swig directly from the bottle when Wood reached her. When the Captain finally made it back to Harry’s side, Susan didn’t wait for an invitation; she opened her mouth and took a long, burning pull of the whiskey before joining the raucous chants. The young star shook his head, a helpless grin on his face, and finally gave in. He leaned his head back and let Oliver dump a few ounces of the liquid fire into his throat, the burning sensation marking the true start of the night's spiraling revelry.

Harry hardly remembered what came next, as the boundary between the pulse of the music and the rush of the alcohol began to dissolve entirely. The vibrant energy of the Puddle Jumper, which had felt intoxicating from the moment they entered, was now a swirling vortex of sensory overload. He remembered dancing with Hannah, much more proactively than they had before, his inhibitions melting away with every thumping beat of the bass. The girl had the back of her body glued to the front of his as they moved in a rhythmic, uncoordinated frenzy that felt perfectly in sync with the club’s ecstatic atmosphere. One arm was wrapped firmly around the girl's midsection, his fingers digging slightly into the bottom of the fabric of her transfigured top, and he had to fight a losing battle to refrain from kissing the girl's exposed neck and risking losing himself completely in the heated moment.

Perhaps what nearly undid him was the realization that he was the center of a much larger, more intimate celebration. Another body was dancing up against him from behind, pressing into his back with a deliberate, familiar weight. The sensation was electric. This body was very familiar to him, and as he turned his head, his vision blurring slightly from the Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey Oliver had poured down his throat, he saw Susan pressed up against him. She didn't let him have the slightest of wiggle rooms, her hands finding his waist and anchoring him between herself and Hannah. Surrounded by the scent of expensive alcohol, sweat, and the sheer, unadulterated joy of Puddlemere's first victory, Harry stopped thinking about expectations or the roar of the crowd, and even attempted to shed the burdens of surviving a war less than a year ago.  Finally he let the rhythm of the night take full control.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, or how long they were out there together, but suddenly he was face to face with a male red-head, who was laughing, and putting his arm around Harry, “Come on, Potter, let’s get you back to your flat safely.”

Harry’s senses slowly came back to him as his brain allowed him to recognize Bill Weasley.  The man guided Harry towards the door, and he was going to protest, until he saw Fleur guiding Susan and Hannah behind them.  Happy to know the two girls were following, they all made their way out of the club after saying goodnight to Oliver, and being unable to find their other friends who were lost in the crowd.  Before long the cold air struck them, and a small disk was being shoved into his hand, while Bill whispered in his ear, “I’ll get the rest of the lads home.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Before he knew Fleur was pushing the two girls into his arms, saying, “Safe travels Mes Amies.  Bonne Nuit.”

At Fleur’s French words, the portkey that was forced into Harry’s hands activated, and three disappeared in a soft pop.