Harry paced up and down the confines of his office. His hair matted and more unruly than ever while his shirt remained stained from the short duel in Diagon Alley. Walker sat in a chair, his face dark and shadowed. Neither had slept during the long night, instead both had been interrogating the three attackers while discussing possible motives.

Harry glanced at his colleague. Who would have guessed that James would end up dating Walker's daughter? Harry shook his head. He should start calling the man by his first name at some point, but he had been calling Harold Walker for years. Beside the name had become a small office joke that Harold had started himself.

"Did you pick up on anything I missed?" Harry asked for the hundredth time since entering the office.

Walker glanced at the pad and the scribbling quill that jotted down their conversation. "It doesn't really add up now does it?"

"No," Harry replied, feeling the tiredness. "But the coincidence! It's just been a few months since the Malfoy's release from Azkaban." He balled his hands into angry fists.

Walker nodded. "They would have the resources to dig up the truth behind James and Lily. But that is hardly proof, is it."

Harry grimaced. It had taken a lot to keep his children safe all these years, false names and subtle notice me not charms. Too many obsessed fanatics had hunted them over the years and Harry had been sure they had been found and imprisoned. That's why he'd allowed James and Lily to start going to Hogwarts, albeit under a different last name.

He walked to the window and stared out towards where the sun would rise in a few minutes. "You know as well as I do that we couldn't find any trace of dealings with Malfoy in their minds." Harry leaned his forehead against the cold window pane. "And I doubt Lucius or Draco would be foolish enough to deal with such low level thugs."

Harry agreed. "They would use the best. Wizards and witches that could cover their tracks." He turned to face Walker. "Any news from our informants?"

"All of them said the same. Neither Malfoys have been doing anything other than following the law."

Harry ground his teeth. "Doesn't mean they aren't having some clandestine meetings."

Walker nodded. "They are rather sneaky buggers those two. Still, no proof."

"I know that! But I can't help feel we're missing an important detail." Harry dropped into his chair. "What about last night was different? There must be something we can use."

"Nothing. James was with a… um… date, but he'd been to Diagon Alley a dozen times on his own."

Harry rubbed the place where his scar still lingered. "Are you sure about your informants?"

"Yes," Walker replied confidently. "Like I said, they all reported the same and I doubt even the Malfoys could turn them all."

"Do you think he can still be allowed to fly?" Harry asked his colleague.

Walker shifted uncomfortably. "I would prefer that he not take my daughter on public dates."

Harry grinned. "I doubt they'll want to date in your or our home."

Walker yawned and gestured for a change in topic. "I gather that if they found him hiding won't make a difference, unless you plan to lock him in the basement?" His eyebrow rose questioningly. Harry shook his head. "Flying is hardly going to make a difference and the stadium wards are pretty solid these days. Besides you flew during much worse times."

"It wasn't always fun you know."

"Never thought it was, but it's better than sitting in a house locked up for all eternity."

Walker stood and Harry followed. "Are you sure you like them dating?"

The man shrugged. "I've known for a while."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You could've told me."

The man laughed. "It was actually fun knowing a secret you didn't." The mirth faded. "Besides I felt it was James' place to tell you and I wouldn't have wanted Lydia to make a team because of connections."

Harry snorted. "She made it purely on talent and some luck with contracts."

Walker understood. "Finding a gap is almost as important as talent. That's how I got this job, isn't it."

"Perhaps, but you've earned your place since." Harry remembered his years at the Cannons with lacklustre veterans. "Trying to get rid of older players is not always easy, trust me." Harry walked to his friend. "So we are good?"

"I guess," the man replied. "It's their choice and I'm not about to become the evil father over something evidence suggests was merely a random event."

Harry didn't like random, but that's the only conclusion they could come up with. "Well, we should probably go home and see to our families."

"Lydia should be home already," Walker confirmed.

"Ginny took James home a few hours ago."

"That's good."

"Well good day then. See you in a week unless something else comes up."

Walker stumbled. "A week?" he questioned. "Aren't you worried about this?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "But I've got complete faith in this team. But I've got an important job to do."

"Which is?"

Harry only smiled as he left the office.

A couple of days after the attack Lydia flew aimlessly above the Harpies pitch. The soreness and bruises a dark memory. The warm day allowed her to wear a sleeveless green shirt and a pair of shorts. The heat helped to ease her mind, but her hands still shook, only stilled by gripping the broom's handle.

"You seem a bit twitchy?" An unfamiliar male voice said from behind.

She let out a sudden shriek and spun around to face the intruder. "How did you get…" the words trailed off when she actually noticed who the speaker in garish orange was. Dark thoughts vanished behind a wall of fangirl awe. It felt odd, but Potter exuded a calming influence. Her father had mentioned that before, but she had never believed it.

"Morning, Miss. Walker," he spoke in a friendly voice, but his eyes were filled with endless mischief just like his wife, though his face held a few more lines of worry. "I'm sorry for surprising you."

Her head shook forcing her ponytail to sway about behind her. "I should've been more focused, Mr. Potter."

"Harry," he corrected as he held out his hand. "I'm just Harry."

She swallowed, people called him Harry in classrooms and pubs, but never had she imagined to call him by his name in person. Ginny was the person everyone wanted to be, but Harry would always be the mystery constantly shrouded in unknowns. The greatest player to have ever graced the skies above a pitch and the saviour of Britain and now even this high in the sky he exuded calm and showed utter mastery.

"Have you come to talk about the other night, H-Harry?" she managed to ask. The question left her throat dry. "You now… um… investigating the attack." She looked away. "My father said you might want to talk to me… um… personally…" Her hand shot to her cheek. "Or is this about James, you know I wasn't… I didn't know." The last part came out in a rush.

He began to chuckle softly. "No, none of that." he answered slowly. "Your father is busy handling the investigation and I have full confidence in him." Lydia shifted a bit nervously in on her broom. "Ginny and I were discussing your training one evening and we thought you might need a little something different."

"Different?" she questioned, daring not to hope.

He grinned. "We decided it might help if I spent a few days teaching you the ropes."

Her eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be wearing something a little less… um… noticeable?"

He laughed louder this time in a manner quite similar to James. "The grounds are magically protected from prying eyes when needed. Too many people try to see practise sessions." As he spoke he dug into his pocket and removed something that made her tense, a Golden Snitch.

Lydia let out a soft moan. "Is that all Seekers can think about? You do realise that I'm a Chaser?"

He cocked his head to the side and pointed an accusing finger at her broom. "You are sitting on a broom, right?"

"Yes?" she replied hesitantly.

"And you use it to fly, don't you?" he continued.

"Of course." Her temper rising slightly.

"And you chase after little balls that fly about?"

"I wouldn't call the Quaffle small, but I do chase them around, yes."

He let go of his broom and clapped his hands together. "Then this little game should be perfect for a Chaser."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Knowing that he was her boyfriend's father and legend kept her mouth from saying anything rude, but she wanted to. A little bit of catch and a chance to throw a Quaffle through a hoop or two would be great, but no. Seekers would forever, it seemed, be pushing her into catching bloody Snitches.

"It's difficult," he said suddenly.

She pivoted her broom as gracefully as possible to face him. "Difficult?" she asked in confusion.

He stared off into the distance and the breeze ruffled his hair a little. The sun had yet to rise far into the blue sky. "Being held back from what you think you need or want. I can see it in your eyes and red cheeks. You are frustrated, perhaps angry. You want to practice with a Quaffle and I'm not letting you"

"Yes," she answered honestly, feeling ashamed, but her shyness was fading fast. "What use is a Chaser that cannot catch or throw?"

The corner of his lip curled up slightly. "More useful than a Chaser that cannot fly?"

Her nostrils flared a little. "Are you saying I can't fly?"

He shook his head. "You're the best flyer to leave Hogwarts in years, but Ginny tells me you're still average for the league."

She could feel her shoulders sag. "Average," the word left her mouth softly.

He pivoted effortlessly around the front point of his broom. A motion Lydia couldn't even fathom doing herself, yet it remained controlled and the performance absentminded while he stared down at the witch riding a broom above the Harpy's store. "Average is not bad, Lydia," he whispered. "Most players spend years in the second division to become average, you only spent a week." He looked back up at her, grinning. "And I'm here to push you over that mark."

Her eyes caught the glint of gold in his hand. "With a Snitch?"

He shrugged. "A tool, but yes it is an evil Snitch." He held it between thumb and forefinger. The buzz of the little ball's wings filled the silence. "A Quaffle, like a Bludger, flies in a path set by players. A Snitch on the other hand has a mind of its own. Once the chase begins you have to anticipate its every move. Your body and by extension your broom has to be ready for any change of direction at any moment. The change could be infinitesimal, it could be vast." His piercing green eyes stared into hers.

"And this helps me be a Chaser by…" She let the words hang in the air.

"At Hogwarts you had time to react to a trick or other change. In the League you have no time. The difference between a great Chaser and the one you forget about at the end of the season is in how they anticipated and then reacted to events that have yet to transpire." He held the Snitch up in the air then let go. "You can fly fast, you can turn sharply, but can you turn before your opponent throws the Quaffle? Can you react to a movement they'd yet to make?"

"Impossible," she stated. "How can a person do anything before an opponent moves?"

He rocked his head back and forth as if considering her question. "Some actions can be seen in the smallest of movements, but in the heat of a game that is naturally not always possible."

"Then what do you want from me?" she demanded. He was worse than Ginny with roundabout ways of getting to a point. "How can rushing after something I can't predict help me predict my opponents?"

"A Snitch's movements can never be predicted." His eyes shone with excitement. "Never."

She snorted. "I've seen enough replays of you reacting before the Snitch turned."

"Have you?" he asked, genuine surprise in his voice. "Because I've never reacted before a Snitch flinched."

"But…"

That mischievous glint in his gaze returned. "Reacting fast enough creates the impression of moving before an event occurred."

The golden ball fluttered away. "I don't need you to catch the Snitch. I need you to keep reacting faster and faster." Both of them stared at the Snitch growing smaller as it sped away.

She gripped her broom understanding starting to bloom in her mind. "Are we going to start?"

His head shook. "Some difficult things to swallow first."

"What would you call that whole speech then?"

"Theory," he answered. "Now I need to change the way you sit on that broom."

"What!" she screeched. "I've been sitting like this for years."

"Would walking into a wall for seven years make it the best way to leave a room?"

Her brow furrowed. "No, but I would hardly equate my position to walking into a wall."

He gestured her backward. "You're sitting too far forward. Scoot back half a foot."

"Are you…" she began but decided that arguing would get her nowhere. She shifted backward. "This feels wrong. I can hardly keep it level!"

He ignored her cries of horror. "It should, it'll probably feel extremely unstable. The front will be light and twitchy, the rear heavy."

Her broom bobbed about for a minute until she managed to get it under control again. It was then that she noticed that Harry, just like Ginny and James, sat much further back in their brooms than most people.

"You noticed," he stated.

"It suddenly dawned on me that you, James and Ginny sit further back. Do others fly like this as well?"

"You'll see most professional players move further back. At Hogwarts they let you sit where you are the most stable, which is perfect for the average Joe who needs to fly to the grocery store. It is the worst thing for a Quidditch player. By moving back you can lean lower over the broom, which will help your speed. By making the front more nimble you can pivot around more easily. It does let the back end slide out a little, but brooms can only push forward and the sooner you get the rear around the sooner it can push you in the right direction. Almost like a rally car."

"A what?"

Harry frowned. "Oh, Muggle reference, never mind."

Lydia huffed a little. "Why didn't Ginny teach me this?"

"She had to get you fit enough first. Your core muscles would have been too weak to handle the more awkward position. Even after a week you're still struggling. It takes strength and endurance to maintain this position, but once you get the hang of it you'll be much better for it."

Her anger had still not faded. "James could have given me a pointer or two."

Harry shook his head. "The boy doesn't really know what he's doing. He learned from copying us, and I doubt he even realises that you were not flying optimally." He rubbed his scar. "The problem is that James is like me, a bit of a manufactured player, but you, like Ginny, are a natural born flier."

Her cheeks reddened at the unexpected praise.

"Are you ready to try it out?" he asked.

She gave a firm nod. The next few hours were the worst in living memory. She flayed about in the air never once able to get her broom fully under control. Harry would occasionally fly up to her, practically mocking her with the ease of his movements. By the end of the day, however, she had to admit that everything Harry had said was unfortunately the truth.

That thought alone kept her upright as she Apparated home, there was hope. With a groan, she stumbled through the front door of her parent's home. Her stomach muscles, tense from being used all day, protested as she collapsed onto the couch.

A knock came from the front door.

James arrived outside Lydia's house. After taking a moment to straighten his clothes he knocked on the door. It was promptly opened by her mother.

"Oh, it's you, James." She opened the door further and stepped to the side. "Come in." Her voice slightly more subdued than before.

He entered. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he managed to say despite a dry throat. "Is…"

She smiled and the called. "Lydia! James is here."

Her call was answered with a soft shriek and a muffled. "Give me a minute."

Her mother faced James. "Tea?"

He thought for a moment. "A cup would be great, thank you."

She studied him for a second and then went to the kitchen. The kettle boiled quickly, magic helped speed things up, but for some reason he had always preferred the Muggle appliances at home. In less than a minute, she returned with a steaming cup and gestured for him to sit. He did and quickly began fidgeting under her intense stare.

"I… I am terribly sorry for… you know…"

"Endangering the life of my daughter?" she finished.

James paled. "I… well… perhaps…"

"Harold is working with your father on the case. They assure me that you had no idea that any danger existed." Her voice sounded slightly strained and her expression had grown stern.

He nodded. "I'll try my best to not let anything like that happen again."

"I'm sure you won't." Her posture relaxed a little. "Besides it does seem like it was nothing more than a bunch of lowlife thugs."

James sat a little straighter. "Oh… I thought."

"Perhaps, perhaps not, but do try to not wander too far in the future."

To his great relief steps came hurrying down the stairs. Lydia appeared with her damp hair spilling over her shoulders. "Is it alright if James comes upstairs?"

Her mother shrugged. "It's your room and you are a grown girl." Her gaze rested on him and he nodded in understanding.

He gulped down the hot tea, almost scolding his tongue and then hurried out the room, up the stairs and into Lydia's bedroom. His foot barely entered the room before stopping. He gulped and a different kind of nervousness kicked in. This was a girl's room, not his sister's, his girlfriend's. The door closed and an eerie silence followed, an awkward silence.

"So…" Lydia broke the tension. "Welcome to my room." He swallowed before glancing about. It wasn't as pink as Lily's nor was it covered with posters. It was rather plain and boring really. "Not what you were expecting?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… I wasn't really expecting anything. I haven't really given it much thought."

"But?" She dropped down onto her bed and then tucked her legs beneath her body before hugging an oversized pillow.

"It's just different. Lily's room is… you know, different." She glanced down at the floor and her hair fell across her face. "But it's better. Lily's room is pink and filled with soft toys and all kinds of other girly things."

Her head jerked up. "So are you saying I'm not girly?"

He caught a hint of warning in her voice and frowned. "Well, no." She narrowed her eyes. "Uh, yes, but I like the more um, non-girly side of you."

"I'll try to find a compliment in there somewhere."

He awkwardly stepped towards the only chair in the room and sat. "How was your training today?" he asked in an attempt to change the topic. Fashion and apparently home decor were topics he should stay well away from.

"Your father started teaching me today," she answered.

James almost choked. "What?" Then he ducked his head. "Please tell me he didn't do anything embarrassing?"

"No, he just had me chasing a Snitch all day," she grumbled. "A Snitch!"

James laughed softly. "He and mum can be a little obsessive about the winged ball."

"Exactly! I mean all I want to do is throw a Quaffle around some, but no, I have to keep swooping around after a Snitch! It's insane."

"Hey, that's what I do every day."

She hugged her pillow tighter. "And you are barking mad, bonkers! The speed at which he had me diving! Reckless!" James could hardly stop himself from laughing. "Stop laughing at me!" She grabbed another pillow and tossed it at him.

He caught it. "It's just that you are cute when you start getting angry." Her bottom lip poked out. "Even more so when you start pouting."

"James," her voice grew dangerous.

He held up his hands. "I'm sorry, but I'm sure he had his reasons."

She turned her head to stare out the window and let out a huff. "He wants me to fly faster, react faster, think faster, be faster in everything, and… and be more nimble." She leaned over her bed and grabbed the broom she'd used at school. "And he forced me to sit further back on the broom. Do you know how hard it is to fly a broom sitting so far back?"

"Well…"

"Of course you do! I mean you have been flying like that your entire life. Growing up with the two best Seekers in history helps. Poor me and the other people who are forced to learn from amateurs that just want to make sure that we don't fall off!" She threw her arms into the air, both the pillow and broom now lay discarded on the floor.

"Well…"

"I mean how am I supposed to compete with the likes of you and others who have years of experience and training! I've only just come from Hogwarts where they taught me nothing. You think you are decent and then, WAM, you get handed a brutal lesson in humility!"

"It's…"

"Have you seen him on a broom? Of course you have. He's so nimble, precise, perfect…" she sighed. "And she… she is so graceful and in command…" She collapsed and stared up at the ceiling. "There is no way I'll ever be that good." Wet streaks began to roll down the side of her face. "They keep telling me that I'm good. That I've got the ability to be great, but…" She wiped at her face. "Look at me." More tears rolled down. "I'm a wreck. One day of flying with The Potter and I'm a total wreck." She sniffed and then grabbed a box of tissues next to her bed. "What will I be like after a game?"

James stood awkwardly. This was unknown territory from him. Lydia had always been so in control. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gingerly reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are great."

She blew loudly into the tissue before staring up at him with red eyes. "What would you know?"

"Me? Not much," he agreed.

"Exactly…"

He moved his hand and placed a finger over her lips. She stopped talking and stared up at him with wide eyes. "But I've heard my mother talk about you. Before she knew we were dating. I'll admit that she is worried that you are too young, but she does truly believe that you have what it takes to be a great Chaser. She once called you a rough diamond, coming from her that is a big compliment." He removed his finger and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. "And if my father has come to help that means they are determined to turn you into the best diamond in the league." James sat up and leaned on his right arm. "Honestly, my father has never once helped a Harpy, well except for mum."

Lydia sat up, her tears had stopped, but her eyes were still damp. "Does she really think that much of me?"

James nodded honestly. "Of course, there is no other reason for her taking such a big risk with you. Yes, you are inexperienced, but all greats have to start somewhere."

She bit her bottom lip for a moment and then surprised him by pulling back and standing. "I'm tired and I've got a long day tomorrow."

James stood awkwardly. "Um… ok, I'll see you later."

She gave a small smile. "Later."

Lydia stood alone in her room as James' footsteps faded down the stairs. She crossed her arms and hugged herself. It was still bright outside and yet it felt cold and dark in her room. Her hands began to shake as she slid down the side of her bed and onto the floor.

The streets were cast in shadow, everything so black. Her forehead fell forwards to rest against her knees and her arms wrapped around her shins. The thin thread of hope from before barely remained.

She raised her head and lifted her hand. A callused palm and fingers glared back. How much time had she spent pursuing something that ultimately meant nothing? As a Ravenclaw her marks should have been higher. As a Quidditch player her flying should be better. Her fist clenched and she felt like striking out at something, anything. It had been for the best to send James away, she'd only hurt him further if he stayed.

Her anger flared once again. How could he not have told her? Being the son of Harry and Ginny, how many times had he laughed at her ineptness. She could clearly see James and Lily laughing at her, humouring her talents.

Warm wetness flowed down her cheeks and she tried to brush them away with a sleeve. The tears would not stop. She sniffed loudly and tried to laugh at herself, to no avail. Her head leaned backwards against the bed and she stared up at the ceiling. The afternoon sun filtered through her window and fell on her face. Its warmth brought some measure of comfort.

Mustering her strength she pushed herself up from the ground. "There is hope," she whispered to herself. "Harry said so." She wiped at her face again. "He said I'm a natural, like Ginny." Her head shook. "No, that's no possible."

"Dinner's ready!" Her mother called from downstairs.

Lydia blinked in surprise at how long she'd been sitting alone in her room. After taking a deep breath she replied. "Give me a minute." Lydia hurried to tidy her hair and wash her face. Looking into the mirror she saw someone that didn't look like a mad witch.

A young girl, barely fourteen, reached out and turned the dials of her parents wireless. It made the usually high pitched noises until a very familiar voice boomed from the magical noisemakers attached to the sides.

"Welcome to our pre-pre-season report," Barnaby's voice sounded slightly hollow as always. "With me is the never retiring and ever aging Peter."

The girl smiled as she hugged a pillow to her chest before reaching out for the Quidditch Monthly that had just arrived.

"I will retire!" Peter practically shouted back. "When I'm re-ady and actually old!"

The girl giggled at the two. Her hand paused above the cover of the magazine. She didn't really like the cover as it didn't have any Harpies on it.

"Are you listening to those old fools again?" her father asked jokingly when he entered the room. She nodded vigorously. "Can't blame you," he smiled. "It's just a pity you never got to hear old Mad Bobby in action."

"Or when you keel over from overexcitement," Barnaby shot right back.

A loud sniff that could only have been Peter sounded loudly through the noise makers. "Never mind my retirement age. Shouldn't we be getting to the really interesting topics of discussion?"

"Ah, yes. The pre-pre-season roundup."

"Yes," Peter sounded more excited now and they heard his hands be clapped together. "Some interesting news that has not been reported in the latest editions of all your favourite monthlies."

The girl looked up, suddenly eager. "Indeed! Most coaches have been tight lipped about their squads, but news is starting to leak and as you all know once the dam breaks…"

"Yes, yes," Peter interrupted. "We all know that Merlin breaks loose at some point, but this news throws all the preseason bookies figures into complete chaos."

"An understatement if ever there was one," Barnaby replied. The girl could almost see him nodding his head.

"Yes, most troubling since I already placed a considerable…"

"Peter," Barnaby coughed.

"Excuse me." Peter chuckled, embarrassed. "The first spot of news is that the Cannons have signed a new kid straight out of Hogwarts, a certain James Evans."

"We all knew that!" Barnaby interjected. "But we never expected that he will be starting his first game."

"Indeed not!" Peter said in a horrified voice. "Fresh blood is rarely sent to the prowling wolves before sinking their teeth in the minor leagues."

"It is indeed a rare event and one that promises excitement."

"But will it end in heartbreak or joy for the Cannon's."

"Only time will tell," Barnaby said in a sagely voice as if he knew the future.

"Eyewitnesses have spotted the young lad practising for hours on end at their stadium, but his talent and potential is anyone's guess."

"Hogwarts Professors have informed me that he is a very talented flyer."

Peter snorted. "Of course he is, but so are the other eleven Seekers in the League and they have years of experience."

Barnaby breathed in. "This takes me back to the year Ginny Potter stepped up to the plate straight from Hogwarts. Terrifyingly small and frail looking thing she was back then."

Peter sighed. "But she packed one hell of a punch! Will we see the same from this young man that's been signed?"

"Only…"

"Don't you dare say that again!" Peter bellowed.

"Of course I wasn't."

"So what were you going to say, Barnaby?" Peter asked.

"Only the Cannon's Coach knows the full potential of young Evans." Barnaby tried and failed to sound innocent.

"Huh," Peter huffed. "Well there is more news, and news that's even more shocking and almost distressful."

"Very distressing. This news goes to show that no player is safe from the Coaches' Killing Curse."

"I doubt they saw the glint of green before it struck them," Peter added solemnly.

The little girl's eyes grew wider as she leaned closer to the wireless. Even her father, sitting forward, had forgotten about the newspaper in his hand.

"Coach Potter, though doing well to get to the final last season, has gone completely ballistic." Barnaby's voice rose in pitch. "Mental!"

"I do wonder sometimes what goes through that lady's mind, because this is one hell of a decision."

"But her instincts are good and I can see the logic behind this choice no matter how crazy it mind seem."

Peter cleared his throat. "My dear listeners and other Quidditch fanatics, Coach Potter cancelled the contracts of all three her Chasers and signed three new players."

"What!" the girl cried out. "All three?"

"I can almost hear those astonished cries coming from every home," Peter continued. "Yes, she has scrapped her entire Chaser lineup, but the news is not all bad and genius that is all thing Potter shines in the darkness. Even if that glow is still faint, very faint and the warmth of summer sun is fading…"

Peter was interrupted by Barnaby. "The Harpies Coach has contracted two of the most talented Chasers in the league. We all know and love Elisabeth from Puddlemere United. She is the daughter of multiple League winning Captain for the Harpies, Victoria, who famously flew alongside Potter years ago. The girl's got real talent and perhaps wants to emulate her mother's career at the Harpies. Those are big shoes to fill."

Peter took over. "The other is Cheryl from Pride of Portree. Like Elisabeth, she is still quite young, but her talents moved Portree up into fifth position at the end of last season. The team will feel the loss keenly as they will have to really on their star Keeper, the best in the league, to keep the score low."

Barnaby stepped in. "But I can hear the question on everyone's lips. Who is the third Chaser? The answer, unfortunately, is that we do not know. None of the lower league teams have hinted at any of their Chasers being signed by the Harpies."

"This leads me to believe that the mystery girl must be signing from Hogwarts. I heard more than whisper of a talented young flyer who just graduated."

The young girl nodded her head. "I bet it's Lydia!" She turned to face her father. "She flew for us! I want to be like her!"

The father ruffled the girl's hair. "Do you think you'll make the team this year?" he asked.

"Definitely!" the girl proclaimed. "I'm the best, just wait."

He smiled. "That's my girl."

"In other news," Barnaby said from the wireless. "The Arrows keep their League winning team from last season. They form a powerful unit with all the bases covered. Ambrose, their Seeker, is the best in the business. Only Puddlemere can match their Chasers, the Bat's Beaters alone are able to keep them honest and Portrees Keeper has the best chance of blocking their throws. But I digress, that awaits our preseason discussion which will air just before the start of the season."

Peter continued. "Puddlemere United, who finished third also retains its squad. They might not be the all-round behemoth of the Arrows, but their Chasers and Beaters form a powerful combination."

"And finally for today. Portree lose their star Chaser, but the foundations for a strong team were already laid last season. I personally hope to see the team grow. We need some fresh blood at the top of the rankings."

The little girl huffed as she crossed her arms. "As long as the stay at least one place below the Harpies they can do what they want."

"That's all for our quick pre-pre-season update."

"Until next time."

The room fell silent. "This should be a most interesting year," her father said. "What would you say if I got us some tickets for the Harpies Cannon's game."

The girl pouted. "I'm at Hogwarts."

"It's over a weekend. Perhaps I can steal you for a day." He smiled. "Headmistress McGonagall has always been quite partial to the old game if memory serves me correctly."

The girl's eyes widened then narrowed. "You just want to see your team walk over mine!"

"Never!" he said in a failed attempt to sound innocent.

Her mother entered the room. "Just remember to get three tickets dear. There are two Harpy supporters in this house."

"Of course, dear," he said, obviously not looking forward to the game if the Cannons were going to lose. The girl gave a very satisfied nod while barely managing to contain her excitement.