A Star Is Born Chapter 15 (Patreon)

Chapter 15

Waking up next to Hannah was something Harry knew he shouldn’t get used to, but the gentle sounds of her breathing was far more persuasive than his sense of duty to get out of bed. Usually, Harry would be up at the first crack of light in the morning, propelled out of bed by the lingering shadows of bad dreams or the persistent, uneasy feelings that had shadowed him since the early days of the war. His morning ritual was a form of penance: an early, brutal workout designed to burn away the remnants of the night and help him leave it all behind. He would spend hours at the Quidditch Pitch, pushing himself to the absolute brink of physical exhaustion until his lungs burned and his mind finally went quiet. Only then would he catch a quick meal at home before diving back into the grind to do it all over again.

But today, the sunlight was already streaming through the gaps in the curtains, painting warm golden stripes across the duvet. Harry glanced at the clock on the bedside table and felt a jolt of genuine shock; it was nine am. He hadn’t slept in this late since before draft day. A day that felt like a lifetime ago. When his schedule wasn’t dictated by the relentless demands of a professional career. For the first time in months, the silence of the room didn’t feel empty or heavy with dread; it felt like peace.

Hannah cuddled into his side, and Harry’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. For a moment, the temptation to stay in bed and continue the previous evening's activities was overwhelming. That plan, however, was quietly abandoned when she turned over to be nearly nose-to-nose with him, and opened her eyes. Bright blue eyes met green as she offered him a smile, before yawning, stretching out like a cat, and then holding his gaze for a long moment before murmuring, 'I’m starving. You want to get some breakfast next door?'

“I’d love to.” Harry said honestly, “Do you have any responsibilities today that you need to handle?  I don’t want to be in your way.”

As Hannah moved to get out of bed, Harry listened to the girl rattle off a few things on her to-do list, “Mostly just administrative stuff around the Cauldron. Sunday is my off day, but I still have to make sure things are running smoothly, and ensure my payroll and stuff is square with Gringotts.  Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”

Hannah had thrown on a long casual spring dress, and without even a scratch of make-up, or touch ups to her appearance she still looked good to Harry, who said, “Well in that case, I want to take you to dinner tonight.  In Puddlemere.  I want to find another restaurant to support.”

“If you let me buy us dessert at Puddles Pastries then it’s a date.” The witch agreed with a wide smile.

Knowing better than to insist on paying, and risk insulting the girl's pride, Harry just returned the smile, “I can’t wait.”

“Well, let’s get through breakfast, before you get us excited about dinner.  What should I wear?” Hannah asked.

“Something nice.” Harry said simply, “I’ll check in with my friend in Security at the stadium and see what he can recommend.  His name is Rex, I think he’s local, and can probably point us in the right direction.”

“Great. Let’s go eat!” Hannah exclaimed.

Breakfast at the Cauldron was a bustling, fragrant affair, and easily the best Harry had tasted since his arrival in the Wizarding World. The quality was impressive, especially considering Hannah had only briefly supervised the kitchen staff. They sat in a relatively quiet corner, nursing large mugs of tea and plates piled high with eggs, bacon, ham and sausage, enjoying the comfort of each other's company. The peaceful atmosphere held until they were nearly finished, when they were approached for an autograph just as they were preparing to leave. Under normal circumstances, Harry might have politely declined to maintain his privacy, but the requester was a small girl, perhaps just at Hogwarts age or even younger, who looked up at them with such wide-eyed wonder that he didn't have the heart to refuse. Hannah caught his eye with a soft, knowing smile as he signed a scrap of parchment, much to the visible delight of the girl's hovering parents.

Once they stepped out into the morning air, Harry and Hannah parted ways for the afternoon to tackle their respective agendas. Hannah headed back to the Cauldron to dive into the administrative side of the business while Harry made good on his word and traveled to the Puddlemere practice facility.  Unfortunately Rex had already departed for the day, but Harry had met another Security Wizard by the name of Wyatt, who was more than happy to help. Wyatt even went a step further, leveraging a personal acquaintance with a local  restaurant owner to secure a reservation for them. 

Harry had initially refused, but Wyatt insisted that the owner was a friend, and would likely offer him a free meal as a thanks, which left Harry laughing, and thanking the guard profusely, feeling a sense of relief that the evening plans were coming together so smoothly. With the reservation set and a few hours to kill, Harry returned to his own flat, sinking into the sofa to relax and mentally prepare for what he hoped would be a perfect first official date with Hannah.

The prayer Harry had for a perfect date was nearly answered.  The dinner they had at the Prime Puddle was very classy and delicious, tucked away in the opposite corner of Puddlemere stadium that was just a few blocks down from the entertainment district.  The fanfare was a little more than Harry would’ve wished for, as the arrival of a Puddlemere United star rarely went unnoticed, but Hannah was a very gracious date. She handled the curious whispers with a practiced ease that Harry admired. While Harry posed for a few photos with starstruck patrons and signed a few autographs for the waitstaff, they were largely left alone during their meal time, allowing them to actually talk without the weight of his stardom hanging over their meal.  The owner was very gracious, personally greeting them at their table with a flourish, and brought them a free bottle of aged goblin wine to drink through dinner. It was a generous gesture that Harry insisted would be the only freebie they would accept for the lavish spread.

After a quick visit to Puddles Pastries, where they collected a decadent assortment of sweets to-go, Harry appratated Hannah back to the Leaky Cauldron for the evening. The tavern was nearly empty on the late Sunday evening, the usual raucous atmosphere replaced by the low hum of a few lingering patrons finishing their last drinks. Sally-Anne, looking particularly worn after a long shift, was rhythmically polishing glasses at the bar, though she looked up and greeted them with an enthusiastic smile as the bell above the door chimed.

“Hey Sally-Anne, how was it tonight?” Hannah asked, leaning comfortably into Harry as his arm remained draped over her shoulder.

“It came in waves today,” Sally-Anne replied, setting down a gleaming tumbler. “As you can see, this last hour has dragged a bit, but we had a fantastic dinner rush earlier. So, tell me—good date?”

“The best,” Hannah said, her smile widening as she glanced up at Harry.

Sally-Anne reached for a bottle, offering them a nightcap on the house, but Harry politely shook his head. “Practice at the crack of dawn tomorrow, or I’d be the first to say yes,” he admitted with a rueful grin as he followed Hannah towards the back hallways that led to the rooms.

Standing at Hannah’s door, the air between them was thick with a comfortable sort of promise. The dessert from Puddles Pastries was a sweet reminder of a day perfectly spent, but it was the look in Hannah’s eyes that truly anchored Harry to the present. He realized that this wasn't just a fleeting distraction from the grind of his professional career, but the beginning of something that felt substantial. As they said their goodnights, the anticipation for what lay ahead—the practices, the dinners, and the quiet mornings yet to come—filled him with a sense of hope he hadn't dared to entertain in some time. The future, once a daunting expanse of obligations, now looked like a path he could be eager to walk, so long as it led back to the quiet warmth of the Leaky Cauldron and the witch who had made him feel at home.

.o.

Monday morning arrived with the familiar, crisp bite of the pre-dawn air, a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the previous day. It was like any other morning since Harry had been drafted into the professional leagues. He rose before the sun had even considered cresting the horizon, his movements practiced and quiet. By the time he reached the Quidditch Pitch, the dew was still heavy on the grass, reflecting the pale moonlight. He found Oliver already there, a solitary figure against the vast, empty stands. They met up near the center circle, the only two souls present before the rest of the team arrived. Oliver looked particularly pleased that morning, a rare, genuine sparkle in his eyes that didn’t just stem from tactical obsession. Harry, feeling a buoyed sense of energy from his weekend, couldn’t resist the temptation to ask his Captain what was going through his head.

“The early mornings paid off Saturday, Harry,” Oliver explained easily, his voice echoing slightly in the vacant stadium. He leaned back on his broom, looking out over the pitch where they had secured their hard-fought victory. “It’s hard to feel like all our extra hours are making a difference sometimes—the endless drills, the tactical reviews—but had we not been doing this, Higgs and his band of all-star chasers would’ve outscored us before you caught the snitch. I was dying up there, Harry; my muscles were screaming and my focus was flagging, but all this extra work kept me flying a little longer than usual. It gave us the window we needed.”

“So it has nothing to do with that prat getting waived from our team?” Harry asked jokingly, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I am relieved Jackman is gone,” Oliver admitted, his expression sobering but his tone remaining light. “He was a cancer in the locker room. He never wanted to listen, or improve his game, like you do. He thought talent alone was enough.” He paused, looking toward the locker room entrance making sure none would overhear him. “Cho was good in her tryouts — impressive, actually. I think bringing in a more familiar, friendly presence will only make you better, and the team dynamic as a whole will benefit in the long run. I told this to Coach Deverell and the owner when we all met last Monday night, and they agreed that chemistry is just as vital as skill on the pitch.”

“You rubbing shoulders with the Puddlemere owner regularly?” Harry asked.

“Every Monday.” Wood said seriously, “These guys want to win, Harry.  Every Monday I go have dinner with the Deverells and we discuss the state of the team.  You will see, it’s not a bad deal. Mr. Deverell caters the food, and we have a glass of wine, while just talking Quidditch.  It’s apparently something all the captains of Puddlemere have done.”

“Gotta respect the dedication.” Harry said in surprise.

“You have no idea.” Wood said simply as he laughed heading towards the sidelines to get his broom.

Together the two finished their run, and took to the skies beginning their morning drills, which after a few months, Harry had become a pretty sufficient goal scorer, something Wood even commented on as he nearly made a goal, “You’re becoming a fair Chaser, Harry!”

Taking the compliment to heart, Harry focused his breathing, lining up his shot with the precision he had honed over months of extra practice. With a sudden, explosive burst of speed, he bypassed Oliver's guard and sent the Quaffle soaring through the hoop just slightly away from his outstretched fingers. It was a moment of quiet triumph as he realized he had just scored his first goal on Oliver in months.

A sharp whistle brought Harry out of his excitement as he saw the rest of the team was gathering on the pitch below. The sound echoed against the tall, empty stands of the Puddlemere stadium, signaling the end of their early training session. As per normal, Harry and Oliver descended down to the pitch, already covered in a thin layer of sweat. The cool morning air felt refreshing against his heated skin, but the adrenaline from his successful shot still had his heart hammering against his ribs.

When the two touched down Oliver immediately besieged Harry with playful harassment about his shot being lucky, claiming that a sudden gust of wind had moved the quaffle, but Harry just crossed his arms behind his back, a smug grin firmly in place. He stood waiting for their coach to join the rest of the team, who were oddly quiet on the Monday morning after a win. Usually, the energy after a victory was infectious, but today the air felt charged with a different kind of anticipation, as if something significant was about to change.

Coach Deverell was strolling out casually towards the pitch, moving with the measured confidence of a man who knew he held everyone’s attention. Beside him was Cho Chang, her presence a stark reminder of the shifts in the team’s roster since Jackman had been waived. She held a broom in her hand, her glossy black hair tied back in a practical pony tail that swished as she walked. The witch looked great, with her slender build, and determined smile, she had barely aged a day since Harry had last seen her nearly a year ago.

Approaching the group Coach Deverell stopped before them all folding his hands left over right, and addressing the team, “I am not going to beat around the bush. We didn’t get to speak as a team after Jackman was waived after Saturday’s match, but it was determined by ownership that we should have a Seeker that is going to improve our current star, or develop beside him to the point that they could become a starter. With Jackman and Potter having such different styles we decided to go different ways.”

The man didn’t hesitate to continue, “I know it was clear that Potter and Jackman did not get along as best mates, but I want to assure all of you that had Jackman been a seeker to rival some of the best in the league, he would still be on this team. Now Ms. Chang here, had an outstanding performance in her private tryouts with myself, the owner, and Captain Wood. She’s nearly ten years younger with the sky as the limit, and she was unanimously appointed to the team by all three of us over her competition. She is to be treated with the respect that the rest of you should be giving to each other, do I make myself clear.”

“Yes Coach.” The team called out in response, some more enthusiastic as others. Harry noticed some of the veteran Chasers exchanging glances, the young star wasn’t sure what to make of the glances, but knew Pucey at the least was not thrilled about the appointment.

“Good, now let’s run some drills by position. We have one of our toughest games of the year against the Magpies this Saturday night, and I want you all to be ready to roll.” Coach Deverell demanded, as three wizards on brooms entered the pitch and took to the sky above the players. The atmosphere shifted instantly from formal announcement to high-intensity focus as the players mounted their brooms.

Harry recognized Glen Robertson, the Seeker coach, that Harry worked with a few times a week in the distance, and knew he would be heading his way in a moment. Robertson was already hovering near the north goal hoops, checking his stopwatch and a crate of practice Snitches. But as the team dispersed into their sub-groups, Harry moved in the direction of Cho, offering her a wide smile that felt more natural than any he had shared with a teammate in weeks.

“Playing for the same team is something I never imagined in our futures. Congratulations on getting the spot Cho, I was super excited to hear you got the position.” Harry said, his voice carrying a genuine warmth.

Cho’s eyes brightened, and she let out a small sigh of relief. “Thanks, Harry. It’s a bit surreal, isn’t it? Coming from being rivals at Hogwarts to this. I was nervous about how the team would take a new face, but seeing Wood and Deverell so supportive helped a lot. I’m just ready to get to work.”

“Then let’s do it.” Harry offered, as he gestured for her to follow him. He felt a surge of familiar camaraderie, a sharp contrast to the cold tension that had existed between him and Jackman.

The two mounted their brooms and began moving towards the Seeker coach, kicking off the turf and gliding through the crisp morning air. As they ascended, Cho asked with a tone that indicated she was slightly offended, “Did you get my letters, Harry? I wrote to you after you were drafted, and again when Wood reached out to me about a tryout.”

“I didn’t.” Harry answered honestly, feeling a twinge of guilt as he pulled alongside her. “I’m sorry, Cho. I have not been the best about keeping up with my mail. Things have been hectic since draft day.” He thought briefly of the stacks of fan mail and official correspondence he’d neglected at his flat while spending his nights at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Next time I will just send you a patronus!” Cho threatened jokingly, her determined smile returning.

“I taught it to you for a reason!” Harry defended with a laugh, the memory of their secret meetings in the Room of Requirement with the DA flashing through his mind. The lighthearted banter made the daunting prospect of the upcoming match against the Magpies feel more manageable as the two flew up to Coach Robertson, who was already waiting with a crate of practice Snitches.

The practice that followed was the best Harry had since he had joined Puddlemere. Cho was a worthy adversary. Certainly not as aggressive as Jackman, whose style relied on intimidation and physical interference, but she was faster without a doubt. Her movements were fluid and economical, a sharp contrast to the erratic, forceful maneuvers Harry had grown used to countering. The two raced to every snitch, and while Harry beat her nearly every time, she made him work for every catch. She had a way of reading his intent, often cutting off his line of flight and forcing him into tighter, more technical turns that tested the limits of his Comet.

Harry could tell they were drawing lots of glances from the other players and positional coaches even, and while some seemed to look disapproving, others just nodded their heads, as if they now understood why Cho may have been selected.

The scrutiny was tangible, drifting across the pitch like the morning mist. The veteran Chasers, usually focused on their own passing patterns, paused mid-drill to watch the two Seekers weave through the sky. Harry noticed the way Coach Deverell lingered on the sidelines closest to them, his arms crossed over his chest and a faint, approving expression rested on his face as he observed Cho’s fluid navigation around the goal hoops. Even the reserves, who often kept to themselves, were huddled near the equipment trunks, their eyes following the rapid ascent of the two brooms. It wasn't just idle curiosity; there was a clinical quality to their stares, an assessment of how this new pairing would alter the gravity of the team's performance. While some of the older players seemed to wear a mask of skepticism, likely mourning the loss of the familiar—if volatile—Jackman, a growing number of the squad appeared to be silently acknowledging the raw technical proficiency Cho brought to the field. For Harry, the silent nods from a few of the more tactical-minded coaches felt like a quiet validation of the choice that had been made, signaling a shift in the locker room's atmosphere that was only just beginning to take root. While some of the looks Cho and Harry received told the young man that not all would be well on the home front.

Deciding to focus on his own game, Harry focused on beating Cho to every snitch he could. Each catch was followed with praise instead of insults, and the two offered each other subtle tips that might slightly increase their chances of success. Cho pointed out a slight tell in Harry’s shoulder before he dived, and in return, he showed her a feint he’d developed to lose a tailing seeker in a crowded mid-air mollywop. Overall Harry had likely caught 18/20 snitches, but regardless Cho was a great opponent, and one that didn’t stress him out unnecessarily. As the session drew to a close, Harry felt more than just physically satisfied; he felt a sense of focus and competitive joy that had been missing since his professional debut.

As Coach Deverell called the team through the final coordination drills at the end of the day, Harry could tell the good feelings were secluded strictly to the Seeker position. The air on the pitch felt heavy and stagnant. As the group came back together for the final debrief, a single look at the collective body language of the team indicated the uncomfortable truth: the rest of the squad was in a funk, and their plays had been visibly out of sync. A heavy weight settled in Harry’s stomach as he observed the pointed looks on his teammates' faces. Adrian Pucey, in particular, seemed to be radiating a quiet, simmering resentment, and the other reserves were huddled together, whispering in low, guarded tones. Perhaps things were not as kosher as Harry had initially believed them to be after the roster change.

When the team finally broke for the day, the dismissal was met with a chilling, hollow silence. There were no cheers, no post-practice banter, and the shared sense of purpose had been replaced by a palpable, suffocating tension. The walk back to the locker room felt like a funeral procession, the only sound was the rhythmic, aggressive crunch of grass beneath their boots. Harry tossed Oliver Wood a sharp, questioning look, seeking some sign of the Captain's usual authority, while Cho watched the proceedings with knitted eyebrows, the confusion on her face slowly giving way to a realization of the deep, jagged friction she had just inherited.

The moment the locker room door swung shut, the air turned electric. It was no longer a question of if an eruption would happen, but when. The silence was brittle, broken only by the violent metallic clang of pads being hurled into lockers. Adrian Pucey didn't even wait to catch his breath before he spun around, his face flushed a dangerous shade of red. "Welcome to the squad, Chang," he spat, the words dripping with sarcasm. "Hope you're better at taking orders than Jackman was, or you might find yourself 'mutually parted' after a match too. Potter here has quite the pull with the front office after all."

Harry slammed his locker shut, the sound echoing like a blast of spellfire. He stepped toward Pucey, his jaw set, “You have something to say, Pucey? Say it with your chest, don’t be scared.”

Pucey tossed the remainder of his pads aside and moved to meet Harry in the middle of the locker room, the only one meeting them in the center was Oliver, while the rest of the team remained dead silent.  Wood was crossing his arms looking at both expectantly, but didn’t say a word.  Pucey took that as an invitation, “No thanks, Potter, I don’t want to lose my job too. I have to be careful about what I say.”

“I had nothing to do with Jackman. I found out five minutes before all you did, in the Hospital Wing, where Coach came and told me we were going to a Press Conference.” Harry confessed, “Am I sad to see the sod gone? No, but I didn’t do anything or say anything to anyone beyond Oliver that he was being a git.”

“That’s funny, why don’t I believe you?” Pucey asked, crossing his own arms, now nearly nose to nose with Harry.

"Enough!" Oliver Wood's voice didn't just cut through the argument; it leveled the room. He stepped between them, his presence massive and immovable. 

“Well you two are best buds now, so just go ahead and take his side, I know you will! Always practicing early, and staying late together.” Pucey said, taking one step back, clearly losing steam on the argument, and not wanting to get the worst end of Wood’s temper or physical strength.

“You’re welcome to join us anytime.” Wood said firmly, “Don’t be shy.” The man then addressed the rest of the team, “That goes for all of you. In case you’re wondering, Harry, and I, get here at 7:00am everyday, sometimes earlier.  Practice may not officially start till nine, but you lot are welcome to join us anytime. It’s not some secret club, we are just putting in the extra work, because we want to win. It paid off on Saturday, so you can bet your broomsticks we are going to keep up the effort.”

“And if anyone is worrying about losing their positions,” Oliver added as a final thought, “Don’t be. Keep playing the way you’ve been playing, and everything will be well. Start causing problems on the pitch, or in this locker room, you better make sure you are the best damn player in your position, because I won’t tolerate it…”

When Adrian just began clapping dramatically, Woods' fingers twitched into fist, before he stepped in Pucey’s personal space until they were nose to nose, "Stand down, Adrian. Now."

Pucey trembled, his chest heaving, but he didn't move. "Are you going to have me fired too, Oliver? Is that the new Puddlemere way? Fall in line or get the boot?"

Wood leaned in, his eyes boring into Pucey's with a cold, terrifying clarity. "You are our lead Chaser because you earned it on the pitch. But don't you ever mistake your skill for an invitation to be a cancer in this locker room. I am the Captain. I made the call on Jackman because he was a liability to our team, not because Harry asked me to. If you're looking for someone to blame for 'politics,' look at me." He turned his gaze to the rest of the team, his voice dropping to a low, authoritative rumble that commanded absolute silence. "The next person who brings this friction into our locker room won't be waived. They'll be benched until their contract expires. We are here to win a championship. If you aren't on that broom, you are in the way. Am I clear?"

A chorus of muffled, but urgent "Yes, Captain" followed. Pucey finally broke eye contact, turning away with a bitter scowl, but he remained silent. The tension didn't vanish, but the hierarchy had been re-established with brutal efficiency.

"Hit the showers," Wood commanded, the finality in his tone bringing no room for further dissent. "and if someone else has an issue, take it up with Coach Deverell, don’t take it out on the rookies.”

Harry met Oliver's gaze and offered his captain a nod as he turned back to his locker to change clothes.  After the long practice he couldn’t say he was looking forward to meeting with the owner after such a charged meeting in the locker room, but he knew he would have to do his best.