Epilogue: After Hours

Disclaimer: All characters property of entities other than myself, though I tossed in a few random names of individuals who exist for the sole purpose of filling out the Slytherin Quidditch roster. Still not getting paid.

He wasn’t really surprised when Albus Severus Potter showed up late that night.

“I suppose it is too much to ask that you mind your curfew for once,” he said. He snatched his foot back from the edge of the curtain and reminded himself not to let his guard down in the late hours.

“I mind it frequently,” young Potter said winningly. “There’s ten minutes yet until curfew and a four minute walk back to the common room, tops. That’s five to six minutes, give or take, for me to catch you up on tryouts, sir. Of course, if you aren’t interested, I suppose I ought to simply trot off to bed.”

“You, young man, are on the platform for the express train to Detention,” he said irritably. No, damn it, he couldn’t quite bring himself to send the brat packing.

“There’s still time to get tickets for another,” Potter replied. “So, no surprises—no one budged Stebbins, Bowles, or Cahill from the Chaser spots, though Cahill’s elbow is looking a little stiff these days. Gould and Michaels were the only ones worth picking as alternates. One of them will suit well enough when we lose Stebbins end of year—which I expect we will, since he may not be bright enough to be Captain, but he’s never been held back yet. Pitkin’s too slow to make a Seeker, but he’s got the makings of a Chaser if he’s willing to re-train and try again next season. Rankin and Kent got picked for Beaters. With any luck, one’ll drop in the first game and be replaced with Rose, so I’ll actually stand a chance of surviving to Christmas hols.”

He couldn’t help a small editorial noise at that. Rankin was all right, but Kent was dense enough to bend light around him. He was big, too.

Potter continued without acknowledging it. “Dunstan’s Keeper; not much to recommend him but his arms, so it’s up to the Chasers and Yours Truly to win it before he lets too many through. If I need a break, Snidge’ll nail it,” he finished, radiating self-satisfaction.

“This may come as something of a shock to you, Potter, but being the Seeker does not make the school, nor the team, yours.” Bloody Potter. It didn’t help that his assessment jibed uncannily well with Davis’—and his own, for that matter.

Potter proved smugly unfazed. The professor rather wished he’d paid more attention to the Weasley girl while she’d been his student; he was at a loss to determine how the little dunderhead kept his cool, given his father. “Maybe so. But I’ve already got my two best friends on the team as alternates, and they’ll both be starting before the season’s over.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a prodigy in Divination,” he said dryly. “What, pray, is your specialty? Cartomancy? Scrying? Wait… wait, it’s coming to me… Tasseology.”

“I don’t know that I have any particular skills in that area. I’ve just got a few things planned. See, I’m not nearly as interested in playing as I am in running the show.”

“No one is going to let a first year captain the team.” He only managed to refrain from adding, I would step out of this frame and hex the daylight out of Davis if she were fool enough to allow it.

Al grinned slyly. “I don’t need to be named Captain,” he said. “Bowles’ confidence is shaky; his imagination is nonexistent; and he’s convinced my name has… Magic powers.”

That was an unfortunately apt assessment of Bowles. He was a very solid Chaser with a drive to win, a good knowledge of the game, and the discipline to keep his nose clean on and off the field. Professor Davis had done well to make him team Captain. But he was the least imaginative Slytherin since Greg Goyle, and equally, better suited to follow than to lead. It might... not be the worst idea for Potter to pull his strings on occasion.

He wondered if it was time to look for a painting of a dragon and provoke the creature into putting him out of his misery.

The sly grin never budged. If anything, it was joined by a particular gleam in his eye that said he meant more than he was telling, and Slytherin’s painted protector extraordinaire could not quite pin down that bit of intelligence with the powers at his oil-based disposal. This Potter was far more subtle than young Miss Weasley or the distressingly transparent Scorpius. “No, I don’t need to be the captain. I’d be happy to be the man behind the curtain.” He skipped down the corridor lightheartedly, somewhat undercutting his Machiavellian digressions. “Evening, sir,” he tossed carelessly over his shoulder as he turned the corner.

An irritated sigh fluttered the curtain. “And I thought his father was a living ball-ache.”

FIN

Note: Rose is still demanding, ‘Show me the Quidditch!’ and my own Scorpius read this in disappointment, opining that they actually ought to have played. So there is the possibility, however remote, of a spot of Quidditch tryouts in the future.

Update: A companion piece, 'Quidditch Trials,' is now posted.