Chapter Text
“Dan, come on.”
“No.”
“Think of the Quidditch Cup…”
“I don’t want to think about the Quidditch Cup,” Dan says, patiently. “Look, unless you’re gonna tell me anything about the phases of Jupiter can you drop it? This essay’s due in tomorrow.”
With an almighty sigh, Jack drops into the seat opposite Dan’s. Dan isn’t looking, but he’s pretty sure Jack’s pulling the same face he does when Louise is beating him at chess and he’s trying to make her feel bad about it.
“Dan,” He says.
“You promised me that I wasn’t even the substitute,” Dan reminds him. “You were like, ‘oh Dan it’s not an official thing, you’ll never actually have to play’.”
When Dan finally looks up from his parchment, Jack’s still pulling the face, like a sad cat left out in the rain.
“I thought you wouldn’t,” He says. “But Casey left last year and now Emma’s got dragon pox, and we need you.”
“The Quidditch season doesn’t start for weeks,” Dan points out, after a moment's thought. “She might be ok by then.”
Jack waves a hand at him and says, “No good. The other teams are already organising practices, we can't be behind. I want to get a solid strategy in place as soon as possible.”
Dan stares at the light glinting off his ink jar, wondering if there’s any way he can get out of this.
The last thing he wants is to play Quidditch. Honestly, the last thing.
When he’d first tried out for the team (stupid, clueless third year that he was) he’d been keen, excited, spurred on by a few goals he’d scored over the summer, playing at home with friends. The actual reality of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was a completely different thing, and even though Dan’s tryout hadn’t gone as badly as some people’s – he distinctly remembers there’d been a second year boy who’d flown straight into a goal hoop and knocked himself out – it’d been pretty bad. Bad enough that he didn’t make the team, at least.
When Jack had come to him later and told him he’d be the emergency substitute, Dan had sort of assumed he was only saying it because Louise had prodded him into it to make Dan feel better. He only realised Jack wasn’t joking a few months later when he ended up playing a few games because one of the chasers had to go home for a few weeks.
They’d been utterly, completely disastrous. It’s been years and Dan’s still recovering from the humiliation. He remembers going to Jack afterwards and making him promise (swearing on his broom and his complete collection of chocolate frog cards and his signed poster of the Weird Sisters) that Dan wouldn’t ever have to play Quidditch ever again. This was a promise that Jack had upheld.
That is, until now.
“This is because you’re too lazy to hold tryouts, isn’t it,” Dan says, eventually.
“No,” Jack says, outraged. Then, after a pause, he flops down onto the table and groans, “I hate tryouts.”
“Oh my God,” Dan says.
“What?” Jack says, obviously trying not to smile. “You have to sit outside in the cold all day and tell a bunch of first years to get lost until next year…Ugh.” He pulls a face. “And anyway, why should I hold tryouts when I have a perfectly good emergency substitute right here?”
He’s poking Dan on the arm across the table, grinning at him.
Dan rolls his eyes.
“Have you and Dean been practicing Memory Charms again?” He says. “I’m not any good.”
“You’re good enough,” Jack says, stubbornly. Dan’s about to say, why don’t you ask Dean’s nose if it agrees when Jack continues, hurriedly, “You’re better than a forfeit. Please.”
And Dan just knows that Jack isn’t gonna let this go, and if he says no he’ll end up having similar conversations with Dean or maybe even Louise until he’s forced to agree.
“I thought you guys were screwed anyway,” He says, slowly. “Phil’s their Keeper, right? Nothing ever gets past him.”
Jack scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“He should’ve been a seeker. Gets distracted by shiny stuff.”
“Just because he plays a better game than you,” Dan says in a sing-song voice.
Jack pulls a face and prods Dan’s arm again.
“Whose side are you on?”
“This side,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying, Phil’s got a good team, and bringing me in isn’t gonna make you any stronger.”
“You could always charm him for us,” Jack suggests. “Throw him off his game.”
“Right, yeah,” Dan says sarcastically. “Midway through the match I’ll just Summon his broom to me and he'll fall off and then Gryffindor’ll automatically win.”
“I didn’t mean that kind of charm,” Jack says, under his breath. When Dan frowns at him, he adds, “Will you do it? Please, Dan.” He pauses. “I have a box of sugar quills with your name on it?”
Dan sighs.
“Make it two boxes and you’ve got a deal,” He says.
-
“You?” Louise says, incredulously, staring at him across the table.
They're holed up in the library writing yet another stupid essay (this one about practical and legal uses for poisons, seriously, who needs Potions?), and Dan just finished filling her in about how he's the Gryffindor team's only hope. Sort of.
“Me,” Dan says, sucking on the end of a sugar quill.
“But I thought that wasn’t a real thing,” Louise says. “I thought you were like, the substitute’s substitute’s substitute.” She frowns. “I thought you made Jack swear you wouldn’t have to play again on everything he loves?”
“That’s what I said!” Dan says, glad he’s not the only one who remembers. “I did! But he’s too lazy to hold tryouts.” He shrugs. “I mean, we won’t win anyway. Hufflepuff are too good, Phil’s all, like, super focused captain, isn’t he?”
Louise looks thoughtful for a moment.
“You might win,” She says, fairly. Dan gives her a look. “What? You might! What d’you want me to say, you’re gonna lose and it’s gonna be really embarrassing?”
“No,” Dan huffs. “Yeah,” He adds, after a second, when Louise raises her eyebrows pointedly. “Let me wallow in my pessimism, ok?”
“I’ll have one of those if you’re gonna wallow,” Louise says, reaching for the box of sugar quills that’s sitting open by Dan’s jar of ink. She licks it and pulls a face. “You’ve sold your soul for rotten teeth.”
“Yep,” Dan says, grinning at her.
They’re quiet for a moment, and Dan casts his eyes over the dog-eared pages of his Potions book, margins crammed with swirls and scribbles and stick men, a testament to how little Dan actually pays attention in class.
“Don’t tell Jack I said this,” Louise says, suddenly. “Or Zoe, but – is it bad that I kind of want Hufflepuff to win?”
Dan grins because he knows what she means immediately.
“No,” He says. “Same, really.”
They smile at each other, conspiratorial.
“Phil deserves it,” She says, with conviction. "He's so sweet."
“And it’s his last chance,” Dan reminds her.
“God, I keep forgetting it’s his last year,” Louise says. She pulls a face, and Dan wonders if she’s trying to get her head around a Hogwarts without Phil in it. Dan knows how she feels.
“Maybe Jack wants him to win too,” He suggests, setting down his sugar quill for a second in favour of a real one, pulling his parchment closer so he can squint at the few words he's already written. “I mean, he could easily hold tryouts for a temporary chaser but instead he asks me?”
Louise rolls her eyes at him.
“Still wallowing?”
Dan shrugs.
“You’re not that bad,” Louise tells him. “Honestly. That one game you played was...it was really good.”
“Was that the time where I broke my leg and someone else's nose, or the other time?” Dan says, dryly.
“The other time,” Louise says, giving him a look. “You scored, remember?”
“By accident,” Dan says, with the air of someone who's had this conversation a lot. Louise shakes her head at him, so he continues. “It was an accident, honestly, I didn't mean to.”
“But you still did,” Louise says.
Dan pulls a face.
“At least nobody's expecting me to be good,” He says, gloomily. “Maybe that's Jack's entire strategy – at least if I'm playing the crowd'll get a good show, right?”
“You'll be fine,” Louise insists. “Me and Zoe can help you train like last time, if you want?”
Dan's scowl softens into a smile at that. There's nothing Louise dislikes more than playing Quidditch, Dan knows, and last time her and Zoe had helped him train it’d mostly involved Zoe zipping around the pitch performing impressive swoops and swerves while Louise shivered on a borrowed broom, wearing so many scarves she could barely see over them. When they’d actually got round to practicing it’d mostly involved Dan missing the goal hoops by miles and Louise’s nose slowly turning red in the cold. Zoe had managed to practice a few decent dives swooping down to fetch the Quaffle every time Dan missed, but apart from that the whole thing had been a dead loss.
“Nah, it's ok, I’ll just do the group practices,” Dan says, grin widening when Louise is obviously relieved. Anyway, the way Dan sees it, Jack knows full well he's a terrible player, so there's no point in him working hard to get better. If Jack wanted a decent chaser he'd have worked to find one instead of settling for Dan.
“Ok,” Louise says. She adjusts her essay on the desk and adds, “Ten more minutes of this before we give up?”
“Ok,” Dan says.
-
Sometimes Dan has this annoying habit of waking up on Saturdays when it's still dark outside. Admittedly sometimes he doesn't go to sleep until morning’s creeping over the treetops, but these days by the time the weekend rolls around he's so tired after a full week of trying to finish essays and being constantly reminded that this is nowhere near as hard as NEWT level work that he ends up going to bed early – only to wake up at the crack of dawn.
Usually he tries to read himself back to sleep by wandlight, but on this particular day his eyes skitter uselessly over the words and he ends up shoving the book back on his bedside table after about five minutes. The dormitory's quiet apart from the others breathing and occasionally snoring, so Dan just gets dressed as quietly as possible, shoves his wand into his pocket and goes for a walk.
Even though it's morning and he's not technically breaking any rules, he still finds himself thinking up some excuse as he walks down the empty corridors, some reason for him to be up so early. He decides on pretending to be sending something to his parents, working around in the direction of the Owlery so his story seems more credible.
Dan's just rounding the corner that leads to the flight of stairs up to the Owlery when someone bursts through a tapestry on his right and nearly gives him a heart attack. He lets out a noise that some might call a shriek, but he prefers to think of as an intimidating war cry.
“Oh my God,” Phil says, clutching his chest and staring wide-eyed at Dan like he's the one who just appeared from nowhere and scared the shit out of him.
“Jesus Christ,” Dan says, trying to convince his pounding heart that he's not about to be attacked by banshees. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“There's a shortcut,” Phil says, apologetically. “Just near the kitchens, the Fat Friar told me about it.”
“Shit,” Dan breathes. Then, feeling foolish when the imminent fear of danger passes, he says, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Phil says, and grins at him. “You're up early.”
“I – Owlery,” Dan says, stupidly.
“Me too,” Phil says, producing a small scroll from behind his back. “Should we go up? Your manly scream might've attracted Filch.”
Dan doesn't know whether to laugh or feel mortified, so he swipes at Phil's shoulder instead, which just makes him grin wider.
“Idiot,” He says, but still follows Phil down the corridor all the same.
-
As they're walking up the stairs, Dan ends up telling Phil the real reason he's up this early and lurking around the Owlery. He thinks that's better than him having to linger awkwardly by the school owls until Phil asks him where the letter he's sending is.
“I hate that,” Phil says, sympathetically. “Once I'm awake I can't get back to sleep either, it's a nightmare. Plus I'm so not a morning person, so I kind of have to seal myself off in case I end up being shit to people without meaning to.”
“You don't seem that bad in the mornings,” Dan says, without thinking. It's only when Phil ducks his head, going pink, that he realises that might've been a weird thing to say, so he stammers, “I mean, like – it's the morning now. It's like five past two or something stupid, and you're fine.”
“It's six,” Phil says, rolling his eyes with a smile. “And we have Quidditch practice later, so I had to be up early anyway.” He walks over to the perches where all the school owls are, hundreds of disgruntled eyes watching them, and reaches a hand up for one. A barn owl hops onto his outstretched arm and holds its leg out, and Phil starts trying to tie his scroll to it.
Dan walks off while he's doing that, moving off to stand by the window. The last thing he wants is to get covered in droppings or bits of dead mouse or anything, so he doesn't get too close to the wall, but close enough to the window that he can look out over the grounds.
The sky’s still dark, fading to inky blue on the horizon where the sun’s about to rise. The castle lawns and the lake look strange in the dark, somehow more magical than they do by daylight. Dan finds himself trying to avoid looking over in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. It’s not actually visible from this vantage point, but he knows if he looked he could see the tops of the stands and the goal hoops over to the left.
Despite all his bluster to Louise, he's starting to get this tight, worried knot in his stomach whenever he thinks of actually being on the Quidditch team. Dan's well aware he's a laughing stock when it comes to sport, but it's only ok if he mentions it – he thinks the whole school bringing it up might wear thin after a while.
Phil's owl flutters over Dan's head and disappears out of the window, flying away over the grounds. Phil comes and stands next to him, the two of them looking out of the window without talking for a while. Dan likes how small everything looks from up here – how they're so high that he feels like he could run over the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest without falling – like he could fly like the owls.
“Dan?” Phil's saying.
“Mm?” Dan blinks, shaking out of his reverie, and looks at Phil, who might've already been speaking. “Sorry, I'm – didn't get a lot of sleep.”
“It's ok,” Phil says, with a small smile. “I was just asking – I heard you're on the Gryffindor team now?”
Dan makes a disgusted noise.
“Ugh,” He says. “Don't remind me.” Phil doesn't say anything, so Dan tries for a smile and adds, “You've got the Cup in the bag, honestly.”
“Not necessarily,” Phil says, fairly, and Dan snorts. “Jack's got a strong side.” He nudges his shoulder up against Dan's. “Don't sell yourself short.”
“Phil,” Dan says, slowly. “You've seen me play. You have seen me play, right?”
“Yeah,” Phil says. “You're fine, you just need to have more confidence, that's all.”
“I need to be kept about half a mile away from all other players, you mean,” Dan says, darkly.
“No,” Phil says, nudging him again. Then, after a moment's silence, he adds, “I could always help you out, if you want?”
Dan looks at him.
“Oh yeah?” He says. “Are you gonna transfigure the pitch into a giant bouncy castle so I get a soft landing when I fall off my broom? 'Cause I think that's against the rules.”
“No,” Phil says, smiling at him. “I'm not that good at Transfiguration. I mean – we could, like, train together? If you want?”
Dan blinks. Phil doesn't seem like he's joking, but Dan could be missing something. He feels like he's been asleep for ten minutes – the cool morning air coming in through the window does nothing to make him feel less like his brain's been replaced with warm cotton wool.
“Seriously?” He says, doubtfully.
“Yeah,” Phil says.
Dan thinks about it. Phil knows what he's doing when it comes to Quidditch, he knows that – hasn't Dan watched nearly every match he's played in? But Dan's useless, truly terrible; it'd take nothing short of a miracle to help him to play any better.
“Wouldn't that be, like, helping the enemy?” Dan says, slowly.
“Since when have we been enemies?” Phil points out, then hesitates. “It's ok, if – if you'd rather practice with Jack and the others, I just thought...”
“No, no,” Dan says, quickly, because Phil looks kind of sad about him rejecting his help, and that's the last thing Dan wants. “No, Phil, that'd be great, honestly. I just – I'm really, really bad, I don't know what you're gonna get out of this.”
Phil shrugs, his face a little pink.
“I just want to help, that's all,” He says. “And, well – we both need to train, right? There's no reason why we shouldn't.”
“No,” Dan says, even though he can think of a whole host of reasons. Namely how Jack might react about the whole thing – he doesn't want to have another conversation about whose side he's on. “No, you're right.”
“Great,” Phil says. There’s a moment of silence as they both carry on looking out of the window, and then he adds, “You’ll be playing like a champion in no time.”
Dan snorts and pushes him in the arm.
“Shut up,” He says, when Phil laughs.