Harry Potter and the Summer of the Dementors

It was dark when he woke: he wasn't sure whether it was night or morning. He looked at his watch: just after five. Must be the morning then. He sat up, realising that he'd slept the night in his jeans. He crossed the room to look out of the window: the sky was brightening in the east, signifying the approach of dawn. He yawned and scratched his head. Perhaps another shower was called for. It helped wake him up and feel more alert.

Fresh clothes helped, too. Feeling brighter and fresher he headed downstairs to make himself some tea. He sat at the table thinking what to do next. His head was still spinning from his experiences of the day before. I ought to go to the Ministry, he thought. Mr Weasley would be a good starting point. He'd be able to get him in to see Arbuthnot.

Just after six, Dobby appeared in the kitchen. Harry smiled. "Up early, Dobby?"

"So is Harry Potter."

"Yeah. I flaked out last night."

"Dobby was worried about Harry Potter."

"It's okay. I was just exhausted. Recovered now."

"Harry Potter needs a good breakfast."

He realised that he was starving. "You can say that again."

Dobby set about cooking, in only a few minutes a large plate of bacon, sausage, eggs and fried tomatoes, with toast by its side, was put in front of him. He tucked into the food, relishing it. Yesterday he had had only the sandwiches provided by the goblins. Finally he pushed the plate away.

"That was wonderful, Dobby."

"Thank you." The elf took the plates and became to prepare to wash up.

"Is Remus around yet?"

"Dobby is not sure. Remus Lupin was still in his room last night."

"Okay."

Ministry it was then. He finished his tea and went back to his room. Unlike Fred and George, he had never felt the need to Apparate from room to room. He thought: Ministry meant Ministry clothes. He looked through his wardrobe and picked what he needed. Seven o'clock. Still a bit early. Restless, he stood by the window. The sun was up, promising a beautiful day. Harry sighed. That was one of the problems with London. No chance for Quidditch practice. He'd have to go to the Burrow at the weekend and have a fly about with Ron.

Ah well. Mr Weasley was getting to work early enough these days. Give it a try. He thought about the Ministry, closed his eyes, and walked out in the atrium at the Ministry. There were very few people about. A guard came up to him.

"Your pass?" Harry showed it. The man's eyes widened. "It's okay," said Harry. "I know where I'm going."

"Oh. Yes. Right then."

Harry gave him a smile and moved on. Finding Mr Weasley's office took another ten minutes. Half past. Worth trying. He knocked on the door.

"Come."

He opened it to find Mr Weasley already behind his desk. He looked up, and his eyes widened.

"Harry!"

"Hi."

"Thought you were supposed to be at Gringotts. Something hush hush, Ron said."

"Well, yeah, in a manner of speaking. That was actually yesterday."

"Oh?"

"I had a meeting with the Goblin Council," Harry announced baldly.

Mr Weasley almost fell off his chair. "What??"

"The Goblin Council."

"Do you mean what I think you mean?" said Mr Weasley carefully.

"Think so," said Harry cheerfully. "Goblin Raznak was in the chair."

"Merlin's beard," whispered Mr Weasley. "What about?"

"You Know Who." Harry rarely used that euphemism, but somehow it seemed appropriate.

"Wait a moment," said Mr Weasley. He rose swiftly, went to another door, knocked. There was a muffled noise from the other side. Mr Weasley opened it, and said: "Minister?"

"Yes?"

"Something rather - urgent's come up."

"Come in then."

Mr Weasley beckoned to Harry, who followed him into the Minister's office. Arbuthnot looked in him in surprise.

"Harry. To what do we owe this surprise?"

"It will be a surprise, Minister," Mr Weasley promised him.

"All right - well, you'd better both sit down."

Arbuthnot looked at them expectantly.

"Tell him, Harry," said Mr Weasley.

"Right. Well, the three of us went to Gringotts as planned, and we were met by Goblin Raknuk ..." Arbuthnot's eyebrows went up "... and then ..."

Harry told his story without any interruption from the other two apart from the occasional muttered expletive. When he'd finished - which took quite some time - he felt as exhausted as he had done the day before. The two men were staring at him, almost open mouthed.

Finally Arbuthnot turned to Mr Weasley: "Do you think this means what I think it means?"

Mr Weasley nodded. "I do."

Arbuthnot turned back to Harry. "You know, one of the things I've wanted to do since I've become Minister is to improve relations with people like the goblins, the centaurs, and the like. And now this drops in my lap, thanks to you."

"It was a bit awkward. I mean, I made it plain I wasn't an emissary from you or anything of that sort. They asked me if I was going to report back to you, and I said I wouldn't if they didn't want me to. But then they said, no, go ahead. So here I am. I hope I didn't say anything that might embarrass the Ministry."

"On the contrary, Harry, you pulled a blinder. When you suggested Gringotts, I thought - that's a good idea. Something might come of it. But I never dreamt ... the full Council ... and Raznak told you to report back. Well, well. Arthur?"

"I agree entirely. Question is, what's the next step? Do we keep using Harry as go between, or do we try to go for some direct liaison."

"What do you think the feeling in the Wizengamot would be?"

Mr Weasley raised his eyebrows. "Surely you're not thinking of taking it there?"

"No, I'm thinking of the consequences if we were found out."

"Ah, well, now, that's different. You'd start with a disadvantage if people thought you were going behind their backs. As to whether they'd support such an idea, starting from a neutral base - well, I'd say fifty fifty."

"Yes. That's rather what I was thinking." Arbuthnot paused for a moment or two. "Thing is, if the Goblin Council are that keen, it might be interesting to see what would happen if they dipped their toe in the water."

"It might make matters worse if they got a rebuff."

"Hmm ... maybe."

"But it could be worth trying."

"Harry," Arbuthnot addressed him, "would you be happy to act as a go between? Just for the time being?"

"I suppose so. Well, yes. But term begins fairly soon."

"Hmm. We've three weeks. That's time enough to do some soundings."

"I think you'd have to tread carefully. Not everyone was convinced. And they're very formal, the goblins - they obviously put a lot a stress on doing things the right way."

"Which you obviously have, Harry."

Harry blushed. "Thank you, Minister."

"I think, Arthur, we ought to draft some sort of note to the Council. Just fairly general, not committing ourselves to anything. What do you say?"

"Yes, why not? No mention of negotiation, but noting their interest."

"And let them take it from there?"

"Something like that."

Mr Weasley started scribbling on a parchment. After a minute or two he passed it over. "What do you think?"

Arbuthnot studied it, his brow furrowed. Finally he reached for a quill, scratched some words out, added some more and passed it back. Mr Weasley read the new draft. Harry was fascinated how the two men worked together - this was a new side to Mr Weasley.

Another piece of parchment and more scribbling. Mr Weasley passed it over. "I made a couple of changes too."

Arbuthnot studied it. "Looks fine to me. Look it over again and get a fair copy made up." Mr Weasley nodded. "Right, now, the weekend's coming up. How shall we play it?"

Mr Weasley looked thoughtful. "How about Harry sending an owl to Raknuk at Gringotts asking to visit again on Monday? Give us time to go over what we want to say."

"And Harry takes the note with him on Monday. Sounds good."

"So what do I say to him?" asked Harry.

"That you've seen me and talked to me, and please read this note. Oh, and you can tell him the Great Dementor Hunt is going ahead a week today. Now that really is top secret, and you must ask him to respect that. He's the only person you can tell that to. Understood?"

"Yes, Minister."

"It's imperative we keep security on this one. And tell him that he can tell Raznak, but that's all. We have teams training like mad at the moment, and we don't want to ruin it."

"Understood."

"Good."

"Well, Harry, after your ordeal yesterday, I think you can take the day off. We'll be in touch before Monday. What will you do yourself?"

Harry thought about that. "Haven't a clue," he confessed.

"I tell you what. I think you deserve a treat. My son's just been made Manager of the Tigholt Tigers. Heard of them?"

Harry nodded. "Near the bottom of the league, I'm afraid."

"And with all respect to Charles, I don't think they'll be climbing up that fast. I know they're training today - would you like to go and pay a visit?"

"Compared with the last couple of days - it would be fantastic. Are you interested in Quidditch, sir?"

"Me? Not really. I tried for the House team once at Hogwarts, but there were people keener than me. But I'll write you a note to give to Charles."

Arbuthnot reached for a parchment and scribbled something hastily. "There you are. Do you know where their grounds are?" Harry nodded. "Well, take yourself along there and give this to Charles Arbuthnot. He'll let you sit in on the practices."

Harry took the piece of parchment. "Thanks very much, sir. Sounds just what I need."

"It's we who owe you the thanks for handling the meeting with goblins so well."

Harry reckoned he'd better be going, and stood up. Mr Weasley followed suit, saying, "I'll give this some more thought and pass it back."

"Yes, please, Arthur."

They left the Minister's office, and as Mr Weasley closed the door, he said: "Well done that man. I'd have never have guessed this would happen."

"Good news then?"

Mr Weasley nodded. "Dumbledore and I have been trying to improve relations with the goblins for some time, but it's very difficult. They're a proud lot, you know."

"I gathered that."

"Well, well. Anyway, I'd better get on with this. And my in tray," he said, gesturing at his desk.

"OK. I'm going for a day in the sun," he said, waving the parchment.

"Don't," Mr Weasley groaned.

Harry grinned, and left him to it.

Tigholt - he'd never been there, but he knew of it. Better go and look it up in the Apparating Almanac. There'd be one in the main hall. He folded the parchment carefully and put it in his cloak.

When he'd worked out how to get there, he walked over to one of the Apparating points and nodded at the guard standing by it.

"Sorry, sir, I know who you are, but I should check your pass."

"Of course."

After a quick check, he was waved through. And found himself standing in the middle of a field in bright sunshine - so much so that the glare hurt his eyes. He put his hand up to shade them, and looked around. There! He saw the Quidditch goals in the distance. Another, shorter leap, now, and he was standing a hundred yards from the pitch. There was a group of players on the ground, listening to someone who was obviously their coach. He walked over slowly. As he got closer the group began to break up, and he called: "Charles Arbuthnot?"

The coach turned. "Yes. Can I help?"

Harry walked up and handed him the parchment.

"Oh, Lord," the man said, "Dad's handwriting is always illegible." He struggled with the note, then the light dawned, and he looked up. "You're Harry Potter!"

"That's right."

"I was in the seventh year when you arrived. I remember all that fuss ..." his voice trailed off. "Anyway, Dad says you'd like to watch us train."

Harry nodded. "Yes, please."

"You're a fair Seeker yourself, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well ..."

"Might give you a try out later." And he flashed Harry a grin.

"That'd be great."

"Anyway, we'd better be starting. Take a seat in the stands over there."

Harry ambled over to the stand as the team began circling the pitch. He watched as the Chasers flow up and down passing the ball, avoiding the bludgers, and assailing the Keeper. Harry could see that although they were quite good, they probably did deserve their position near the bottom of the League. Charles Arbuthnot was flying back and forward, yelling at the players.

As usual in such a practice, the Seeker had little to do. Eventually, he spiralled down.

"Hi, I'm Adam. Charles tells us you're Harry Potter."

"That's right."

"The Gryffindor seeker for past six years."

"Pretty well." Apart from matches missed in hospital, or because of Umbridge.

"Do you want to join us? We can let the Snitch out, and have a hunt for it."

Harry hesitated. "I haven't got my broom." Then, with a moment's inspiration: "If you hang on two seconds, I'll Apparate home, change, and be back with the broom."

"Sure."

In a moment he was back in Grimmauld Place, stripping off his good clothes for something more suitable. He pulled his broom from the cupboard, stood in the middle of the room, and was back in Tigholt.

"That was quick," commented Adam.

"Yeah," gasped Harry.

Adam's eyes suddenly widened. "That's a Firebolt!"

"Yeah."

"Wow," he said enviously. "Anyway," he went on, "shall we let the Snitch out?"

He bent down and opened the box, clutching the Snitch. "I'll release it, and then on the count of three we go. OK?"

"OK," said Harry.

Adam opened his hand and the tiny Snitch flew off into the sky. "One .. two .. THREE!"

In a flash they had both risen into the sky on their brooms. Harry did a quick circuit of the pitch, scanning the area for the elusive Snitch. His circuit finished, he looked down quickly at the activity below, and then for Adam, who was doing a similar scan of the sky at the other end of the pitch. Now Harry swooped low, skirting the perimeter, eyes flicking from side to side. No luck. He zoomed up to the centre of the pitch, and was suddenly aware of Adam tailing him. He zoomed higher, his Firebolt getting the better of Adam's Nimbus. Then a series of loops, rolls and corkscrews to throw him off. He looked over his shoulder to see Adam still grimly clinging on. Given the difference in performance between their brooms, that was quite impressive. What can I try now? he thought, as he corkscrewed upwards.

Then it came to him. How about the Wronsky Feint? Accelerating, he suddenly zoomed into the steepest dive possible, as if he'd just seem the little golden ball down near the ground. He remembered the words of an article he'd read recently: 'If you're going to do this properly, don't pull out until you can see individual blades of grass'. He hung on grimly, the air rushing past his face, holding on as long as he dared, until he pulled up and skimmed along only a few feet above the ground, then zoomed up. He looked back, and what he saw horrified him.

Adam was lying on his back on the ground, his broom nowhere in sight. Harry wasn't sure whether he was even moving. He could see the other team members spiralling down, and someone carrying a black bag running towards the fallen Seeker.

He pushed his broom down into a dive, and reached the scene just as the other players began gathering round. The man with the black bag was bending over Adam. Harry held his breath - what had he done? He hung back until Charles Arbuthnot, straightened up, turned and saw him.

Harry didn't know what to say. 'Sorry' seemed inadequate. In the end, an inarticulate 'erm' escaped him.

"He's okay," said Charles quietly. "Well, not okay, but not badly injured. Shook up, certainly. I was watching - it wasn't your fault. You pulled off a blinder of a feint. Adam pulled up in time, but lost control of his broom, and fell off. He was still going quite fast."

"Oh," was all Harry could manage to say.

Harry could hear the words 'St Mungo's' being mentioned. The players fell back as the mediwizard conjured up a stretcher and levitated Adam on to it. Harry stepped forward.

"Sorry," was all he could say to the stricken Seeker.

"Not your fault," said Adam through a grimace. "My own stupid fault."

There was a muttered conference going on between Charles and the mediwizard, who then stepped forward and said: "Clear the areas, folks. We're going to St Mungo's."

He pulled out an innocent looking Galleon from his bag, put it between Adam's fingers, took a grip of it himself, and muttered: "Portus". The two of them vanished.

The team turned to look at each other disconsolately. The captain turned to Charles: "What do we do now?"

Charles shrugged. "Jamie's committed for tomorrow. We can't bring him in at this late stage."

"So what do we do?"

"To be honest, Marco, I've no idea."

Marco turned to look at Harry. Harry just wished that the ground would open up and swallow him. "That was a pretty good feint," he said.

"Well, yeah, I suppose."

"You play at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. "Seeker for Gryffindor."

"Uh huh." Marco turned back to Charles. "I can see one way out of this."

"What's that?"

Marco pointed at Harry. "He plays tomorrow."

There was a long silence. Harry didn't quite understand at first what Marco was suggesting, then it sunk in.

"Me?" he spluttered.

"You," said Marco calmly. "After all, it was you who put our Seeker into St Mungo's. And our reserve is playing somewhere else, and we can't get him back now. That was a good stunt you pulled on Adam. You're as good as him. So you play tomorrow."

Harry hadn't heard anything so silly for a long time. He looked to Charles for support, but, to his horror, Charles was nodding.

"Sounds a good idea," he said.

"I can't play tomorrow!" Harry insisted.

"Got anything else on?"

"Well, no," he admitted.

"There you are then. You're in the team. It's you that put Adam in St Mungo's. So you take his place."

This was blackmail. "Who are you playing?"

"Who are WE playing," corrected Marco. "Chudleigh Cannons."

"No way," said Harry.

They stood looking at him.

Finally Marco shrugged. "You don't have to. We could always cancel the match."

"What?"

"Cancel. Scrub. Abandon. Whatever."

"You can't do that!"

"We'll have to without a Seeker."

Harry stared at Marco, who stared back. Play for the Tigers? Against the Cannons? He must be mad. "Why me?" he asked plaintively.

Marco sighed. "Because you're the only Seeker I know of who's still living, breathing fit, and available for tomorrow. Plus, you're not bad, either."

Harry looked at Charles, who looked straight back. "Do you want me to play?" he asked.

Charles shrugged. "Why not? Got a better idea?"

"Er ..."

"Right then."

Harry still couldn't believe it. Being asked to play tomorrow. But Marco was already talking to him.

"We'll have to practice without Adam. Charles, why don't you and I take Harry and talk him through our tactics? The rest of you can get on practicing your moves."

The first thing Marco did was to quiz Harry on his experiences so far. These didn't sound that impressive. Seeker for a House side at school - even if he had been the Seeker since the first year.

"The Cannons are good - probably better than us, to be truthful. On goals alone, they'll win. So a lot depends on you."

"Who's their Seeker?" asked Harry.

"David Ramsden." Harry shook his head. The name meant nothing to him. "He's new - his first season with them - and a bit of an unknown quantity."

"Okay," said Charles. "We'll try you out with some flying. Your job is to keep flying from one goal to the other whilst Marco tries blocking you."

Harry looked at Marco, who compared with him seemed big and burly. "Okay."

"Ready, Marco?" asked Charles. Marco nodded. "Okay, Harry, we give you five seconds start - from now!"

Harry leapt onto his broom and into the air, heading for one of the goals. He flew as fast and as straight as he could to begin with, to try and keep his lead. He reached the first goal and pulled up round into an Immelman loop, and saw Marco heading up towards him. He feinted left, then right, before diving below the Tigers' captain. Straightening up again he zoomed for the far goal, knowing that Marco was hot on his tail. This time he opted to go round the goals, keeping them between him and Marco. Now a climb, before heading to the other goal in a series of barrel rolls. But as he straightened out, he was aware of Marco by his elbow, about to deflect him. He braked as hard as he could, and Marco shot past, narrowly missing a goal post. He ducked low round the posts and headed back down the pitch once more. But now Marco was above him, forcing him lower and lower. He braked again, but Marco was ready for this, slowing down in turn. I'm lighter than he is, Harry thought, and I'm on a Firebolt - I ought to be able to accelerate faster.

He urged his Firebolt on, faster and faster, and sensed he was drawing ahead. He sacrificed a little speed for height, then levelled off again to pull ahead, before climbing a little again. By the time he was at the goal posts, he had recovered the height, then dived between two of the poles. He then climbed up and up, spiralling higher, waiting for Marco to catch up, before diving once more in a feint, knowing that Marco, not being a Seeker, would pull out earlier that he would. He skimmed along the grass to touch down next to Charles.

"How was that?" he asked, as Marco also touched down.

Charles raised his eyebrows. "Very impressive."

Harry could see Marco was breathing hard, and turned to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Okay," grunted Marco. "You won."

"You'll have to be more careful before issuing challenges again, Marco," said Charles. He clapped his hands. "Team!"

They gathered round. "Okay, we're taking a break for lunch. Back on the pitch at two."

Marco slung his broom over his shoulder. "Where did you learn to fly like that?" he asked.

"Hogwarts."

"No, seriously."

"Hogwarts," Harry said again with a grin.

"Didn't you hear about the TriWizard Tournament?" asked one of the Beaters.

"What about it?" asked Marco.

"They had to get an egg from a dragon. Harry did it on his broom."

"Were you there?" asked Harry.

The Beater nodded. "A sister of mine was in Ravenclaw. I went down to watch that bit."

"Right."

"A serious bit of flying."

"Fun, though," said Harry, although he thought that being scorched by the dragon's breath didn't quite fit into that category.

"That was a serious bit of flying just then," said Marco. "Although having a Firebolt helped." He obviously was still a little unhappy at Harry's having got away.

"It was a present from my godfather."

"Who's that?"

"Sirius Black."

That did stop the conversation.

Lunch was held in the small clubroom. It wasn't a very elaborate meal, but although Harry was starving, his nerves prevented him from eating very much. He forced food into himself, knowing he would need it for the afternoon's play. After a break, they trooped back on to the field for more flying practice. Harry had to be shown all the training exercises they usually did, which slowed things down rather. At five o'clock Charles blew his whistle, and the players spiralled down.

"Okay, chaps, that's it for today. You need to rest up for tomorrow. Match begins at half past ten. I want you all here at half past nine. Any questions?" There weren't any. Charles surveyed the team, his eye resting on Harry. "See you tomorrow then."

One by one the team members disappeared, and Harry took his cue to Apparate back to Grimmauld Place. He put his broom in the cupboard, then went for a shower, feeling hot and sweaty. Refreshed, he slipped on jeans and a tee shirt and went down to the kitchen, where Remus was sitting with a cup of coffee. He looked tired and not particularly well.

"How are you?" asked Harry, as he came in the kitchen.

Remus shrugged and pulled a face. "So so. How about you?"

"An interesting day," said Harry guardedly.

"Oh?"

"I'm playing Quidditch against the Chudleigh Cannons tomorrow."

"What??"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Long story." And he began to give Remus the details.

"That'll teach you to show off."

"Yeah. And I put someone in hospital."

"Well, a professional Quidditch player ought to be able to cope with a Wronsky Feint."

"I suppose."

As Harry sat down, Dobby appeared with suggestions for supper. Neither Harry nor Remus had much appetite, however. After toying with his food for a while, Harry said he was going upstairs. Back in his room he leafed through Quidditch magazines, but couldn't settle to anything. Ah, well, it'd been a long day, he told himself. Time for bed.