Chapter Text
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Angelina Johnson, ombré braids framing her face, was begrudgingly holding out a team captain badge for him to take.
“The whole thing was your idea, Harry-”
“Yes, exactly, my idea of rest and relaxation. Listen, Ange, no offense, but I'm not really here for the whole strategy and winning and sponsors thing and all that. To be honest, I've got enough gold to retire now and live comfortably until I’m Nicolas Flamel’s age.”
“Yes, Harry, you're very rich, we get it,” Demelza Robins supplied, smirking.
“What I mean to say is that I've begun to throw this team together, with your help, in order to fill my days with something less boring than helping Kreacher clean, bless his soul, and something less stressful than being an Auror. And therefore I'm not interested in the leadership part of this arrangement in the slightest. Sorry, Ange.”
He gave her an apologetic grin that most certainly wasn't necessary, as Angelina wasted no time snatching the badge back and pinning it onto her own robes with a sort of resolution.
“Fine, then. Let's see if we can't find ourselves some good fliers.”
And she walked off, whistle hanging around her neck, leaving Demelza and Harry to exchange a brief glance and quickly scramble to follow her.
There weren't a lot of people trying out, and Harry was relieved, thinking back to the trials of his one and only year as Quidditch captain of Gryffindor house. He could spot a couple of vaguely familiar faces and even sort of grinned at Cho Chang when they made eye contact. Before he could try and make out more names, though, Angelina had concluded her welcome speech and instructed the players to kick off.
Cho turned out to be a superb chaser, joining Angelina and a lively, excited young woman by the name of Lana Knight who reminded Harry very much of Tonks. Demelza, who had been a chaser during her time on Harry's team at Hogwarts, had decided that her ability for dodging bludgers translated well into slamming them in the general direction of other players and seemed to harmonize best with Bobby Malkins, a short but bulky bloke with a crooked grin.
Three chasers and two beaters down, Harry being seeker, there was only one position left. Harry couldn't suppress a sigh as he stared into the face of Cormac McLaggen, smugly saying, “Well, seeing as I'm the only one trying out for keeper, I guess that's me!”
He tried sneaking a pleading look at Angelina, who just shrugged.
“I've seen you fly, and you are pretty good. Welcome to the team, I suppose.”
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
Angelina was right, of course, he was pretty good, and so was the rest of the team, under her guidance, and soon, their as of now nameless team (no one had been able to agree on a name for long enough to actually write it down) found itself playing in the third league.
Now, third league Quidditch wasn't very advanced or interesting by any standards, but they were a fairly new team rising fairly quickly, and while third league wasn't usually enough to warrant quite an audience, this team's seeker was, alas, Harry Potter.
Harry knew Angelina was exasperated by the overcrowding of the small fields they were playing at, and he was too, in a way. And yet he couldn't deny that it felt good soaring in the air, thinking of nothing but catching that tiny golden ball, being cherished and adored for something he actually enjoyed doing once again.
The team was getting along well, even McLaggen had gotten slightly less insufferable in the eight years since they'd gone to Hogwarts together, and Harry was truly and honestly happy.
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
“Angelina says you were really good in your last match, Harry,” Hermione smiled at him over chinese takeout in the living room of the Granger-Weasley residence as they were watching replays of old Chudley Cannons games with Ron.
“We're sorry we haven't been to see the team yet, it's just, you know…”, she added, nodding in the direction of a room where Harry knew little Rose was sleeping peacefully for the first time this week.
He returned her smile. “Don't sweat it, guys, there's still plenty of time until the World Cup.”
“Yes, right, because any team with Cormac McLaggen in it has even the slightest chance to advance out of the third league”, Ron butted in, disgruntled. “Seriously, mate, McLaggen out of all people?”
“Wasn't my choice, as you very well know, and besides, he's really not that bad anymore. I’d rather have you, of course, but since that's not possible…”
“Yes, well, someone's gotta hold the Auror office together after their most prized employee quits out of nowhere, don't they?” Ron retorted in a light tone, and Harry only shrugged, contentedly slurping his noodles and watching Gudgeon make a particularly sharp dive just to miss the snitch by inches.
Yes, Harry was truly and honestly quite happy with his life.
Sure, things with Ginny hadn't quite worked out the way he'd hoped, and quitting his job after one too many very annoying PTSD incidents hadn't really been a highlight, but things were looking up. Harry liked Quidditch, liked his team, liked visiting Ron and Hermione and little Rose, liked visiting Teddy and Andromeda, and he had even recently managed to finally remove that insufferable painting of Sirius’ mum from Grimmauld place and, with that, effectively finished the year long renovations of his house. And if he got a little bit lonely, sometimes, in the long hallways that Sirius had once roamed, he could still start an argument with the painting of Phineas Nigellus or let Kreacher win another round of Wizarding Chess.
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
Angelina grinned at him widely after a particularly good practice a couple weeks later, and said, directed at no one in particular: “How about we all go and grab a drink? A little teambuilding? On me, since I'm captain, I suppose.” The unconcealed pride in her voice made Harry laugh, and grimy and sweaty though they were, they all went.
Conversation was easy, with old acquaintances and new ones alike, and three beers in, Harry was leaning his head on Angelina's shoulder as she was telling the rest of the team the story of George's proposal for the second time, sneaking satisfied glances at her ring finger every once in a while.
“It’s just so romantic! I mean, I know George could pull off the dramatic flair, but a private proposal is just so much more intimate!” Cho was saying, and Lana nodded enthusiastically.
“God, that makes another beautiful Weasley”, Demelza sighed, “as if that family needed any help turning heads.”
“Which Weasley turned your head, Demelza?” Harry asked, amused. He sat up a little bit straighter when she blushed and looked away.
“Ginny, actually”, Demelza supplied after a short pause and grinned nervously. “But we did share a dorm for years, so it was really quite inevitable once we got on the Gryffindor team together.”
Harry held his arms up in response. “Hey, no judgement there.”
“Was it the Quidditch robes? Because I swear, Wood in those is the sole reason I ever even realized I was gay”, McLaggen pitched in.
Harry choked on his beer, earning a disapproving glance from Angelina, and stared at him in disbelief.
“Wood? Oliver Wood? Out of all the handsome guys at Hogwarts your gay awakening was… Oliver Wood?”
McLaggen blushed. “Like I said, it must've been the robes or something.”
Harry raised his eyebrows.
“Anyway, who was yours then, since you seem to know so much about gay awakenings?” McLaggen retorted, and Harry took the bait gladly.
“Cedric Diggory, I suppose.”
He snuck a glance at Cho, who seemed deep in conversation with Lany and Bobby.
“Of course, he then died tragically right in front of me, but I have him to thank for being bisexual.”
Angelina flicked his forehead as Harry replaced his head on her shoulder and left McLaggen fumbling for words.
“You really have got to stop playing with Cormac like this, you know? I think he's kind of scared of you”, she mumbled, and Harry looked up at her apologetically, shrugging.
“Orrrr”, Demelza, who was sitting to the left of Angelina, said in a hushed voice, “maybe McLaggen over here has a little crush on Harry.”
Harry, his beer safely standing on the table in front of him, choked on his own spit this time and had to be resuscitated by Angelina repeatedly slapping his back as he coughed.
“What- doyoumean- by that-?” He sputtered out eventually, thanking Angelina with a piteous look.
“I can just tell. My gay-sneakoscope is totally going off. What d’ya think, eh? Harry and Cormac, Cormac and Harry?” She wiggled her eyebrows in a way that was meant to annoy Harry to bits, he just knew it, and she was oh so successful.
“Shut up, will you? Not happening. Never ever.”
“I don't know, I can kinda see it”, Angelina teased in a mock-serious tone, “two guys that think their farts smell like roses.”
“I do not think my farts smell like roses-”
“What Angelina means, Potter, is that you both think very highly of yourselves, and you'd make a good match”, Demelza added, not very helpfully.
“I know what she means by it, thank you very much, and I do not think highly of myself-”
“Well you should, anyway-”
“And me and McLaggen isn't happening even if hell freezes over!”
That last bit had come out a little bit louder than Harry had originally intended, and all of them shot a cautious look over at McLaggen, who had luckily been swallowed up into a conversation about public proposals and flowers and whether children should attend weddings.
“Relax, Harry, you know we're just taking the piss.” Angelina chuckled and allowed him to replace his head on her shoulder, gently stroking his unruly hair.
“It's just been a while since we've seen you with anyone, and we like to see you happy.”
He settled his head deeper into the nape of Angelina's neck and sighed.
“Yeah, I know. I just hope that when I next choose to date somebody, they will be less insufferable than Cormac McLaggen.”
“Amen to that!” Demelza cried out and ordered another round of drinks.