Harry Potter and the Quidditch Island

Crossing the Irish Sea

A loud cracking sound ripped through the air.

Harry awoke with a start. He looked around at the people on the bus. Most were asleep, but some were awake, going over books with titles like The Wronsky Feint: Perfection Counts, and The Psychology of the Snidget. This made Harry a little nervous. If he had had time to prepare, he would certainly have brought references like that. Looking over at the girl at the back of the bus, he could see two or three books on her bed while she poured through another, titled Maple or Pine: How to Understand your Broomstick. Maybe he could ask to borrow one of hers.

Another loud crack. Harry looked out the window and realized that it was lightening that had awoken him. The sky was completely full of rolling black clouds and the trees were bending almost horizontally from the force of the wind. The bus was rocking back and forth as it sped along; Harry had never seen winds so strong that they could throw off a bus. Rain was pelting down on the metal ceiling. It sounded as though hundreds of people were drumming on the roof.

Thunder shook the bus. This time, Ron awoke. He yawned and looked out the window.

"Whoa," he said, hanging his head over the bunk to talk to Harry, "I've never seen a storm like that before. Where are we?"

Harry shrugged, and turned to ask the driver, but before he could a small pocket at the end of his bed caught his eye. There was what appeared to be a crumpled old map protruding out of it. He picked it up and opened it. The map showed a very detailed diagram of England. A small red dot was glowing along the mass of lines that Harry figured were different Knight Bus routes. There was also a blinking blue dot outside of Blackpool. Climbing up to the top bunk, he showed the map to Ron.

"I think our bus is this red dot," Ron said after examining the map, "and I guess this means it's stopping at the blue dot. But we're supposed to be going to the Isle of Mann. That's about a fifty kilometre trip across the water from Blackpool. Do you think they want us to cross in this kind of a storm? They'd have to be mad!"

Harry looked out the window again. He could hear the wind howling from inside the bus. The little red dot on the map was nearing the blue dot outside of Blackpool.

Suddenly, the sliding door to Swan's compartment opened and he walked up to the front of the bus. He looked around at the Quidditch hopefuls who were now completely silent.

"Lady and gentlemen, if I could have your attention at this time." Swan looked at them all. "We will be stopping just outside of Blackpool shortly and then heading off to camp. There will be thirty of you in training. The first few weeks will be perfecting your skills as flyers as well as your knowledge of general tactics and the history of the sport. You will need to learn to rely on each other and trust each other's abilities, and we will be judging you on just how well you manage. After the first cut, you will be divided into your respective positions and after some drills and tutorials, we will have the second cut, which will leave us with our starting and second line. It is then that we will begin learning the actual plays and strategies we will be using at the end of the summer."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Were they actually going to be playing a game at the end of the summer? Against who?

"Remember, if you are eliminated in the first cut, you will be asked to leave the island immediately."

Harry and Ron looked at each other again, but they weren't alone. The boys on the bus were all murmuring. The fact that they would have to leave if they didn't measure up wasn't a reassuring idea, especially for those applicants who had worked so hard to get there.

Swan smiled as he saw just how apprehensive they were at this newfound knowledge.

"We would ask you to leave for security reasons only," he informed the team. "We couldn't very well teach the top secret strategies that we would use in professional games to people who aren't going to be on the team. Plays are highly confidential and extremely valuable. If any word of what plays we were using leaked into the wrong ears, well, I think you get the picture. I will also inform you now that there will be a restriction on the amount of mail that will be sent to you, and any outgoing mail with remain at a bare minimum, again for security reasons.

"Now, I must ask all people who will be participating in this training course to remove their brooms from their trunks when we stop and make sure that the trunks are shut tight. Oh, and I suggest that you put on the warmest cloak you have. You'll be needing it."

"Uh..." Ron looked a little worried. "I don't have a broom."

"You won't be needing a broom, Breazley," Swan informed him rather rudely. "You will be traveling by boat. I expect you to load all of the luggage onto the ship before we take off."

"But if you're traveling by boat, how are we supposed to get there?" Harry asked, but Swan was already retreating to his compartment.

"Who cares how you are getting there?" Ron cried. "How am I supposed to load all of these trunks? I can barely carry my own." Ron looked over at the big guy they had seen going to the bathroom early, who was now taking a drink from a shinny black thermos. "Look at the size of him. All of his clothes probably weight more than I do."

Harry, however, had other things to worry about. He was beginning to realize why he would need his Firebolt so soon. He had a sinking feeling that, with thirty trunks on the boats, there wouldn't be room for thirty people, plus Ron, Swan, and however many professional trainers they would be hiring. That sinking feeling was telling him that he would most likely have to fly across the Irish Sea to get to the island.

Harry looked out the window. The black sky, pouring rain, and howling wind didn't look at all like it would let up. He gulped. Sure, he had flown in storms before, but nothing like this. He was looking at weather that appeared to be only a little short of a hurricane.

The bus began to slow and finally pulled to a stop on a beach. The eager trainees began to gather around the windows, looking out at a glimpse of what awaited them. Harry could see Matameo Lockley, his bright orange robes and cloak were setting him apart from the dark sky and black water.

Harry hopped off the bunk, followed by Ron. His stomach was beginning to churn. He could see the black waves through the window, crashing against the rocks on the beach. A small dock seemed to be barely holding itself together against the fury of the water. Attached to it were four boats. Harry realized that these four boats would have to hold about eight trunks each, but that would only work if they were stacked one on top of the other, and stacking trunks was not an easy task. Ron seemed to realize that too, for his face was rapidly loosing colour.

The second the doors of the bus opened, you could feel it. A blast of cold air chilled them to the bones. As Harry stepped off the bus, he saw that the compartments under the vehicle had opened and the trunks had been thrown out.

The trainees on Harry's bus rushed to their trunks and retrieved their brooms and cloaks before securely locking them again. Harry clutched his broom tightly and wrapped his cloak around him, but he might as well not have, as it was soaked through in minutes.

"Get to work, Breazley!" Swan roared over the sound of the sea and wind. "I want all of these trunks in the boats now!"

Ron raised his wand, but Harry grabbed his arm.

"You can't use magic, remember? It's the summer and you're underage. You'll be expelled."

Ron thrust his wand angrily into his pocket.

"That's just great," he cried. "I have to load all of these trunks manually."

The wind howled and a strong gust blew past them, causing Harry to stumble as Ron marched off, muttering to himself. It was a good thing that the wind and water were so loud, because Harry was sure that Swan wouldn't want to be hearing what Ron had to say.

To his left, 6 men in black robes with gold trimming suddenly Apparated onto the beach next to Lockley. Harry assumed that these men would be the coaches. He stumbled over to them, slipping on wet rocks, and heard a cry from Ron's direction: his leg had just sunk about a foot into the mud.

The men gestured for everyone to come closer. Harry looked around at all of the people. There was only one girl in the camp, the one who had been reading on the bus. The rest of the players were male, and almost all seemed to be Ron's height or taller, but much wider and more muscular. Harry was easily the shortest one there.

Harry looked at the big guy from the bus. He was shaking hands with a friend, who was equally as large. Both looked at Harry, who promptly looked away. He didn't want to appear rude in front of people that size. Turning away, his eyes fell on a handsome boy with chestnut brown hair who was standing with a crowd of people around him. He was about three or four inches taller than Harry and was leaning on a broomstick, which, Harry noticed, was a Firebolt. With his crowd of supporters, this boy looked like he was going to be an extremely important player. He had dark, serious eyes that matched his expression. Even with his hair completely windblown and his face splashed with water, he looked like a Quidditch warrior, or at least a very keen player. He seemed very intent on listening to what the trainers were about to say.

Next to him, in the center of the group, was a boy who seemed a little less keen on playing and more on having fun. A lot of the boys were huddled together, complaining about the wind and rain. However, this boy, blonde and taller than the one with the Firebolt, was laughing and hooting at the sky. He had a broom that Harry didn't recognize. On the other side of the boy with the Firebolt was another boy, only slightly taller than Harry, with dark brown hair, shorter than the first's. It looked as though it would be very neat hair if the hurricane-like winds and torrential rain hadn't blown it all out of place. The boy with the Firebolt whispered something to the dark haired boy, and they both looked in Harry's direction. The second boy replied, and the first nodded, still looking Harry up and down as if there had been some sort of mistake.

Harry looked away. He felt very out of place. Turning his head to the side, he saw another boy who seemed to be in the same position. A thin, lanky boy with wavy sandy blonde hair was pushing his round-rimmed glasses up his nose. He was trembling with cold, and he too looked out of place. He was eyeing the person next to him with extreme caution, for this one looked as though he were twice as wide as the first.

Harry's eyes moved on to the girl. She was wearing her hood, but the brown hair underneath was completely soaked. Though she too was trembling, she was watching the trainers intently. She seemed to be trying to prove herself just as much as he was.

Finally, Harry looked over at Ron. He was dragging a fourth trunk to the boats. A crash of thunder and Ron suddenly slipped in the mud and fell. With a disgusted look on his face, he stood up and started to push the trunk through the mud, slipping and sliding as he went.

As much as he wanted to feel sorry for Ron, Harry didn't have time, for the trainers were beginning to call out over the wind.

"Gentlemen," the trainer in the middle of the huddle yelled out over the storm. "I am Glosford Wolverwick, your new head coach. You will address me as Coach or Sir. We have no time for introductions now; the storm is going to get worse. As your first training drill, you are to make it to the Isle of Mann on your brooms." The man reminded Harry of an army drill sergeant. He was tall and very muscular, with broad shoulders and short, bristly hair. Harry's heart was beginning to plummet. This man didn't look like the type that would allow Quidditch to be remotely fun.

"Coach, you can't be serious," the boy with the Firebolt's blonde friend laughed with a skeptical grin on his face. "That's a fifty kilometer flight. And these winds are barely less than a hurricane. Now, I like a good storm as much as the next person," he called out with a laugh, "but I mean, come on!"

"If you're going to protest our drills then you can leave now," the trainer yelled back. The winds howled even louder. "You are to get to the island using your brooms. This is a test of your flying ability, so you better show me just how worthy you are to be here. I'll see you on the other side." With that, he and his fellow coaches Disapparated.

All of the boys were feeling uneasy. The blonde one who had protested the drill was looking bitterly across the sea. Harry rushed over to Ron, who had now just thrown his seventh trunk into the boat.

"You're flying over?" Ron shouted to Harry, who barely heard him even though they were standing side by side. "That's almost suicide." Ron wiped the mixture of sweat and rain off of his brow. His was breathing was choppy from all of the effort.

"I'm probably going to get lost out there," Harry shouted, nervously eyeing the black waves. "Do you remember which direction it was on the map?"

Ron paused.

"I think it was north east of this spot. You can always use the 4 Point Spell to know which direction to travel."

"Breazley!" Swan was shouting at him, but neither Harry nor Ron could understand the rest over the crash of the waves.

"What?" Ron yelled back.

Again, he couldn't understand what was being said. Ron started to lean over the dock, when he suddenly slipped on the soaked wood and fell into the water. Just as he surfaced a giant wave crashed down over top of him and the dock. It was all Harry could do to keep from being swept into the sea himself.

"Ron!" he yelled as he flung himself onto his knees and stared into the water. Finally, after what had seemed like forever, Ron surfaced. He gasped for air. The water was nearly up to his shoulders.

"This is just great!" he yelled. "I don't care about the stupid magic rule." He flicked his wand and the trunks all rose up and landed in the four boats. Harry reached down and pulled Ron out of the water. Ron pushed his hair off of his face and plucked the seaweed off his robes. He was starting to shiver uncontrollably.

"I guess I had better get to the island," he said with chattering teeth. Swan, Lockley, and Lockley's large escorts were walking across the dock. Swan took a boat for himself, as did Lockley's escorts while Lockley himself pulled Ron into a boat with him. As soon as each boat was manned they immediately propelled themselves forward, crashing against the giant white caps.

Harry was beginning to realize just how cold he was. He walked to the beach where many of the trainees could be seen rising into the air. Deciding the best strategy would be to follow the crowd, he kicked off and soared up into the black sky. Immediately, he felt the pressure of the wind. He was blown to his left and almost fell off the slippery broom. It took all of the strength he could muster to point the broom in the direction he wanted to go.

He started to fly forward, following the stream of cloaks ahead of him. The rain was almost blinding and the dark shapes were hard to see against the sky. Using a spell Hermione had taught him, he tapped his glasses twice, and his vision instantly cleared. This spell made his glasses water resistant. Thinking about Hermione now made him envy her, sitting in her warm house, safe and dry, not up in the air, about twenty feet above the Irish Sea on a fifty kilometre voyage.

Suddenly, a giant wave came out of nowhere. Harry had to pull his broom up another 10 feet as to not get submersed in the water. He started to rise higher and higher. Lightening flashed in the distance. A boy ahead of him slipped on his broom and almost fell off.

"No way I'm going to make it!" he yelled to his friend. Suddenly, he disappeared. Harry started and almost fell off the broom. Where did the boy go? Did he fall? Harry looked down, which was a big mistake. All he could see was black waves and white caps. It was a frightening sight.

"I can't do it." Harry looked up when he heard the boy's friend speaking. He too disappeared.

What was going on? Two people didn't just disappear. The rain poured harder. Harry eyed the waves cautiously for some sign if they had fallen. Then a sudden realization crossed his mind.

"They didn't disappear!" Harry exclaimed to himself after a moment's pause. "They Disapparated!"

He paused, seeing another person Disapparate as well. But this couldn't be fair. The trainer had told them to fly over. This was cheating. And what was worst was that Harry couldn't cheat, no matter how hard he tried. He didn't have the license he needed to do it. In fact, he didn't know how to do it at all.

Soon, all of the flyers in his sight had disappeared. He was alone on the ocean. It seemed like an eternity that he flew against the wind. The landscape around him never changed, all he could see was black sky and even blacker water. The wind was making his eyes water and his entire body was shaking from the icy cold rain that was falling on him. The wind was sounding less and less like wind and more like a wailing ghost. Harry's broom spun off course and did a few barrel rolls in the air. He threw himself down on the stick, holding on as tightly as he could.

Come on Harry, you can do it, he told himself as he pulled out of the spin. There are only...how many more kilometers to go? All he knew how to do was figure out which direction he was going, but that wouldn't tell him where the island was. Making sure that his left hand was tightly clamped onto the broom, he reached into his pocket and took out his wand with his right hand.

Harry stared at the wand, not sure what he was going to do with it.

"Tell me where the Isle of Mann is," he yelled. "How far until I reach it?"

The wand didn't move. Nothing happened.

"Tell me!" Harry cried. "I don't know the spell." He was getting frustrated. He had been flying for almost 30 minutes and he couldn't see anything. It felt like he was the only one out over the water. His entire body was stiff, from both the cold and the effort of flying against the wind. His left hand kept slipping down the handle, even though it was throbbing from clenching the stick so tightly. He wasn't going to be able to keep this up for much longer. Harry's situation was becoming desperate. He'd try anything.

"Tell me where the island is!" he shouted, shaking the wand as hard as he could. Then, shocking him so much that he almost fell off his broom, thunder clapped and lightening brightened up the sky. On the horizon, he could just make out the form of the Isle of Mann, poking out of sea.

Surprised, but relieved, Harry pressed forward. He couldn't see any other flyers. The island was coming into view. Harry smiled. Only a little further.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew so strongly Harry's broomstick began rolling over. His hands, slippery from the pouring rain, lost their grip on the broom...and his wand. Luckily he was able to grab hold of his broom again, but not his wand, and it plummeted towards the sea.

"NO!" Harry shouted as he watched his wand falling towards the waves. Without a moment's pause, Harry was plummeting down towards the icy black waters. He could barely see the thin stick. Faster, he thought to the broom, only a few feet away. With flying skills he didn't even know he had, Harry dove towards the ocean and snatched his wand just inches away from the water. His happiness faded when he looked up. A giant, thirty-foot wave had just formed in front of him. He didn't have the time to get out of its way. Terrified, Harry lay flat on his broomstick, hugging it for dear life, grasping his wand tightly. The wave crashed over him with a tremendous force. He could literally feel himself sinking lower and lower underwater and then, just as suddenly as it had hit him, the current started pulling himself upwards. He broke the surface of the water, gasping for breath and almost numb with both cold and fear.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek filled the air. Looking in front of him, Harry saw, to his terror, a giant horse-like head coming out of the water. A long snake-like tail was slapping the surface angrily. A sea serpent had spotted him when he had been submersed by the wave and obviously didn't like the intrusion on his territory. Harry stopped, hovering in front of the serpent, frozen in fear. The head was rising up out of the water, sniffing him, baring its teeth. Harry had read about these creatures in his studies, but they were said to be rather peaceful, and never attacked humans without provocation. However, this one seemed to be the exception to the rule.

Its great snakelike body rose out of the sea. The head of the serpent was eye to eye with Harry, still frozen to the spot. The serpent began to snarl and snap its jaws at him, hissing and spitting. Lightening flashed across the sky illuminating its furious red eyes. Booming thunder and the splash of another wave snapped Harry out of his trance. He sped up towards the sky. The sea serpent continued to snap its jaws behind him, barely missing the tail end of his broom before he flew out of reach.

More rain sprayed down on him. The howling winds made Harry feel as though he was being followed by a pack of screaming ghouls. The rain showed no evidence of letting up. Harry was soaked to the bone. His robes, which felt paper thin, were clinging to his body. His arms were becoming tired from having to pull his broom straight against the raging winds. He was continually being blown off course, and was becoming desperately dizzy. Harry needed his wits about him, and with fatigue setting in the danger was growing. The island was closer; he could see it through the curtain of rain, but it seemed so far away.

Then, to his immense relief, a large structure came into sight and he could see where the rest of the group had landed. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he collapsed, gasping for breath. He was completely drenched with rain and he couldn't stop shaking. Plus, after his encounter with the sea serpent, he had never been more grateful to see human faces. Never had he been happier to be on solid ground.

"Come boy, on your feet." One of the trainers was pulling Harry up from underneath his arm. "I'm Harvey Kitimer, the flying coach. That was alright, son, it was alright. I'm guessing you must be a Seeker. Come on then, on your feet then." By the looks of it, everyone else had landed. The boy with the Firebolt and his two friends were standing apart from the crowd, along with the girl and, to Harry's surprise, the skinny blonde boy with the glasses. Everyone was drenched through their robes and extremely uncomfortable. Harvey Kitimer brought Harry to that group. He then left them and stood in front of the crowd. A photographer was snapping pictures of the group, all soaked and shivering. Lockley was standing with him.

Harvey Kitimer stood next to the head coach, with the other four coaches off to the side. The Head Coach/drill instructor was glaring at the crowd as if they were something disgusting that he had gotten stuck on the bottom of his shoe. The flying coach was shorter than his partner, and older too. Shivering, Harry looked him up and down and decided that he definitely did not look like the flying type. His balding head revealed his age, but his face was round and would probably have looked cheerful had it not been twisted with rage.

"That was PITIFUL!" Kitimer bellowed. "Out of the thirty best flyers in England, only five made it across that sea. You think you can just Disapparate yourselves out of a Quidditch game if you get tired?!" He looked over at the group Harry was standing with. "You, boy, how old are you?"

Harry stared blankly back at him.

"Oh," he said after a moment of realization. "Uh, I'm fifteen."

Kitimer shook his head.

"And how long have you been flying boy?"

"Five years."

"Despicable," Kitimer spat, shaking his head. Harry was a little stunned, wondering what he had done wrong, but realized that Kitimer was talking to the group. "A fifteen year old with about five years experience beat out twenty year olds who have been flying for at least twice that! If you are the country's best flyers in our amateur leagues then we will be in a LOT of trouble when the season starts. Now get out of here. Your rooms are listed in the front hall. Dinner will be served in three hours. There will be no more flying for today. Get lots of rest. We will start theory tomorrow and begin hard training the day after. Dismissed!" he barked. The people began trudging towards the manor.

"Wait a moment!" Lockley called, waving his arms. The trainees stopped and turned to him. "I just wanted to wish you all good luck before I leave. Train hard boys. There will be scouts coming to the game at the end of the summer. Who knows, maybe I'll be seeing some of you on my team at the start of next season!" He gave a quick smile before Disaparating along with his escorts.

Ron rushed over to Harry, grinning.

"Brilliant Harry, brilliant! I can't believe you made that. Those scouts will be really impressed with you at the end of the summer!" he said reassuringly.

Harry grinned back, and turned to the Firebolt boy, giving him a tired smile. The boy only sneered at him. It was obvious that it would take more than a fifty kilometre flight through one of the most terrible storms England has ever seen to impress him.