A Star Is Born Chapter 2

(A/N) Guys I am so sorry, Chapter 82 of The Dark Apprentice is not ready! It could be ready later tonight, but most likely tomorrow evening. I got married last Monday and have been on my honeymoon since. I wanted to give you guys a little something though to hold you over till tomorrow. This still needs some polishing, but you guys enjoy! When we go live with this for real, I will re-tag you all, because I am planning to add a flash back in there, and make it a little longer, enjoy this rough draft though!

Chapter 2

January 1999

The room was alive with a flurry of activity as Harry, Oliver, and Coach Deverell entered one of the spacious conference rooms. The air was filled with the rapid-fire clicking of camera shutters, the bright flashes momentarily blinding Harry as he raised a hand in greeting to the applauding members of the press. He navigated his way towards the front, where a Puddlemere backdrop had been set up, and took his designated seat. Oliver settled beside him on his left, while Coach Deverell flanked him on his right. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as the room waited for the press conference to begin.

Harry took a deep breath, the weight of the moment settling upon him. He leaned forward, his eyes scanning the sea of faces that had gathered before him. A wide smile spread across his face, a genuine expression of the elation he felt. "I am incredibly honored and humbled to have been selected by Puddlemere United," he began. "To join a team of this caliber, a championship-caliber team, is a dream come true. I wouldn't be standing here today if it weren't for the unwavering guidance and support of Captain Wood over the years. He has been a mentor, a friend, and an inspiration. And to have the opportunity to play alongside him once more, the man who inspired me to pick up a broomstick in the first place... it's beyond anything I could have ever imagined."

Harry paused, his voice momentarily choked with emotion. He cleared his throat, continuing with renewed determination. "I want to promise you all, Captain Wood, my teammates, and the most passionate and dedicated fans in all of Puddlemere, that I will give nothing less than my absolute best. Every time I step onto the pitch, I will play with my whole heart, leaving everything I have out there for this team. I am committed to upholding the legacy of Puddlemere United and to making you all proud."

Polite applause followed, and Coach Deverell put an arm around his back as he stated, “Seeker Potter will now be taking questions from the Press.”

The press conference erupted into a cacophony of questions, all directed at Harry. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face amidst the chaos. Relief washed over him as he spotted a friendly figure. "Mr. Boot, Wizarding Press," Harry called out, his voice cutting through the noise. "Go ahead."

The seasoned reporter, Mr. Boot was more than just a familiar face in the press corps; he was a longstanding member of the DA, a fact that didn't forget when it was time to share his big moment. Despite being seated amidst a throng of reporters at the back of the hall, Harry could always spot a friendly face, especially one as familiar and loyal as Terry's.

Terry, known for his insightful and probing questions, adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat, drawing attention. His warm grin was a comforting sight for Harry as he began his question. "Harry," he began, his voice clear and resonant, "the world has spent the last six months speculating about the next move for the savior of the magical world. I daresay none were more surprised than me to see you back on a broomstick. Could you shed some light on how that decision came about?"

Harry nodded and leaned forward using his wand to project his voice, “When the war was over my friends and I spent a few months in peace.  We accepted awards, attended Ministry functions, and even did a bit of traveling as things began to calm down.  When we returned we had the world of options to choose from.  At first my best mate, Ron Weasley, and I thought about going to do what we do best, hunt down Dark Wizards, with the Auror department.  However, I have spent my whole life doing that, and I think I have earned my share of continued peace without having to fight for my life with a wand everyday.”

Some chuckles followed his words, and the room was in respectful silence writing down each of his words, taking a breath he continued, “When I thought about the things left in the world that made me happy, I will be honest and say there wasn’t much.”

His words resonated throughout the room, carrying a weight that caused a visible reaction in his audience. His old friend Terry twitched involuntarily, a small but noticeable sign of the impact of Harry's words. The room was silent as everyone waited for the savior of the Wizarding world to continue his story.

"It was a strange time," Harry admitted, his voice laced with a hint of wistfulness. "Nearly three months had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts. The dust had settled, but the scars remained, both physical and emotional. My eighteenth birthday arrived, and when my friends and those I consider family inquired about what I wanted to do on my day, I found myself uncertain."

He paused, his gaze distant as he recalled the conflicting emotions of that time. "I didn't want a grand affair, or a spectacle to mark the occasion. The weight of the war still hung heavy, and I craved simplicity, a sense of normalcy that had been absent for so long. So, I asked for something that held a special place in my heart."

A small smile touched his lips as he continued, "I asked if we could all gather and play a pickup game of Quidditch. It was a simple request, but was a moment that moved me. Quidditch had always been more than just a game; it was a connection to my past, a reminder of happier times at Hogwarts, and a connection to my father who I am told held a love for the game that so few could understand."

The reporters were listening with rapt attention as Harry grinned at the memory that came to the forefront of his mind.  Reading Lily’s letter berating Sirius about his first birthday gift, a toy broom.  

He paused, a gentle, nostalgic smile spreading across his lips as a particular memory surfaced. It was a memory distilled from a letter Lily had penned shortly after his first birthday to his godfather.  Harry recalled Lily berating Sirius about his first birthday gift, a toy broom, and how he had almost killed the cat with his adventurous dives.  Truly, Harry realized he may have just been born to ride a broom, just not just defeat Dark Wizards.

Swallowing back those emotions Harry leaned forward and spoke again, “I always felt at peace on a broom, and despite not having played a game of Quidditch in over two years it felt like I had never stopped as soon as we took to the air.  By the time the game was over there was no doubt in my mind what I wanted to do anymore, so I talked to my friends, and the first name that was mentioned was Captain Woods.”

Harry took a deep breath and a nostalgic smile played on his lips as he looked at his friend. "It all happened so fast," he began, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief. "The very next day, I found myself writing to him, almost impulsively. I asked if we could meet for lunch, just to catch up, reminisce about the old days." He paused, his eyes twinkling with a fond memory.

"And that lunch," he continued, "it turned into something more. We started talking about my future, about getting back into the game. He mentioned the possibility of preparing me for a combine and even outlined a training regiment to help me get back into shape." Harry's voice took on a determined tone. "I was lost, adrift, and desperately needed something to focus on. So, just like in the old days, I threw myself into it. I followed my old captain's training regimen religiously, pushing myself harder than I ever had before." He took a deep breath, his expression a mixture of pride and gratitude. "And well," he concluded with a shrug and a smile, "here we are."

Oliver let out a chuckle and shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. "Harry's being modest, as always," he remarked, his voice laced with warmth and admiration. "The truth is, he was a prodigy from the start. I remember the day I brought him out to the pitch when he was firstie at Hogwarts.  He didn’t even know the rules to Qudditich when we started.  By the end I felt confident we would win the cup.  Fast forward eight years and I was introducing Harry to Coach Deverell. We ran some scrimmage games, and Harry... well, he dominated. Absolutely dominated, despite never having played a single minute of professional Quidditch before that day."

Oliver paused, his gaze distant as he recalled the memory. "It was uncanny," he continued, his voice filled with awe. "His instincts have always been impeccable, his reflexes lightning-fast. He moves with such grace and power, it was like he was born to fly. The other players were stunned, and Coach Deverell... well, his jaw practically hit the ground. He knew he had found something special."

Oliver chuckled again, shaking his head in wonder. "Harry was a natural, a true phenomenon. And the most amazing thing was, he never let it go to his head. He remained humble, always eager to learn and improve. He worked harder than anyone, and his dedication was unwavering. That's what truly set him apart, and why we sacrificed so much to bring him to our franchise."

The room was abuzz with questions, each one fired off like a bullet in a siege. Harry felt the pressure mounting, but one question cut through the noise, loud enough to reach Coach Deverell's ears. The coach's expression hardened, his broad shoulders tensing as he ran a hand through his mustache.

"I'm hearing a lot of chatter about this lad's reputation being the sole reason he's on this team," he boomed, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance. "And that I must be out of my mind to trade away the next two years of this franchise's future to get him. But there's a reason he was the number one pick. Tutshill wanted him badly, and the negotiations were tough. If he'd been available for anything less, I would've taken it. But that was the offer on the table for this year's number one pick. And if you've watched the memories, it's clear that he's worth it."

Coach Deverell's voice echoed through the room, silencing the whispers and doubts. He stood tall, his conviction unwavering. He knew the risks involved in the trade, but he also knew the potential Harry possessed. The memories had shown a glimpse of his extraordinary talent, a talent that could elevate the team to new heights.

Oliver, his voice laced with conviction, swiftly rose to the defense of his new teammate. "Look," he began, his tone firm yet measured, "we just traded Benjy Williams away, a player who is undeniably one of the premier seekers in the league right now. I understand the skepticism," he conceded, acknowledging the raised eyebrows and questioning glances around the room, "but Benjy is only a few years away from retirement. With Harry," Oliver continued, his voice gaining a note of confidence, "we have the opportunity to build and solidify our franchise for the next decade, if we play our cards right. And during that time," he declared, his eyes gleaming with ambition, "we have every intention of winning the league championship a minimum of three times."

A wave of surprised gasps and murmurs swept through the room, but Harry remained calm, leaning back in his chair with a confident grin. "The Captain is absolutely correct," Harry affirmed, his voice unwavering. "We might not be the most naturally gifted team at this moment, but Captain Wood and I are prepared to outwork every single opponent from now until the end of our careers. That's how we achieved success back in school, and that's the strategy we'll employ moving forward. I can't guarantee instant results or overnight miracles, but I can promise the loyal fans of Puddlemere that they will receive nothing less than my absolute dedication and unwavering passion for the sport for as long as I have the privilege of wearing this uniform."

Several fans of the team in the crowd cheered, while the media fiercely wrote down their notes.  A voice towards the back called Harry’s name, and the teen pointed at the man who had a big smile on his face, “Mr. Potter, Kenny Davis, with Quidditch Today, word has it that Ginerva Weasley was just drafted to the Holyhead Harpies.  What do you think about that pick?”

Harry tried to keep his expression neutral.  He was unsurprised Ginny was drafted in the first round.  They had been at the combine together, and she was quite impressive.  They had also been playing together for years so there was little doubt in her skills, “Ginny and I have played together for years.  She is a talented chaser with a big heart for the game.  I think Holyhead just gained themselves a future star.  Gwenog Jones is one of the highest IQ Quidditch players in the game and I have no doubt she saw a champion in watching her play.”

The press conference was a whirlwind of flashing lights and probing questions. Microphones were thrust towards him from all directions, each journalist vying for his attention.

"Mr. Potter," a voice boomed from the back, cutting through the din, "Are the rumors that you and Ginerva are no longer together valid?"

The question hung in the air, thick with anticipation. The room fell silent, every eye trained on him, waiting for his response.

Harry wasn’t thrilled to field the question, but didn’t want rumors going around so squashed it with little hesitation, “I can confirm that Ginny and I are no longer together.”

“Was it a bad break up, Potter?”

“Did she break your heart, sir?”

Harry let out a light chuckle in response to the question, shaking his head gently. He tried to push aside a flicker of pain that surfaced with the topic. "Ginny and I," he began, "we decided to part ways, but it was on good terms. We're like family, you know? We've been playing Quidditch together for years and years. There's a bond there that doesn't just disappear. And I can promise you," he added with a sincere smile, "anytime Puddlemere isn't playing against Holyhead, I'll be right there in the stands, cheering Ginny on. I'll always want her to succeed.  I can even bet that we will both attend Mrs. Weasley's family dinners each Sunday talking about each other's success  on the pitch with joy for each other every week."

Coach Deverell firmly stated at that point, “Let’s keep the questions to Quidditch, please.  There will be plenty of time for the Puddlemere fan base to question Mr. Potter's personal life at another date.”

The press conference continued, and the room filled with laughter as Oliver chuckled at Harry's playful glare. The exchange between the two old friends brought a sense of ease to the atmosphere, and Harry found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of their banter.

As the questions continued, Harry and Oliver settled into a comfortable pattern, fielding inquiries about the upcoming training sessions, the dynamics of the new team, and their strategies for the season ahead. Harry spoke eloquently about his excitement to be reunited with Oliver on the pitch, emphasizing the trust and camaraderie they had built during their time together at Hogwarts. He expressed his eagerness to learn from Oliver's experience and leadership, and his confidence in their ability to achieve great things together.

Oliver, in turn, spoke highly of Harry's talent and dedication, praising his natural instincts and his unwavering determination to succeed. He acknowledged the challenges that lay ahead, but expressed his belief that Harry would quickly adapt to the demands of professional Quidditch and become a valuable asset to the team.

As the press conference drew to a close, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within him. The prospect of training alongside Oliver once more, of pushing each other to new heights, and of celebrating victories together filled him with excitement. He had always admired Oliver's work ethic and his unwavering commitment to the sport, and he knew that playing alongside him would only serve to elevate his own game.

The memories of their shared Quidditch triumphs at Hogwarts flooded Harry's mind - the exhilarating victories, the crushing defeats, the countless hours spent practicing and strategizing together. They had faced numerous challenges and obstacles over the years, but their bond had only grown stronger with each passing season. And now, after five long years apart, they were finally reunited, ready to take on the world of professional Quidditch together.

Harry's heart raced with anticipation as he imagined the thrill of their first game together, the roar of the crowd, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he soared through the air, Oliver by his side. He was ready to give it his all, to leave everything on the pitch, and to prove that he deserved his place on the team. And with Oliver as his captain, he knew that anything was possible.

When Coach Deverell called for final questions Harry heard one that caught him off guard, “Mr Potter, we have heard rumors that Captain Wood fought by your side at the Battle of Hogwarts.  Can you give testament to those rumors?”

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. The Battle of Hogwarts had been a defining moment in wizarding history, and the names of those who fought had been etched into the collective memory of the wizarding world. The Daily Prophet's coverage of the battle had been extensive, with a full list of the combatants published in a special edition that had become a prized possession for many.

"Captain Wood's participation in the Battle of Hogwarts is a matter of public record," Harry stated firmly, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance. "It was widely reported in the Daily Prophet and is common knowledge among the wizarding community."

He paused, his gaze unwavering as he met the other man's eyes. "I find it curious that you would question something so well-documented," he added, his tone cool and measured. "Is there a particular reason for your inquiry?"

The reporter however had no shame, and asked, “It is said that you two fought side by side however?  Is there validity to this rumor?”

“Is that why you wanted to come to Puddlemere so badly?” Another questioned.

Harry shook his head, a gesture of both denial and affirmation, as he acutely felt the weight of Oliver and Coach Deverell's gazes upon him. "Listen," he began, his voice steady and resolute, "Oliver and I have been friends since my earliest days at Hogwarts. He was the one who instilled in me a deep love and respect for the game of Quidditch." Harry paused, allowing his words to settle in the air.

"Back then, I never could have imagined that my passion for the sport would blossom into a career aspiration," Harry continued, his voice laced with sincerity. "But when I did realize that I wanted a future in Quidditch, I held onto the hope that Oliver and I might have the opportunity to play together once more. It was a dream I cherished, a driving force behind my decision to pursue a professional Quidditch career."

Harry's expression softened as he spoke of his aspirations. "When the Puddlemere United front office expressed their willingness to make such a substantial trade to secure my position on the team, I was overjoyed. The prospect of playing alongside Oliver Wood, a player I've long admired and respected, was a dream come true. It was the primary reason I was so eager to join Puddlemere."

He took a deep breath, the weight of the memory heavy on his shoulders. "As for us fighting side by side at the Battle of Hogwarts," he began, his voice laced with uncertainty, "I can't say for sure."

The room fell silent, every eye fixed on him, anticipation hanging in the air. He continued, "What I do remember vividly is the first night of the battle. We were desperately outnumbered in the courtyard leading to the Great Hall. It felt like all hope was lost."

His voice dropped to a whisper, "Just then, I heard a familiar voice echo from above the castle walls. It was like a beacon in the darkness."

A surge of emotion coursed through him as he recounted, "Suddenly, a squadron of broomstick riders, at least half a dozen strong, soared over the battlefield. They swooped down, their spells and curses raining down on the Death Eaters, providing us with a desperately needed respite."

Pride swelled in his voice, "The Wizarding World owes an immeasurable debt to Oliver Wood and the rest of my old Gryffindor Quidditch teammates. It was their intervention that turned the tide of the battle that night. Without them, who knows? I might not be standing here today, and for that I will be forever grateful.”

A round of applause immediately followed, and before further questions could be asked, Coach Deverell rose abruptly, his authoritative presence commanding the room. "That concludes our question and answer session for today." His voice was firm, signaling an end to the press conference. "I extend my gratitude to each and every one of you for attending." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "I trust you will all take a moment to join me in wishing Mr. Potter the best of luck as he prepares for the season's inaugural game." A polite yet dismissive smile touched his lips. "Thank you all, and good night." With that, he gestured towards the exit, effectively ending the media's inquiries and steering the narrative away from personal matters.

With that Oliver and Harry stood up at the motion of a hand from their coach as questions rained down upon them.

“Mr. Potter, can we get an interview scheduled?” Several voices were crying out.

Harry offered a smile to the screaming reporters calling out, “My agent will be fielding all media requests for the next few weeks.  Ron Weasley is your man.”

“How about for an old friend?” A loud feminine voice called out that immediately stole Harry’s attention.

Harry's ears perked up at the sound of a captivating voice, and he turned his head to find its source. His eyes landed on a breathtaking redhead. Her vibrant hair cascaded over the shoulders of a rich brown coat, which was worn open to reveal a crisp white blouse. The blouse was buttoned up most of the way, but still offered a generous glimpse of her cleavage. Most striking were her eyes - a startling shade of green that Harry recognized instantly. A smile spread across his face as he greeted the young woman, "Susan!"

The girl came to the front of the crowd, and Harry opened his arms allowing the girl to come forward and embrace him.  When they did several photos were taken but Harry ignored them for Susan’s voice, “Congrats on being drafted #1.  Any chance you can spare me a few words for tomorrow's edition of Witch Weekly?”

Offering the girl a smile he nodded, and glanced at Wood who shrugged, while his coach had already crossed into the next room.  Offering the girl his hand he said, “Come on, let’s talk somewhere else.  I know Ron and Hermione would love to see you.”

Susan took his offered hand with a blush and more questions were being shouted his way as he took her into the next room.  Coach Deverell looked at Harry in surprise, and Harry quickly explained, “Susan Bones is a friend from school.  She was in my defense group at Hogwarts and fought with us at the Battle of Hogwarts.  Figured I could spare a few exclusive words for her.”

The Coach shrugged offering the teen a tight smile, “Very well, lad.  Make sure you get your rest though.  We are done here for tonight.  Go celebrate with your friends and family.  You have earned your spot, make sure you don’t listen to any of those sods in the media.  No offense of course Miss Bones.”

“None taken.” The woman chuckled.

“Practice in two days, Potter!  Don’t be late.” The coach offered his hand to Harry and he took it with a feeling of pride swelling in his chest.

The older gentleman's departure left Harry in the company of Susan and Oliver. A brief, awkward silence settled over the group, broken only by Oliver's wry grin. It was evident that the man's exit had disrupted the flow of their previous conversation.

Finally, Wood, with a hint of amusement in his voice, spoke up, "So, where were we planning on getting pissed?" His question was a casual attempt to bridge the gap and steer the conversation back on track.

Harry and Susan chuckled at the man and Oliver shrugged, “This is a big moment!  We have to celebrate.  Let’s hit up the Puddle Jumper!  It’s a Quidditch Pub outside the stadium and most of the team will be there.  Guaranteed free drinks all night.”

Harry, his face lit up with a genuine smile, extended a hand towards the man. "That sounds like a perfect plan," he agreed enthusiastically. "Meet you there in fifteen? I just need to grab Ron and Hermione!"

The two men exchanged a firm handshake, a silent agreement passing between them. Oliver nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he returned Harry's smile. With a final wave to Susan, he promised to catch up with them both soon and then made his way through the bustling crowd, leaving Harry and Susan alone.

Harry's gaze softened as it rested on Susan. His initial surprise melted into genuine admiration. "Susan," he began, his voice warm and sincere, "you look absolutely stunning." A pause, then, with a playful lift of his eyebrows, "I had no idea you were working for Witch Weekly!" His tone was light, laced with curiosity rather than judgment. He tilted his head slightly, his expression a mixture of intrigue and surprise. "Last I heard, you were set on becoming an Auror."

A light blush dusted Susan's cheeks at Harry's unexpected compliment. She took his offered arm, her touch hesitant yet trusting. "Yes, well..." she began, her voice laced with a hint of wistfulness, "things change." A small sigh escaped her lips. "After the Battle... well, let's just say I wanted to do something that didn't involve constantly fighting with my wand." Her smile was tinged with sadness, a reflection of the shadows the war had cast over their lives.

“I am sure with some of these members of the media it still comes out its holster fairly often.” Harry joked.

The girl laughed, “Oh, you have no idea.”

The girl paused for a moment, her eyes flickering with a mix of uncertainty and respect for the celebratory atmosphere. A small, hesitant smile played on her lips as she spoke, "I understand that this is a special moment for you and your team. I wouldn't want to intrude on your celebrations."

She tilted her head thoughtfully, "If you'd like, you could give me a quick statement or a few words about the draft. I can take them back to my editors tomorrow morning, and then you can get back to enjoying the evening with your new team."

Making a dismissive gesture Harry grinned at the girl, “Come celebrate with us!  You are more than welcome.  Sounds like free drinks and a lot of fun, and I can get you some good quotes, or answer any of your questions over a few drinks.”

Susan's initial uncertainty quickly vanished, replaced by a warm smile that spread across her face. "Alright, Harry," she conceded with a hint of amusement, "You've got yourself a deal." Her voice took on a celebratory tone, "After all, we have good reason to celebrate. It's not every day that an old classmate achieves the top spot in the Quidditch draft!"

Faking a chest wound Harry put his hand over his heart, “I hope I am more than just an old classmate to you?”

Susan chuckled softly but didn't respond verbally. Instead, she looped her arm back through Harry's, allowing him to guide her back towards the conference room. Ron and Hermione were waiting for them, their faces lit up with broad smiles.

The couple effusively greeted Susan, then once again enveloped Harry in a warm, congratulatory hug. Their pride was palpable, and conversation quickly turned to their next destination. Harry mentioned a pub that Oliver had recommended, and the group readily agreed to meet there.

With Susan still on his arm, Harry advised her to hold on tight as they prepared to apparate back to Puddletown. Susan's grip tightened instinctively, a mixture of anticipation and nerves flickering across her face. Harry offered her a reassuring smile before giving the command, and with a slight pop and a whoosh of displaced air, they vanished from the conference room to the home of his new team.