A Star Is Born Chapter 11 (Patreon)

Chapter 11

Puddlemere was one of the oldest wizarding districts in the country. While Godric’s Hollow could boast a longer, more storied history, this was a community that had truly flourished with the passage of time. The home of Harry's ancestors had remained almost frozen in time, altered only by small, cautious renovations, but Puddlemere had embraced true modern innovations, blending ancient stonework with magical efficiency.

The area they had arrived in was the cultural heart of Puddlemere. Harry could even see the silhouette of the Puddlemere pitch in the distance, its massive structure looming over the small skyline like a sleeping madhouse. It was clear, however, that the atmosphere around the town tonight was a far cry from the electric energy of a game night.

The streets held very few witches and wizards, the usual bustling crowds replaced by a quiet, evening calm. A handful of shop fronts still spilled warm light onto the cobblestones, though it was clear those few places remaining open would likely be closing their doors within the next hour or two.

Glancing around the street, Harry pointed towards the opposite end, “Puddles Pastries, that’s the spot. I saw a flyer for it behind the front desk. I think they’re a sponsor of the team or something.”

"Cute," Hannah observed, gripping his arm a little tighter. "Let's give it a try."

Together the two walked down the cobblestone road, the rhythmic clicking of their boots echoing softly against the ancient stone. Hannah leaned her head onto his shoulder, her fingers lacing into his as they moved under the soft magical lights floating above the town like tethered stars. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she spoke up, her tone turning reflective. "I really appreciate what you did at the Cauldron tonight, Harry. My regulars have been really faithful since we re-opened, but it's been hard keeping a steady flow of traffic. A lot of people think I am scoffing at tradition and don't want to support the place in hopes it will fail."

"People are stupid," Harry said with a heavy sigh, his Seeker-trained eyes instinctively glancing around to ensure they weren't being followed or eavesdropped on by any lingering fans. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "What you've done with the place is amazing. You've taken a dusty relic and turned it into a sanctuary. If people can't see that, then they are the problem, not you."

"Still, thank you," Hannah said, letting out a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of her business anxieties. "I wish I could do more for those guys, but with the Cauldron still finding its feet, I can't exactly hand out free drinks on a whim. Your generosity meant more to them than just a free round."

"I'm glad I could make their nights. They certainly helped with mine,” Harry said with a chuckle.  The memory of the boisterous cheers from Bennet and the others warmed him far more than the firewhiskey had. 

"You certainly gave them all a hell of a story to tell," Hannah said, her laughter returning to her voice. "I wouldn't be surprised if Potterheads start popping into the Cauldron tomorrow morning, hoping you will make a repeat appearance. You might have just accidentally solved my traffic problem."

Harry reached out and pulled open the heavy glass door of the establishment, which was decorated in every conceivable shade of pink. As the duo arrived at the threshold, he stepped aside with a mock bow, allowing Hannah to enter the fragrant sanctuary first. She offered him a shy, genuine smile before crossing into the shop. The interior was a masterpiece of confectionery art; row after row of beautiful, intricately decorated pastries lined a polished glass cabinet that ran the length of the room. Hannah was clearly impressed, her eyes widening as she bent down to examine the sugar-dusted tarts and cream-filled eclairs. "Wow!" she breathed, her voice filled with legitimate wonder.

“Welcome to Puddles Pastries!” a tall, flamboyant wizard announced, his voice booming with a theatrical flair that matched his eccentric attire. He was draped in deep, midnight-dark robes that were sharply contrasted by neon pink accents running down the sides and piping along the collar. He stepped out from behind the counter with an enthusiastic flourish of his hands. “The finest sugar-spun dreams in all of Puddlemere at your service! How can I help you lovely people this evening?”

Hannah stood, smiling at the young wizard and instantly picking up on his eccentric energy. “Hi! My friend and I wanted some dessert, and we wanted to try your best—”

“A piece of treacle tart for me,” Harry interrupted before Hannah could suggest something for him. The witch offered him a sideways look, a mock-scold in her blue eyes, but laughed at his innocent expression.

The wizard glanced at Harry for the first time, and his jaw practically hit the pink-tiled floor as he gasped, “Holy Morgana, you’re Harry Potter.”

“Funny, I’ve heard that before,” Harry said with a laugh, shifting his weight comfortably as he grew used to the reaction.

The young wizard shook it off, and made a calming gesture to himself with both hands as if he was trying to force his pulse to return to normal, his neon-accented robes swishing with his frantic movements. “I am such a big fan, sir, and it is an honor to have you in my shop. Please, anything you want is on the house!”

“Absolutely not,” Harry countered firmly, his smile remaining warm but his tone leaving no room for argument, “I am here to support the community, like you guys support me. Besides, I have to buy my date here your finest pastry.  It is only the gentlemanly thing to do.”

The man in pink robes looked genuinely flattered at the comment. “Well, I am Paddin Pulmsy, and I am at your service.  You say you want treacle tart, sir, I have a few different flavors, and can claim to make the finest in the land.”

Paddin promptly guided Harry by the arm, making Hannah laugh at Harry’s hopeful expression as Paddin showed Harry an entire row of treacle tarts.  The man delved deeply into the culinary arts of each pastry, and by the time he saw Harry’s clouded expression he just let out a hearty laugh, “I’ll just let you try a few, superstar.”

With a flourish of his wand, Paddin began pulling small plates of treacle tart from the case and waving them towards a counter near one of the three small tables by the window. “What can I get for you, ma’am?”

“Tell me what your favorites are.  I am a cook, so I want your signature style,” Hannah said as her eyes admired a particularly large biscuit.

Harry caught Paddin's brief look of surprise when Hannah mentioned being a cook. Whatever had prompted it, the man wisely kept the thought to himself, and went into a rundown of his best-selling desserts for Hannah.

Before long Harry and Hannah were sitting at a small two-person table, and Paddin was hovering over them with a tray of samples that looked more like works of art than simple snacks. The wizard's theatrical energy hadn't waned a bit as he began to describe the intricate layers of a shimmering, gold-dusted chocolate eclair that Hannah had chosen. He spoke of the cocoa beans imported from the Ivory Coast and the spell-work required to keep the cream at a perpetual, perfect chill. Hannah listened with professional curiosity, her blue eyes tracking every movement of Paddin's hands, occasionally asking a pointed question about the stabilization of the meringue or the temperature of the sugar-work.

Harry, meanwhile, shifted his focus onto the promised treacle tart. Paddin had delivered three distinct variations: a classic honey-soaked version, one infused with a hint of ginger and orange zest, and a third that featured a dark, smoky molasses base. As Harry took his first bite of the ginger-infused tart, the warmth of the spice cut through the heavy sweetness of the syrup, creating a symphony of flavor that made him lean back in his chair with a groan of pure contentment. The molasses tart was darker and almost chewy, its smoky bitterness balancing the heavy sweetness far better than Harry expected. The edges of the dessert crumbled under his fork, and Harry felt like he had truly fallen in love with Puddles Pastries.

Glancing around the shop, Harry knew the hour was late, meaning the shop was quiet. It was a stark contrast to the cacophony of the Leaky Cauldron and the sharp, biting wind of the Quidditch pitch from earlier that afternoon. Across from him, Hannah had finally settled on a lemon-curd tartlet, its bright yellow center glowing against the pink-tiled tabletop. She took a delicate bite, her expression shifting from critical analysis to genuine delight.

“This is amazing!”

“Agreed,” Harry said, covering his mouth. “Phenomenal.” 

“Can I quote you on that?” Paddin asked jokingly, and after another bite from Harry the Quidditch player agreed.

“Definitely.”

This seemed to delight the store owner, “Well then I can at least give you a great promotional discount.  You two enjoy, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, Mr. Potter, I would really appreciate a photo before you left.  The boys at home will never believe I had Harry Potter in my shop.”

“Of course,” Harry promised, and Paddin just clapped his hands excitedly and left Harry and Hannah to their desserts, with the request to let him know if they needed anything further.

Chuckling, Harry stabbed another piece of the molasses tart with his fork and ate it, making a satisfied sound as he gave in to the explosion of sugary flavor.  His eyes then drifted back to Hannah, who was idly picking at her dessert, a wistful smile on her face.  Harry, catching the girl's sudden mood change, asked, “What is it?”

"You handle your fame well, Harry," Hannah complimented, her voice soft as she set her spoon against the side of her lemon-curd tartlet. "Much better than you ever did at school." 

Shrugging, Harry slowly put his fork down, the clink of silver against porcelain punctuating the quiet of the pastry shop. He reached across the pink-tiled table and took her only free hand in his own, his thumb tracing a comforting circle over her knuckles. "I have heard the words, 'future of the franchise' probably a thousand times since draft night," he admitted with a wry chuckle.

"The people of Puddlemere are really taking me in, and not just as the Boy-Who-Lived or ‘the Chosen One,’” he continued, his expression turning more reflective. "To them, I’m becoming the Seeker they hope can bring them another league title. It's a different kind of burden, sure, but it's one based on what I can do on a broom, not on a destiny I never asked for. I much prefer this fame and pressure to what I had at Hogwarts. Most people at school didn't even know what was really going on back then, or what I was facing year after year. This—being judged on a game—is much better. Trust me.”

“What will you do after Quidditch?” Hannah asked, changing the subject, clearly still pondering his words.

“I’m not sure,” Harry said honestly, “I’ll play as long as I can, maybe.  Then maybe go teach at Hogwarts.  Flying, Defense Against the Dark Arts?  Hooch won't teach forever, and who knows what Hogwarts will look like in another twenty years? Maybe if I have a really long and financially successful career I’ll run a charity. Help kids who get left behind in the Muggle World the way I did. Do some more good in the world with the time I was given.”

Hannah blinked several times at this, her fork hovering mid-air as she processed the depth of his revelation. She seemed to have a hundred questions burning behind her eyes at his words—about the Muggle world he had mentioned with such quiet bitterness, about the weight of his legacy, and about the vulnerability he rarely showed the public. Yet, instead of pressing him, she simply stabbed at her dessert, taking another slow, thoughtful bite of the lemon-curd tartlet. Already, it was a personality trait Harry deeply respected, and one he found himself increasingly drawn to. He had just confided some incredibly private things about his childhood and his uncertain future—ideas he hadn't even fully articulated to himself in a long while. Instead of questioning his logic, poking holes in his half-formed dreams, or asking inane, prying questions about a past he was clearly trying to reconcile, Hannah just absorbed the information with a quiet grace. She allowed the weight of his words to exist in the space between them without judgment, simply moving on to the next moment as if his secrets were safe in her keeping.

“What about you?” Harry asked, “What will you do when the Leaky Cauldron is the most successful it's ever been and you have a huge staff at your beck and call, ready to execute your every whim?”

This made Hannah laugh, her smile stretching. “Merlin, Harry, that seems so far away right now.”

“I’ve played exactly one game of professional Quidditch and you proposed the same question!” Harry accused, his eyes dancing with a playful light as he reached for another piece of treacle tart. The laughter that bubbled up from Hannah was infectious, a bright, melodic sound that seemed to chase away the last lingering shadows of the quiet shop.

“You’re right,” Hannah admitted, her expression softening into something more contemplative as she leaned back, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the teacup that had been brought out to her with the pastries. “I don’t know. I would like a family one day. My family is old and wealthy enough that I could live comfortably without the restaurant, but I want to add to what generations before me built, not just take from it. I feel like I have a responsibility, coming from such an old and respected family, to leave our world better than I found it. This restoration of the Leaky Cauldron... it’s just the beginning for me.”

She paused, looking out the window at the soft magical lights of Puddlemere that hung like tethered stars above the cobblestone. “Maybe I will do another restoration project elsewhere, or just raise my family. Or even help you with your charity for orphans and the less privileged.” She turned her gaze back to him, her blue eyes sincere. “You mentioned wanting to make sure no one gets left behind in the Muggle world like you were. That seems like a cause worth supporting, Harry. A legacy that actually means something.” 

Harry stared at the witch, something warm and unexpectedly powerful welling in his chest, but finally he just sighed, shook his head with a smile and asked, “I see why you have all the wizards at the Leaky Cauldron tripping over themselves to be kind to you.  Bennet seems nice and has particularly strong feelings for you.  I think I broke the man’s heart tonight when you left with me.”

The change of subject seemed to suit Hannah, her eyes glancing towards Paddin to make sure they weren’t the only reason he was staying open.  Instead she saw the man cleaning up in the back and keeping busy, so spoke plainly, “Bennet is nice.  His fiancee was killed in the War.  From all his boasting, I think he's a pretty competent curse-breaker and does quite well for himself. And yes, he has expressed interest in me. Offers to buy me dinner at least once a week.”

Frowning, Harry asked, “Seems persistent, and not a bad-looking bloke, I suppose.  Why resist?”

“You heard him tonight, right?” Hannah asked in a soft voice, “He didn’t fight in the war, Harry.  He has felt guilty about it for the last year.  His fiancee was killed, and he didn’t answer the call.  Fred and George broadcast to the whole country that we were going to fight at Hogwarts that night.  I couldn't be with anyone who ignored that call.  Who cost our friends their lives.”

Harry felt like the oxygen in the room had just been sucked out, and he couldn’t help but understand, and even respect Hannah’s point on the matter.  Instead of taking her side however, he placed a hand on hers, “Hannah, you, our friends, all who answered the call that night, are the bravest people I will ever claim to know.  The Fallen Fifty—I know every one of their names. Ron, Hermione and I... we had them all memorized by the end of the first week.  Between the three of us, we spoke at every one of their funerals.”

Hannah looked shocked, but Harry didn't acknowledge her surprise. He simply continued. “It was some of the hardest days of my life.  I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  It broke me in some ways, and I think it broke a lot of us, and we should be grateful for the people who were there to help pick up the pieces.”

“We still have each other,” Hannah said softly, squeezing his hand.

“And we always will,” Harry promised, returning the squeeze. “We all built quite the bond those nights.  It’s definitely not something we will ever quite wash away.”

“It certainly isn’t,” Hannah said softly, her eyes changing slightly in a way Harry didn’t recognize. “Besides, Bennet is a nice man, but he is much older than us, and as he said earlier, maybe he just had to be a Quidditch Star.”

Harry knew the girl was teasing him, but he could tell her spirits were returning to normal when  Paddin reappeared from the back, “Do we have everything we need over here?  I hope everything was super!”

“It was,” Harry said, taking his eyes briefly off Hannah. “Thank you!”

The man looked flattered, and flicked his wand towards the counter containing  a small silver camera and a wide, pink autograph book. He approached their table with a soft tread. “Well I hope I am not interrupting you, Mr. Potter,” he whispered, “but I can’t let you leave without that picture! And I took the liberty of getting my old Quidditch album out—I was hoping you could sign the page for the Puddlemere United Seekers.”

Harry smiled, pulling his hand out of Hannah’s to stand up. “Of course, Paddin. It’s the least I can do.”

As Paddin fussed with the camera, Hannah watched them, her mood a little lighter now. Harry, still a bit sobered by their recent conversation, signed the album page with a neat flourish, dedicating it, To Puddles Pastries, finest pastries in the land.

Paddin quickly snapped a photo, his hand trembling slightly with excitement. “Thank you, thank you! I’ll have this framed right above the counter!”

Harry just shook his head with a smile, reached toward his robe pocket, and summoned twenty galleons to float towards the counter. “I will tell the whole team about this place.  I will definitely be back for Captain Wood’s birthday.  He used to be a sucker for toffee pudding.  Think you could put a fun twist on something like that?”

The flamboyant wizard looked like he might pass out at the opportunity to make a birthday dessert for ‘The Captain Wood’, and pumped Harry's arm enthusiastically in farewell.

A moment later, the heavy glass door of Puddles Pastries closed behind Harry and Hannah with a soft click, plunging them back into the quiet, starlit street of Puddlemere. The cool air was a sharp contrast to the shop's sweet warmth, and Hannah immediately leaned in, resting her head against Harry's shoulder as they began the walk back down the street to the Apparition point.

“That was some good dessert,” Hannah murmured, her voice laced with contentment.

“It was really brilliant,” Harry agreed, squeezing her hand. He didn't mention the heavier conversation they'd shared. He didn't have to. The quiet understanding between them—the connection forged in fire and grief—didn't need words to sustain it. He found his solace in the comforting weight of her head on his shoulder and the soft, rhythmic sound of their boots against the ancient cobblestones. 

As they walked, the massive silhouette of the Puddlemere Pitch loomed silently in the distance, a reminder of Harry's new life, a life built on skill and expectation. But tonight, that life felt distant. Tonight, he was just a wizard walking under the soft magical glow of Puddlemere with a girl whose presence was beginning to feel like home.

He stopped, turning to face her beneath one of the tethered magical lights. Her blue eyes looked up at him, questioning, but unafraid. He lifted his free hand and gently pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, “Would I be out of line to kiss you now?”

“I think I would hex you if you didn’t,” Hannah whispered back.

Harry grinned, lifting her chin until she was looking up at him before leaning down to place a soft kiss on her lips.  It was nothing like the hungry kisses they'd shared before. This was soft, tender, almost wholesome.

When the two separated, Hannah looked like she wanted to kiss him again, but instead said, “I better get back to the Cauldron, or I might end up in your room again.”

"I can think of worse things," Harry said huskily, his hands now resting lightly on her waist. The thought of her coming home with him was tempting, a warm contrast to the quiet solitude of his current quarters, but he knew she had a business to run and a reputation to protect.

Chuckling, the girl offered a teasing kiss this time—a little more forceful and lingering than the first, a silent promise of what was to come. She pulled back just enough to look into his emerald eyes. "Well then, how about this. Win your game on Saturday, and then come see me at the Cauldron. We will celebrate your first road win with some firewhiskey from my family stores—the good stuff, not the watered-down swill we serve to the tourists."

“And if I lose?” Harry asked, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth despite the pressure he felt to perform.

Hannah gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him slightly closer until their foreheads touched. "You won't," she stated with a fierce confidence that warmed him more than the dessert had. "But if you do, then we will have a reason to commiserate, and I'll make sure you don't have to do it alone."

This made Harry laugh, the sound echoing softly against the ancient stone walls of the district. He stepped away from the girl with a dramatic groan of mock-despair, then reached into the air. With a fluid flourish of his hand and a silent pulse of magic, he conjured a deep crimson rose, its petals still sparkling with a light dew. He presented it to her with a bow. "Well, then I will look forward to seeing you Saturday after the game."

"Best not let it carry into Sunday then," Hannah said, her voice taking on a sultry, playful tone Harry had never heard from her before. Her cheeks had colored beautifully at the gesture, and she stepped forward to kiss him one last time—a brief, searing contact that left him breathless. She tucked the rose into her cloak, offering a final wave. "I better go. Goodnight, Harry."

“Goodnight, Hannah,” Harry said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to linger in the cool night air long after the words were spoken. He stood rooted to the spot, watching as the witch turned sharply and vanished with the crack of Disapparition.

Harry shoved his hands deep into his pockets and glanced over his shoulder toward the towering silhouette of Puddlemere Stadium. In the moonlight, the massive structure loomed like a promise, a monument to the new life he was building for himself, catch by catch and drill by drill.

As the stadium lights flickered in the distance, Harry felt a surge of genuine anticipation. The pressure of the upcoming match was still there, a constant hum in the back of his mind, but it no longer felt like a weight. It felt like a challenge he was eager to meet. With high hopes for the weekend, he turned on his heel and vanished with a soft 'pop', returning to his flat.