A Star Is Born Chapter 40 (Patreon)

Chapter 40

For perhaps the first time all season, Harry wasn't the biggest story in the room. He wasn't just grateful for it. He loved it.

“CHANG!”

“CHO! OVER HERE!”

“POTTER, WHO MADE THE DECISION TO CHANGE YOUR POSITION?”

“WOOD! DID YOU APPROVE IT?”

“CHANDLER! HAVE YOU MADE A DECISION ABOUT NEXT YEAR?”

“PUCEY! WHAT DID YOU THINK WHEN POTTER LINED UP BESIDE YOU?”

The questions crashed over one another before Puddlemere had even reached the table. Harry walked through the doors beside Oliver with wet hair, aching legs, and a smile that he hadn't managed to get rid of since the final whistle. Six hours of Quidditch had left every part of him exhausted. His shoulders hurt. His legs hurt. He was fairly certain there were bruises forming in places he hadn't known could bruise. None of it mattered now. They were champions.

The League had arranged a long table at the front of the room. Coach Deverell took one end. Oliver settled beside him, then Harry, Cho, Garrett, and Pucey took the remaining seats. Directly in front of them, beneath the blinding lights of several dozen magical cameras, sat the British and Irish League Championship Cup.

Harry looked at it again. He couldn't seem to stop doing that. Every few seconds his eyes simply drifted back toward the silver trophy as though someone might suddenly announce that there had been a mistake and take it away. One of the navy-and-gold ribbons had become slightly twisted. Harry reached over automatically and straightened it.

Oliver noticed. “Leave it alone.”

“It was crooked,” Harry said defensively.

“It will survive.”

“It's not like I'm trying to kiss it.”

Wood stared straight ahead. “I don't know what you're referring to.”

Pucey leaned deliberately toward his microphone. “In case anyone is missing this highly important conversation between my colleagues, we're simply reminding our captain that he kissed the Cup in front of the entire world.”

The room burst into laughter. Oliver slowly turned toward him.

“There are photographs,” Pucey added.

“Don't remind me.”

Harry laughed as another camera flashed. For once, the sound didn't irritate him. For once, the lights weren't there because Harry had been knocked unconscious, lost a match, gotten drunk somewhere, or said something someone wanted to twist into a headline. They were here because Puddlemere had won. He could live with that.

The League official eventually managed something resembling order. “Brooklyn Brown, Puddlemere Press. You may ask your questions first.”

Brooklyn stood. For once, she wasn't looking at Harry. “Cho, you've now caught the Snitch twice as a reserve this season. Tonight you did it against Cormac McCloud to win Puddlemere the Championship. What was going through your mind when Wood told you that you were going into the match?”

Cho glanced toward Harry. “I was terrified.”

The room laughed.

Cho smiled. “I really was. Harry pointed at me, said I could catch the Snitch, and suddenly everyone was looking at me like I'd agreed to something.”

Harry leaned toward his microphone. “You did agree.”

“I was hardly consulted.”

Harry grinned.

Brooklyn smiled. “When did you see the Snitch?”

Cho's expression changed. Then she shrugged. “Before McCloud.”

Several quills stopped moving. Cho seemed to notice. Harry did too. The entire room was listening to her now. Not Harry Potter. Not Oliver Wood. Not McCloud. Her.

“I saw it first,” Cho continued. “He caught up in the dive and had the better angle on the climb.”

“So why did you break away?”

Cho glanced toward the back of the room. Robertson stood against the wall with the rest of the staff. “Because Coach Robertson has spent the entire year yelling at us about good tactics as a Seeker, particularly when you're playing from behind.”

Robertson closed his eyes in disbelief as several cameras immediately turned toward him. Harry laughed.

Cho smiled. “He keeps telling us anyone can chase something they can see. The best Seekers—”

“Don't fly where it is,” Harry said.

Cho looked at him. Harry met her eyes.

Her smile widened. “They fly where it's going.”

Robertson opened his eyes. He gave them the smallest nod and ignored several questions suddenly hurled in his direction.

Cho looked back toward Brooklyn. “I couldn't become faster than McCloud in three seconds. So I stopped trying to beat him to where the Snitch was.”

“And?”

“I trusted what I'd been taught.”

Cho looked toward the Cup. “The Snitch moved.”

Brooklyn raised an eyebrow. “You were guessing.”

Cho opened her mouth to dispute this, but Harry leaned toward his microphone first. “Every Seeker guesses a little on the projection of the Snitch.”

Brooklyn looked toward him.

Harry shrugged. “That's why even the best can be beaten any given day. You make reads. You anticipate. Sometimes you're right; sometimes you're wrong.”

He glanced at Cho. “Today Cho was right.”

Her face softened.

Harry continued. “Cho was the better Seeker today. That's what everyone should take away from it.”

For a second, Cho just stared at him. Then applause broke out around the room. Harry immediately joined in.

Cho's eyes widened. “Oh, not you too.”

He clapped harder. Oliver joined him. Garrett followed. Pucey raised both hands over his head.

“You're all making it worse,” Cho muttered.

“That's the idea,” Pucey agreed at once.

By the time the applause faded, Cho was bright red.

Harry leaned closer. “Welcome to professional Quidditch.”

“I'm transferring to Chudley.”

That earned another laugh.

Piper Grace stood next. “Harry, all season you've talked about wanting another opportunity against McCloud. Tonight you finally got it, and then voluntarily gave up the Seeker position. How did that feel?”

Harry looked toward the Cup. “It didn't feel like giving anything up.”

“You knew it meant you wouldn't catch the Championship Snitch.”

It was true that months ago, that might have bothered him. After Montrose, he'd wanted to beat McCloud badly. He had wanted another chance to prove the loss had been a fluke. He had replayed it. Trained for it. Thought about what he'd do differently the next time they met.

Tonight he'd finally gotten that chance, and he'd climbed off the position willingly.

Harry shrugged. “We needed another Chaser. I knew Cho could catch the Snitch.”

Cho looked toward him.

Harry continued. “It wasn't a particularly complicated decision.”

Several people at the table laughed.

Another reporter raised his hand. “Coach Deverell, I want to make sure I understand what happened. In the middle of the Championship Final, with Cormac McCloud still flying, you took your starting Seeker off the position and replaced him with your reserve? Was this ever in any plan you've ever considered?”

Deverell grunted then glanced toward Harry. “No. The idea was Potter's. We were just mad enough to go along with it.”

“I rejected it at first,” Oliver added immediately.

Harry looked at him. “Only on instinct.”

Oliver nodded. “He's right. When it came down to the logistics, Harry really was our only option.”

Pucey leaned toward his microphone. “I thought they'd all lost their damned minds.”

The room laughed.

“We were running out of Chasers,” Harry defended. “Cho could catch the Snitch. I could fly with Pucey and Garrett. It wasn't that complicated.”

“It was fairly complicated,” Garrett said.

Harry looked down the table in embarrassment.

Garrett smiled. “But he didn't need to become a Chaser. Adrian and I could handle the formations. We needed Montrose to respect a third scoring threat, and Potter's fast enough that they couldn't ignore him.”

Pucey nodded. “Once he stopped trying to play every position at once, he was almost useful.”

“I scored.”

“Once.”

“Twice!”

Oliver shook his head. “To be fair, it wasn't a complete act of madness.”

Harry turned toward him.

“But, to Harry's credit, he knew all the Chaser formations by heart. It's how he disrupts plays so effectively. For a good portion of the season he was also helping me warm up in the mornings by firing the Quaffle at me.” Oliver looked toward the reporters. “He never could've convinced me to try it on a whim. But when desperation kicked in, I knew he could survive there.”

“Survive,” Pucey repeated approvingly.

Harry glared at him.

Oliver smiled. “And that's all we needed.”

Harry put a hand dramatically against his chest. “You're going to make me blush, Captain.”

“I take back every good thing I said about him.”

The room roared with laughter. Harry and Oliver exchanged grins.

Then a reporter in the back called over the noise. “McCloud joked afterward that technically you still haven't beaten him to the Snitch. Does that bother you?”

Harry didn't even have to think about it. He rested one hand against the Championship Cup possessively. “No. I spent the whole year thinking beating McCloud meant catching the Snitch before he did.”

Harry looked down at the silver beneath his fingers. “Turns out winning was definitely good enough.”

The room erupted again. Harry smiled. That answer felt easier than he thought it should have. Maybe because he'd meant it.

When the noise settled, Brooklyn raised her voice again. “Garrett, earlier this season you said you wouldn't discuss your future until the season was finished.”

Harry's smile faded. Garrett sat a little straighter.

Brooklyn continued. “You also said Puddlemere would be the final club you ever played for.”

Garrett nodded. “I did.”

Brooklyn glanced toward the Cup. “The season is finished. Have you made a decision?”

Garrett looked down at the navy-and-gold ribbon hanging from the trophy. For several seconds he said nothing. Harry watched him. So did everyone else. It was the most quiet the room had been since they arrived.

Then Garrett smiled. “Yeah. I have.”

Garrett looked slowly along the table. “This was my last match.”

Cho turned toward him. Pucey went completely still. Oliver looked sad, but not surprised. Harry stared at Garrett. The announcement shouldn't have shocked him. Everyone had known it was possible. Garrett's contract had been discussed for months in the papers. Still, hearing the words was different.

“When did you know?” Harry asked.

Garrett looked toward him. “The moment Cho caught the Snitch.”

Cho's head snapped toward him. Harry looked at her too. For the first time since she'd caught it, Cho seemed to have no idea what to say.

Garrett smiled. “I've said it several times, but this team is special. I have no doubt they'll be favorites and contenders to win it again next year.” He looked toward the Cup. “Had this not gone our way, I would've returned for another year.”

Harry glanced at Cho again. Her eyes had dropped toward the table. That catch had given Garrett something neither of them had understood in the moment. Permission to stop.

Garrett continued. “But I did what I set out to do when I joined this league, and that was to win a championship with my hometown.”

His fingers brushed one of the ribbons. “Eleven years later, I finally did. That was my dream, and it finally came true.” He exhaled. “I'm done.”

Nobody interrupted him. “I've played on some very good teams. Played with some great players.”

Garrett looked around the table. “I got one last match beside Pucey and the woman I call my best friend.”

Pucey's expression changed for just a second.

“I watched a rookie topple a juggernaut and catch a Championship Snitch against one of the best to play the game.”

Harry smiled faintly. Toppling a juggernaut—that part could have meant either of them. Maybe it meant both.

“I even got to watch Potter decide he was apparently a Chaser halfway through the biggest game of our lives.”

That earned a small laugh. Garrett's eyes moved toward Oliver and Deverell. “But maybe most satisfyingly, I finally watched this team finish what we started.” He looked back toward the Cup. “That's enough for me.”

For several seconds, nobody moved. Harry stared at him. Monday morning suddenly felt strange. The team would be different without him. Even though he was the quietest player on the team. There wouldn't be another match where he quietly drifted backward and cleaned up everyone else's mistakes. No assumption that Chandler would simply be there because Chandler had always been there.

Before Harry could process it all, someone began clapping. Another person joined. Then another. The entire room rose. Garrett shook his head and simply held up one hand in acknowledgment. That only made it louder.

Harry stood with everyone else. Cho did too. Pucey wiped quickly at one eye and immediately pretended he hadn't. Oliver didn't bother pretending. Harry felt his own throat tighten. Garrett looked around at all of them and laughed quietly. No one at the table said much. A few hands landed on his shoulder. Pucey squeezed the back of his neck once. Oliver gripped his arm. Harry simply nodded toward him. Garrett nodded back.

There would be time for the rest. Not here. Not in front of the cameras.

The applause eventually faded. The questions did not. The League official stepped forward before another reporter could stand and announced that the conference was finished. That declaration bought Puddlemere approximately three seconds of peace.

“GARRETT!”

“CHANDLER, ONE MORE!”

“POTTER!”

“CHO, WILL YOU BE COMPETING FOR THE STARTING POSITION NEXT YEAR?”

Deverell was already on his feet as he answered the final question. “Every player competes for their starting position week by week. There are no guarantees in this league.”

That only caused more shouting. Harry laughed, shaking his head as reporters scrambled to get one final question answered. Coach Deverell waved them toward the side door.

Pucey leaned across Garrett while they stood. “You've announced your retirement and somehow Potter is still getting shouted at.”

“Talent,” Harry said.

“Disease,” Pucey corrected.

The team enjoyed their laugh together and allowed a brief moment of silence to fall between them as they cleared the press room. When the doors closed behind them, the corridor ahead was considerably quieter, though not empty. League staff moved between rooms carrying equipment, photographers lingered farther down behind security barriers, and somewhere beyond the concrete walls Harry could still hear thousands of supporters refusing to leave the stadium.

Garrett had barely made it ten steps before Oliver caught him around the shoulders, throwing an arm around him. “I’ll miss playing with you, Chandler. It was always nice having one mature player on the team.”

The veteran Chaser just laughed. “I’ll still be around. Coach and I discussed a few options leading up to this match. There aren’t any commitments yet, but you lot haven’t seen the end of me.”

This led to some claps and cheers from the group who all thudded Garrett on the back in approval. At the end of the hall, Ron was coming down the corridor fast enough that a League security wizard briefly reached toward his wand before recognizing him. Hermione was right behind him, followed by Ginny, Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur, George, Percy, and what seemed like half the people Harry had seen packed into the guest section.

Ron reached him first. “You lunatic.”

Harry barely had time to laugh before Ron wrapped both arms around him. “We won.”

“You played Chaser,” Ron accused.

“We won.”

“You played Chaser in the Championship Final.”

Harry pulled away. “I'm beginning to think people are focusing on the wrong part.”

Hermione threw herself around him next. “You were brilliant. Completely mental, of course, but brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Ginny waited until Hermione released him before striking Harry hard in the chest.

Harry recoiled. “Ow!”

“You deserved that,” Ginny insisted.

“For winning?”

“For making us watch you try a position you've barely played before with the Championship on the line. It was painful.”

“It worked.”

Ginny hugged him. “Unfortunately.”

Harry was still laughing when another voice came from behind her. “You could've warned me.”

Demelza stood several feet away in a Puddlemere Potter jersey with the same blue scarf Harry had spotted from the pitch hanging loosely around her neck.

Harry grinned. “About what?”

“That professional Quidditch is completely mental,” Demelza demanded.

“I thought we'd covered that.”

“You absolutely did not cover changing positions halfway through the biggest game of the year. I’ll have you know I am a one-trick pony, Chaser or nothing!”

Harry opened his arms. Demelza immediately stepped into them. She hugged him tightly, kissing him boldly on the cheek. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, his cheeks coloring.

When she stepped back, her eyes flicked toward the Championship Cup being carried through the corridor behind the players. For once, Demelza Robbins appeared completely speechless.

Harry smiled. “Good enough seat?”

She looked at him. “You're the kindest arse I have ever met.”

Ron barked out a laugh.

Harry's grin widened. “That good?”

“I think I forgot to breathe for about six hours,” Demelza admitted.

“Useful professional skill. We'll keep working on it this summer,” Harry promised.

Demelza laughed. Harry looked past her. It happened automatically. People continued spilling from the family hospitality rooms. Partners. Parents. Children wearing Puddlemere shirts far too large for them. League officials. Staff. Harry searched through them once. Then again. No platinum blonde head. No familiar French accent. Nothing.

“Harry.” He looked toward Fleur’s familiar voice. She was watching him. Not the celebration. Him. Harry knew immediately that she knew.

Fleur stepped closer, lowering her voice enough that nobody else could hear. “She did not come.”

Harry glanced once more toward the corridor. “I think I caught that.”

“I thought perhaps she had arrived after us.”

“So did I.”

Fleur's expression tightened. “She promised you.”

Harry nodded. That part hurt more than he wanted it to. Not because Gabrielle owed him the day. Not because he thought her career mattered less than his. Because she had promised.

Fleur touched his arm. “I am sorry, mon ami.”

Harry looked at the Cup disappearing around the corner with Oliver and Garrett. Then back toward Fleur. “Don't be.”

“Harry—”

“Not tonight.”

Fleur studied him. Harry smiled, though not quite as easily as before. “We won. That’s what matters tonight.”

After a moment, Fleur smiled too. “Yes,” she said softly. “You did. Rather spectacularly too.”

A loud whistle cut through the corridor. Everyone turned. Daniel Deverell stood near the open hospitality-room doors, looking considerably more pleased with himself than Harry had ever seen him. “Since apparently none of you intend to leave this stadium voluntarily, I have an announcement.”

Conner raised a hand. “Does it involve alcohol?”

“It does.”

Conner immediately lowered it. “Continue.”

Daniel shook his head. “I've made arrangements for tonight.”

Coach Deverell's eyebrows rose. Apparently even he had not been told. Daniel continued. “Puddlemere United has reserved private accommodations at a wizarding hotel for the entire organization. Players, coaches, staff, and your invited guests.”

That got everyone's attention. “Rooms are covered. Food is covered. Drinks are covered.”

Conner raised his hand again. “Dangerous sentence.”

“I am already regretting it,” Daniel deadpanned.

The corridor laughed. Daniel looked toward the players. “The hotel is preparing the private pool and event level now. Unfortunately, they couldn’t start preparing until the match was over, so you all have a little bit of time.” Daniel's smile widened. “I suggest you take the Cup home.”

The Puddlemere players went quiet. Harry knew exactly what he meant; they all did.

Daniel nodded toward the exit. “Go have a drink at the Puddle Jumper. Let the village see what you've brought them. I'll have Portkeys delivered to the Jumper when everything's ready. Ninety minutes. Try not to drink the place dry before then.”

The corridor erupted. Harry looked toward Ron. Then Hermione. Demelza. Fleur. His teammates. The Cup. Gabrielle's absence still sat somewhere beneath his ribs. It could stay there for a while.

Harry grinned. “The Puddle Jumper?”

Oliver was already walking. “Try and keep up, Potter.”

To say they were welcomed as heroes might have been the understatement of the century. Harry never actually saw who opened the door to the Puddle Jumper. One moment Oliver was several steps ahead of him, carrying the Championship Cup carefully against his chest as the rest of the team followed him down the familiar village street. The next, the doors had flown open and a wall of noise hit them hard enough that Harry genuinely stumbled backward.

“PUDDLEMERE!”

The roar seemed to shake the windows.

“PUDDLEMERE! PUDDLEMERE! PUDDLEMERE!”

Harry burst out laughing. The pub was beyond packed. People filled every table, every stool, every available patch of floor, and apparently several surfaces that absolutely had not been designed to hold human beings. Navy-and-gold scarves hung from the rafters. Someone had charmed dozens of tiny broomsticks to circle the ceiling, occasionally diving toward the crowd before soaring away again. A massive banner stretched over the bar declaring PUDDLEMERE UNITED — LEAGUE CHAMPIONS while enchanted gold sparks erupted continuously from either side.

Harry recognized faces everywhere. People he'd seen eating breakfast before training. People who shouted greetings when he walked through the village. The elderly wizard who complained about Harry's tendency to dive too close to the pitch. The witch from the bakery who had once informed him that if he lost to Montrose again, she was personally coming to training to sort him out.

Witches and wizards wearing Potter jerseys. Wood jerseys. Chandler jerseys old enough that the numbers had almost completely faded. And every single person inside was looking at them. Oliver stopped just inside the doorway. For perhaps two seconds he simply stood there with the Cup against his chest. Then he raised it over his head.

Harry had thought the stadium was loud. He had been wrong. The Puddle Jumper exploded. Drinks flew into the air. People screamed. Someone immediately climbed onto a table. Another wizard Harry vaguely recognized from around the village began sobbing into the shoulder of the man beside him.

“WE DID IT!” Conner shouted at absolutely no one in particular.

The entire pub shouted it back. “WE DID IT!”

Harry was shoved forward by Jason and immediately swallowed by the crowd. Hands slapped his shoulders. People shouted congratulations directly into his ears. One witch kissed him on the cheek before disappearing into the mass of bodies. A wizard who looked old enough to have followed Puddlemere for fifty years caught Harry by both sides of the face. “I WATCHED YOU SCORE!”

Harry laughed. “So did I!”

“YOU'RE A CHASER!”

“No, I'm really not!”

“I SAW IT!”

“So did several thousand other people!”

The wizard had already disappeared. Harry barely moved another step before a young boy in a Potter jersey appeared directly in front of him holding a quill and what looked suspiciously like a restaurant napkin. “Mr. Potter?”

Harry stopped. The boy stared up at him. “Could you sign this?”

Harry looked at the napkin. Then at the boy. “Absolutely.”

The child's entire face lit up. Harry took the quill and scribbled his name across the cloth.

“You scored twice.”

“Apparently that's becoming common knowledge.”

“My dad says you're going to play Chaser next year.”

Harry glanced toward the boy's father. The man immediately became very interested in his drink. Harry handed the napkin back. “Maybe just this once your dad is wrong.”

“He usually is.”

The father nearly choked. Harry laughed and disappeared deeper into the crowd. Pucey appeared beside him holding two drinks despite the fact that they'd been inside for less than a minute.

Harry stared at him. “How?”

Pucey handed him one. “We are professional athletes.”

“That explains nothing.”

“It explains everything.”

Harry took the Firewhisky anyway. Across the room, Oliver had somehow made it to the bar without surrendering the Cup. People crowded around him three deep, reaching out merely to touch the trophy as he passed. Garrett walked beside him, shaking hands and accepting congratulations from seemingly every person in the building.

The news of his retirement had apparently traveled faster than they had.

“CHANDLER!”

“GARRETT!”

“ONE MORE YEAR!”

Garrett laughed and pointed toward Oliver. “He's the captain!”

Nobody cared.

“CHANDLER!”

Garrett shook his head. An older witch reached him and wrapped both arms around his neck. Whatever joke he'd been preparing disappeared. Garrett hugged her back. Harry couldn't hear what she said to him, but when they separated the woman pressed both hands against Garrett's cheeks before looking toward the Cup. Garrett nodded.

The woman immediately began crying. Harry looked away. Eleven years. He hadn't really appreciated what that meant until tonight. Harry had been part of Puddlemere for one season and already felt as if the place had somehow become stitched into him. Garrett had spent more than a decade here. This wasn't simply the club he'd played for. These were his people.

Harry raised his glass toward him. Garrett spotted him through the crowd and returned the gesture. Then someone climbed onto the bar. Harry expected Conner.

It was Coach Deverell. That was considerably more concerning. “ALL RIGHT!”

Nobody listened. Deverell stared at them. Then pulled out his wand. A deafening crack erupted through the pub. Every conversation stopped.

Conner looked impressed. “We should use that in team meetings.”

“No,” Oliver said immediately.

Deverell stood on the bar and slowly looked around the room. Harry had seen the man angry. Exhausted. Proud. Frustrated enough to threaten murder. He had never seen him look quite like this. “This village has supported this club through some absolutely miserable years of fucking Quidditch.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“There have been years when you probably should've found something better to do with your Saturdays.”

More laughter.

A voice near the back called, “SHOULD'VE BEEN A CANNONS FAN!”

The entire pub booed.

Deverell pointed toward the voice. “Let's not say things we can't take back.”

Harry laughed.

Deverell waited for the room to settle. “But you didn't.”

That quieted them.

“You packed our stadium. You traveled with us. You bought the shirts. You showed up in rain, wind, snow, and several matches that I personally would've preferred everyone forget.”

Someone shouted, “KENMARE, THREE YEARS AGO!”

Deverell closed his eyes. “I specifically said forget.”

The room howled.

“You shouted yourselves hoarse when we won, and somehow shouted even louder when we were terrible.”

“VERY OFTEN!”

Deverell pointed toward the sound. “Exactly.”

Another wave of laughter rolled through the pub. Then Deverell looked toward Oliver. Toward the trophy in his hands.

His expression softened. “This belongs to the players.”

The room quieted.

“It belongs to the coaches. The reserves. The healers. The staff. Everyone who spent this season getting this club onto that pitch.” His eyes moved around the room. “But it belongs to Puddlemere too.”

Oliver lifted the trophy. The response was immediate. People surged to their feet. Glasses rose. Harry could barely hear himself think.

Deverell lifted his own drink. “To Puddlemere United.”

Hundreds of glasses went up. “To Puddlemere!”

Harry raised his Firewhisky. The answer came as one.

“LEAGUE CHAMPIONS!”

Harry drank. The Firewhisky burned all the way down. For once, he welcomed it. Music started almost immediately afterward. Not gently. Someone toward the back had apparently decided the appropriate volume was enough to threaten structural damage, and within minutes the Puddle Jumper had stopped resembling a pub and become something closer to a riot with alcohol.

Ron appeared at Harry's side with a pint. “This is mental.”

“You've said that about everything today.”

“You played Chaser.”

Harry stared at him. “Oh, fuck off, mate. I know!”

Ron laughed. Hermione was farther back with Ginny and Demelza, all three trying unsuccessfully to make their way through the crowd toward him. Demelza had apparently acquired another scarf somewhere and now wore one around her neck and another tied around her waist.

Harry grinned. He'd find them in a minute. Someone caught him by the arm.

“You!”

Harry turned. Cho looked completely overwhelmed.

“What did I do?”

“There are people asking me to sign things.”

Harry stared at her. Cho stared back. Then Harry's smile slowly widened.

Her eyes narrowed. “Don't.”

“Welcome to professional Quidditch.”

“I might sock you.”

“No, you won't.”

“I might.”

A chant started somewhere near the bar. “CHO!”

Another voice joined. “CHO! CHO!”

Within seconds half the pub had taken it up. “CHO! CHO! CHO!”

Cho closed her eyes.

Harry immediately joined them. “CHO! CHO! CHO!”

She shoved him. “I swear, Potter, I'll thump you.”

Harry laughed.

A young witch pushed through the crowd holding a programme. “Cho! Please?”

Cho stopped. Harry watched her expression change. The witch held out the programme and quill. “No thanks, Potter, but she caught it.”

Cho glanced at Harry. He smiled. Not teasing this time.

Cho took the quill. “What's your name?”

“Emily.”

Cho signed the programme. Emily clutched it to her chest as if Cho had handed her the Snitch itself. “You were brilliant.”

Cho stared at her for a second. “Thank you.”

The girl disappeared. Cho watched her go.

Harry nudged her shoulder. “Still transferring to Chudley?”

“Shut up.”

Harry laughed. Then something near the bar caught his attention. His smile changed. “Oh.”

Cho looked suspicious immediately. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Harry.”

“It's just—”

Her eyes followed his. Several Puddlemere players were gathered around the Championship Cup. Two of them had bottles of Firewhisky.

Cho's jaw dropped. “No.”

Harry began laughing.

“No.”

Oliver turned toward them. The Cup was now very clearly being filled.

Cho grabbed Harry's arm. “Absolutely not.”

Harry shook his head. “Don't even think about running.”

“Harry!”

“They made me do it too.”

“With the Cup?”

“From a much smaller bottle, admittedly.”

“That is completely different!”

Harry caught her gently around the arm as she tried to step away. “Come on. Take it like a real Seeker.”

“You are supposed to be on my side!”

“I am.”

“This doesn't feel like it!”

Oliver approached with absolute glee in his eyes, carrying the trophy between both hands while Pucey walked beside him with the Firewhisky bottle. Behind them the crowd noticed what was happening.

The chanting began again. “CHO! CHO! CHO!”

Cho stared at Harry in horror.

Harry laughed. “You first,” he said. “You won us the Championship.”

Cho slapped an open hand against his chest. “It was your stupid idea that won us the Championship. You go first.”

“I knew you'd see reason.”

“You're an arse.”

Oliver reached them. He raised the Cup.

“To our Rooks!”

The crowd roared it back. “TO THE ROOKS!”

Harry looked at Cho.

Cho pointed underneath the Cup. “You first.”

Harry shrugged. Then ducked beneath it. Oliver tipped the trophy. Firewhisky poured into Harry's mouth. And across his cheek. And down the front of his shirt. Most of the crowd found this considerably funnier than Harry did.

He swallowed what he could and came back up coughing and laughing. “WOOD!”

Oliver looked innocent. “Technique needs work.”

“You poured half of it on my face!”

“Rookie problem.”

Harry wiped his mouth and immediately turned toward Cho. Her smile vanished. “No.”

The chants resumed. “CHO! CHO! CHO!”

Harry joined them enthusiastically. Cho looked around.

At Oliver. At Harry. At the crowd. Then sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

The pub erupted. Cho stepped beneath the Cup. Oliver began pouring. She lasted perhaps three seconds before pulling away coughing, Firewhisky running down her chin. Harry nearly doubled over laughing.

Cho shoved him. “You bastard.”

“You're a real Seeker now.”

“That doesn't make this better!”

“It does a little.”

Pucey handed her a cloth.

Cho snatched it from him. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. I filled it.”

Cho looked toward Harry. “We're murdering him later.”

Harry nodded. “Absolutely.”

Pucey stared between them. “I regret encouraging this friendship.”

The music grew louder. Garrett was laughing near the bar as people continued stopping him every few seconds. Conner and Jason had somehow gotten onto a table again. Charlotte was shouting at them to get down while making absolutely no effort to stop them. Ron had joined another group singing some terribly inappropriate Puddlemere song. Hermione looked appalled. But she was laughing. Demelza had finally reached them and was trying to learn the words from Ginny despite neither of them apparently having any idea what the actual lyrics were.

Oliver stood in the center of it all. Still holding the Cup. Harry looked around the room. Really looked. He'd spent the entire season chasing something. At first he'd thought it was proving he belonged. Then McCloud. Then Rookie of the Year. Then the Championship. But standing there, Firewhisky still dripping from his hair while a hundred Puddlemere supporters screamed themselves hoarse around him, Harry realized none of those things were quite right.

He'd been chasing this. This feeling. This place. His team. His village. Their Cup. Someone grabbed him around the shoulders. Pucey. Cho appeared on the other side. The next song began, louder than the last. Oliver climbed onto the dance floor carrying the trophy above his head. Harry didn't need an invitation. The team surged toward him.

Within seconds Harry had one arm around Cho and the other around Pucey as they jumped with the music, surrounded by supporters who had followed Puddlemere through every miserable season necessary to finally reach this one.

“WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!”

The words rolled through the pub again. Harry shouted it with them.

“WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!”

The Cup passed overhead from player to player as the song played in the background. Garrett held it. Then Charlotte. Then Pucey. Cho caught it carefully and laughed as the entire pub screamed her name again. Harry took it from her. For one brief moment he simply held it.

Heavy. Cold. Real.

Then he raised it over his head. The Puddle Jumper exploded one more time. Harry laughed until his face hurt. The ninety minutes passed far too quickly. By the time the promised Portkeys arrived, Harry had lost track of how many people he'd hugged, how many drinks had been shoved into his hand, and how many times someone had called him a Chaser despite his increasingly aggressive objections.

Nobody wanted to leave. Not even Oliver. But another party was waiting. The team reluctantly began spilling out into the village street, still laughing, still singing, still passing the Cup between them. Harry stopped just outside the door and looked back. The Puddle Jumper remained packed. People were still singing. Still celebrating. A navy-and-gold banner flashed brightly through the window.

LEAGUE CHAMPIONS.

Somewhere above the village, another burst of gold fireworks exploded across the night sky. The cheering from inside followed it into the street.

Pucey slapped Harry on the back hard enough to nearly send him stumbling. “Come on, Rook. We're only getting started.”

Harry laughed and turned toward the others. Cho was waiting beside the Portkeys. Garrett had an arm around Charlotte. Conner and Jason were still singing something nobody else appeared to know the words to. And Oliver stood among them with the Championship Cup tucked securely beneath his arm.

His team.

Harry took one last look behind him at the crowded pub, the navy-and-gold village, and the people still celebrating something he'd helped bring them. A year ago, none of this had been his.

Tonight, it felt like home.