Harry Potter and the Quidditch Island

The Exhibition Games

Harry woke up the next morning when Ron jumped off of his bunk. This time, however, he didn't go back to sleep, but got dressed and took his Firebolt out of his trunk. He was planning on polishing it with his Broomstick Servicing Kit that Hermione had given him on his thirteenth birthday, but realized that doing so would be pointless. The broom was in tip-top condition. All of the twigs were straight and the handle was shinning flawlessly. Instead, he walked to the window and looked out at the island, checking how the playing conditions would be. The sky was still cloudy, but it was bright out there and there was still a good deal of wind. It looked like a pretty good day to be flying.

At seven o'clock, Terry was awake and getting dressed. He was shocked to see a Firebolt sitting on Harry's bed. Harry, on the other hand, was pacing up and down the room.

"You have a Firebolt?" he exclaimed in awe. "That's amazing! How did you afford it?"

"It was a gift," Harry said. "From my godfather."

"Wow," Terry said. "He must be loaded. Where does he work?"

Harry stopped pacing.

"I think it was from his savings," Harry said shortly. He didn't want to go into the subject of Sirius. In fact, he had no idea where Sirius had worked.

"Why so jumpy?" Terry asked and Harry resumed his course.

"I'm just a little nervous," he replied. "I've never played at your level."

"Don't worry," Terry reassured him. "After what I read in the paper about you in the Triwizard Tournament last year, I don't think you have too much to worry about. I mean, no one else here has out flown a Hungarian Horntail."

Harry smiled. That was true. Not many wizards could say that they had ever out-flown one of the most dangerous dragons in the world. In his fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament had been hosted at Hogwarts. This tournament hadn't been played for many centuries because of the high death count, however they reintroduced it at Hogwarts after many safety precautions had been taken. Unfortunately, there had been a hazard that no one could calculate for and Cedric Diggory had been killed, the first victim of Lord Voldemort after his reincarnation. Still, it worried him that Terry had read the articles about him. Rita Skeeter had written quite a few nasty, embarrassing and completely untrue things about him.

"Besides, you have a Firebolt," Terry continued. "That'll make you faster than most of the people on the pitch. I'm pretty sure that you and Cory are the only ones with Firebolts. I only have a Nimbus 2001."

"That's still a really good broom," Harry reassured him.

"Maybe," Terry said gloomily. "But I hope I don't find myself playing next to Cory. He'll be flying circles around me on that thing and yelling at me to keep up with him."

"You play Chaser too?" Harry asked. Terry nodded. This came as a surprise to Harry. He didn't really picture Terry in such a powerful role. He just didn't seem to have the confidence for it. In fact, now that he thought about it, Harry couldn't really picture Terry in any Quidditch position. He just didn't seem to have the 'oomph' to do it.

"What do you play?" Terry asked.

"Seeker," Harry replied.

"Really? Wow," Terry said. "I don't think I'd be very good at that position. There's so much pressure. I mean, I'd hate to have to face the team if I lost the Snitch."

"You get over it," Harry said. "I mean, yeah, there were a lot of disappointed people whenever I lost, but they moved on. The worst was when the Dementors showed up at one of our games, they talked about that loss for weeks."

"I heard about those Dementors in the Daily Prophet," said Terry. "They were after Sirius Black, but he escaped, didn't he? I wasn't able to sleep soundly for weeks after that."

"I'm sure he's not all bad," Harry said, trying to sound casual.

"Are you kidding?" Terry asked. "He killed a street full of people!"

Harry opened his mouth to argue but stopped. It would be better not to make it look like he sympathized with someone who was a convicted murderer. Instead he started pacing again.

"It's weird that they would send a bunch of Dementors to a school," Terry said thoughtfully. "Those things are really creepy, I don't know if I could have concentrated on anything but them. But I thought they were after Sirius Black. Did they think he was going to show up at your school?"

Harry paused, not sure what to say. Somehow he didn't think that Terry would take well to hearing that everyone had thought Sirius Black had been trying to kill him. Thankfully he didn't have to make an excuse. As if on cue, the seven-thirty bell began to ring. The two boys stood up and went downstairs. As it was yesterday, Ron was half asleep at the table. They ate in silence. Harry didn't feel like talking to anyone because he thought he might loose whatever he had in his mouth. Just watching the boys, all so much taller and stronger than he was, confidently laughing and talking about the games they had played in the past made him sick to his stomach.

As he had done the mornings before, Stan Swan entered the dining hall and waited for the talking to settle.

"All right men," he said. He didn't seem to care that Amy was in the room. "Today is the day you prove yourselves to us. We want to see that you deserve to be here. So go out and make us proud. But first, we need to inspect your brooms. You will meet us at the back of the manor in thirty minutes and the coaches will check them for hexes, curses or any sort of malfunction. After that your teams will be assigned. You have assistant manager Breazley to thank for that. He stayed up until the wee hours of the morning sorting out your rotations." Swan tried to hide his smile. Ron, however, snarled at the man before dropping his head back onto his hand and closing his eyes. "Now, this activity is not only to test your flying skills. We also want to see just how well you can play with people that you hardly know. You won't know any specifically designed plays or just how your teammates will react to anything. So be on your toes. That is all." He left.

"Ron, whose team am I on?" Harry asked frantically, but Ron's hand had slipped out from underneath him and his head was now lying on the table; he was fast asleep. Harry would just have to wait and see with the others.

Harry tried to force down a piece of bacon, but he couldn't do it. Harry stood up, leaving Terry to watch after the sleeping Ron. He left the table and walked quickly up to his room. Harry stopped in the bathroom and ran some cold water before splashing it on his face, trying to calm himself down. Leaning on the marble counter he looked into the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, looking younger and skinnier than ever before. Trying to shake the queasy feeling in his stomach, Harry pulled his eyes away from the mirror and grabbed his broom, giving it a once over before heading down the stairs to the front doors. He could still hear the campers talking loudly in the cafeteria. Harry followed the cobblestone path around to the back of the manor where another paved area was situated. The coaches were already preparing for the inspections and a photographer was hovering around them, preparing his equipment. Stan Swan was standing on the grass, leaning on a tall fir tree next to the path that led into the forest.

" 'Ello," said the coach closest to Harry. " 'Ere for the inspection erlay?" He chortled happily. "Oolways goood to be on yer toes, eh lad? Now lets see the stick eh?" He reached out and took the Firebolt from Harry's hand. He turned it horizontally and let go. The broomstick stayed floating in the air. "Mmm, yee-es, very goood, very goood indeed. Very well taken care off. You maintenance eet offen lad?" Harry nodded. "Goood, goood." The man lifted his wand, which began to emit purple sparks. He ran the wand lengthwise along the Firebolt and the sparks stayed purple. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Yer ool set mate. Oof you go, den." Harry took his broom and left. The man's accent was extremely hard to understand.

Harry began to walk across the cobblestones before he realized that he didn't know what he was supposed to do next.

"Where do you think you're going, Potter?" Swan called out.

"I'm not quite sure of that myself, sir," Harry replied truthfully.

Swan beckoned him over.

"Wait here," Swan said. "The others will be out shortly."

Harry sat down on a tree stump on the edge of the cobblestone-covered area a ways away from Swan. He didn't really want to stay alone with the manager for who knew how long. But, just as Swan had promised, the other boys began to come out. By listening to the coaches, it appeared that the majority of the boys were on Nimbus 2001's, however there were a few who had Firebolts like Harry and Cory. There were some brands that Harry had never heard of, such as the broom Hawk was riding.

"A Hawkeye," Hawk said proudly. "It's a rare classic. The same people who designed the Firebolt designed it about two years before the Firebolt was introduced. It was a prototype, you see, with a few experimental features. Only about two hundred were made. It's always brought me luck," he said happily, patting the handle. "I've haven't lost a game since I got it. Got my nickname from it too."

Soon, all of the brooms had been checked. The boys gathered around Swan. Like Harry, they were all wearing Quidditch practice robes from a variety of different teams. It was odd to see so many different uniforms. Swan cleared his throat and they were all silent.

"I will be reading out your teams now. You will only have about five minutes to discuss any strategies before we move on to the pitch so manage your time well. Improvisation and quick thinking are important skills that you need to master." He pulled a long sheet of parchment out of his pocket and began rhyming off names. "Team A: Chasers: Cory Rodricks, Jeremiah Stanton, Bodman Chilsterwall. Beaters: Andrew Hickson and Rodney Nackoronty. Keeper: Jean-Paul Malcotts. Seeker: Jerry Kobalosha." Hawk let out a hoot and gave a high-five to both J.P and Cory. A tall black boy and a short, dark haired, tanned skin boy walked up to them, shaking hands. A boy that Harry swore must be albino also joined the group as well as a tall one with light brown hair. The group seemed happy to be together. "Team B:" Swan called out. "Chasers: Devon Wurstermann, Charlie Chambers, Calvin Teborah. Beaters: Harold Walker, Stanley Goatsmed. Keeper: Chuck Russell. Seeker: Harry Potter."

So I'm on Team B, Harry thought to himself. Teddy came over to him, beaming. They walked over to where a crowd was already forming.

"Harry and Harold, I presume," a boy said. He had dark red hair, almost brown, a ton of freckles, and his name was Devon Wurstermann.

"Call me Teddy," Teddy told him.

Calvin Teborah, a very tanned boy with black hair who later told Harry that he was originally from Greece, and Charlie Chambers, a boy who bore a striking resemblance to Harry, though taller and without the scar and green eyes both introduced themselves.

"Hey, is this Team B?" Harry turned around to see two boys approaching, one who looked like his one of his parents might be Hawaiian. "I'm Stanley Goatsmed," one said with a smile. He had sandy blonde hair and was extremely tanned. One look at the biceps on his arms and Harry was glad that he was playing Beater on the team. "This is Chuck Russell," Stanley said, pointing to the Hawaiian boy, who smiled.

"Alright lads," Devon cut in, "We need to get this show on the road. We don't have the time to work out any plays, but the best thing would be to out fly them as best possible. What brooms do you have?" He directed this question to Calvin and Charlie. "So we all have Nimbus 2001's," Devon said. "That isn't too bad. I'm thinking we should fly circles around them. Confuse them, get them dizzy: that would be the best strategy. If we're faster than they are, they'll be intimidated and that could play to our advantage." Devon turned to Teddy and Stanley. "You two need to pick out their strongest players and send the Bludgers their way. Don't worry too much about us; we know how to dodge them. But we need you to knock out their best players as fast as possible." He now turned to Harry. "And you need to get this Snitch, the sooner the better. But watch the scoreboard. I don't want you to get it if the other team is 150 or more points up. We don't want a repeat of the Quidditch World Cup happening here. And if you see them going after the Snitch, stop them any way possible. You're on a Firebolt, so you shouldn't have to worry too much about speed. You understand?" Harry nodded. This was all said very quickly and strongly. Devon reminded Harry of his very enthusiastic ex-captain Oliver Wood.

'Stop them any way possible.' This phrase was going through Harry's mind. This was going to be some serious flying that he'd be doing. Devon had given them that speech as if he were a general preparing his troops before they went into battle. Looking at his team, Harry thought that they did indeed look like some sort of army, all taller than he was and all very determined.

The huddles of people began to move as Swan headed down a small cobblestone path into the trees. The path was long, and the trees were extremely tall. Harry could barely make out the sky above them. But after a little while, Harry saw what the tall trees were hiding. An enormous stadium was dead ahead of them. The end of the cobblestone path was at a door, which looked extremely small compared to the grey concrete stadium it was connected to. Swan took them in and after walking through a few halls they found themselves on the red dirt of the Codelsbey Stadium Quidditch Pitch.

It was much larger than the pitch at Hogwarts: that much he could be sure of. The first row of seats was about six feet above the ground, and hundreds more rose up above the stadium like a bowl. Harry suddenly felt very small. None of the other boys seemed to feel overwhelmed by the size of the pitch, however, so Harry stuck close to his team and tried to look casual.

The scoreboard that loomed over the pitch suddenly sprung to life. Golden sparks shot out of it and the display read A:0 D:0. These would be the starting teams. Underneath the starting game scoreboard was a schedule. After this game, Team C would play against Team B. Then is would be A vs. C, B vs. D, C vs. D, and finally A vs. B. Teams B and C were beginning to head towards the stands as the starting teams took their positions on the pitch. Harry climbed up a small staircase in the middle of the left hand wall of the stadium that led into the stands and looked over at the players in front of him. Cory was in the middle of the pitch, facing the other head Chaser. His eyes were narrowed with determination. The cool wind was blowing through the stadium. Harry could see Terry, standing to the right of his head Chaser. He looked nervous and worried and was fidgeting in his place. Cory looked down at Terry and laughed. He didn't seem to think Terry stood a chance against him.

"Teams," Swan bellowed loud enough to be heard by everyone. "Take your positions." A whistle blew and the balls were released. Harry tried to watch the Snitch as it rose, but he barely saw a hint of gold before it disappeared.

This game reminded Harry of the Quidditch World Cup. The players were many feet above him, and, sitting in the front row, he had to crane his neck upwards to see them. When he was at the Quidditch World Cup, he never imagined that he would have to fly like that. Harry's stomach was churning with anticipation but he tried to shake these feelings. The best thing he could do was concentrate on the game and try to learn something before going up himself.

Cory had possession of the Quaffle. Team D's head Chaser was streaming after him, trying to get a hold of the ball. Cory's team were passing to each other, dodging the other team. They seemed to know exactly what each other was thinking. One of the Chasers was approaching the goal posts. He passed the ball to Cory who was prepared to score, but before the ball reached Cory's hands, a blur swept in front of him and the Quaffle was gone. Cory looked back, shocked, and Harry tried to see who had stolen the ball. Harry's mouth fell open. It was Terry.

Terry was flying unlike anyone Harry had ever seen. He was weaving in and out of players with such speed that they could barely stop him from scoring. Soon, Team D was up thirty points. Harry couldn't see much of the players' faces, but he could tell that Cory was shocked and angry. It seemed that he had underestimated the other team's skill, a move that was extremely costly. It still baffled Harry that a Nimbus 2001 was out flying a Firebolt. However, Cory was shouting at his players and he began to put in more effort than before. He had learned his mistake and wasn't going to let them win so easily. Now that he was concentrating, Cory was starting to show just how good he really was. Terry's skills, while still good, were starting to be overshadowed by Cory's speed, agility and confidence as he weaved through the players and brought his team into the lead.

Suddenly, a cheer erupted from the crowd. All of the players turned to see that Jerry Kobalosha, the albino Seeker, had just caught the Snitch. Harry felt crushed. Terry had been doing so well, but now the Snitch was captured. Cory's team had won two hundred to forty.

Terry landed and climbed into the stands to sit with Harry. Throughout the game, he had an emotionless expression on his face. Now that he had landed, however, Terry was back to his nervous, shy self and was shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush. Devon and the rest of Team B stood up, and Harry followed suit. His heart was beating so fast that he thought it might burst through his chest. He had never been so nervous in his life. What if he made a fool of himself in front of these older more experienced players? They began to walk down onto the pitch. Harry passed Cory, who bumped into him purposely.

"Don't slip, Potter," he said quietly.

Harry's team had taken their places on the pitch. Harry looked over at the stands and saw that Ron had come into the stadium. He gave Harry a tired thumb up before his head dropped onto his chest. The coaches and the photographer were also present, sitting higher in the stands than the trainees. Each coach had a clipboard in front of him and was watching the players intently. Harry turned back to the game, breathing heavily. The cold wind was blowing his hair off of his face. Suddenly, the whistle blew and all of the players were high in the air. Harry soared upwards as fast as he could. He needed to get a good view of the pitch.

Harry looked down at his Chasers, who were doing an amazing job, snaking around the other players. He squinted, trying to see the Snitch. Every so often he thought he saw it, but it ended up being a reflection off of someone's watch or glasses. His team was up thirty points. The Snitches at this level were most likely much faster than the ones he was used to so Harry decided to move closer to the game to get a better look.

Suddenly, Harry's broom gave a lurch. At first he thought it was just the wind, but when it gave another lurch, he had to turn around and investigate. The large, beefy guy that Harry had seen on the bus and his friend were pelting the Bludgers at him. Some were hitting his broom, knocking it off course.

"Get out of there, Harry!" Eric Goatsmed, the sandy haired boy, was calling. He smacked one of the Bludgers in the opposite direction as Harry leaned forward and sped towards the game.

Unfortunately, the opposing team's Beaters didn't want to leave Harry alone. They pursued him, smacking the Bludgers as hard as they could. Harry had to do some elaborate twists, turns and loops to avoid them. Stanley and Teddy were working double time trying to stop these Bludgers. The Beaters from the other team seemed to have an enormous amount of force behind them and it seemed that Teddy and Stanley just weren't quick enough. A stabbing pain shot up Harry's left arm as a Bludger ran into it. A sickening crack told him it was broken. Harry squeezed his eyes shut in pain, a big mistake since the second Bludger hit him right on his kneecap. He opened his eyes, fighting back tears. Both his arm and his leg were hanging at odd angles.

Suddenly, Harry plummeted downwards. Ron jumped up in the stands, yelling at the coaches to help him. The wind ripped through Harry's hair. Both teams had stopped to watch him falling faster and faster. Harry could hear Stan and Teddy shouting, but he knew neither could catch his Firebolt. He hit the ground with a thud and a dust cloud surrounded him. A whistle was blown and a time out called. His glasses had fallen off but he could see his team surrounding him. Suddenly, they let out a mighty cheer. Harry smiled. He had the Snitch.

"That was amazing," Ron exclaimed when he and Harry were finally back in the stands. Harry's wounds had been instantly healed by the mediwizard who had been standing on the sidelines. "You should have seen the look on Cory's face when that dust cloud cleared up. He was fuming. I reckon he thought you'd knocked yourself out."

Harry rubbed his arm, which was still sore.

"Did you see Terry?" Harry asked. "He was amazing. I never would have guessed that he had it in him." He bent over to scratch his knee. "Ow," he said, accidentally scratching a large purple bruise. "What was with those Beaters? Why didn't they go after the people who were actually scoring?"

"That's what I was thinking," Ron said. "They had no way to know you were going to get the Snitch so I don't know why they were targeting just you. Maybe they wanted to give their Seeker the upper hand."

"Who were they?" Harry asked.

"Albert Ogley and Frank Braceb," Ron replied. "They were strong. I've never seen anyone who could hit a Bludger like that. Even if they were attacking you, they were still really, really good."

Harry looked up at the board. Team A was playing Team C. This time, the Beaters Albert Ogley and Frank Braceb seemed to be going after Cory and the other Chasers. A Bludger soared past Cory's head, skimming his ear.

"Damn," Ron said. "I thought it would hit him."

The first game seemed to have been a warm-up for Cory, for he was now out-flying almost every player on the pitch. Harry could tell that Hawk and J.P were also extremely good players. So far, J.P had stopped all but one of the shots the opposing team had taken in. Hawk, though he didn't have the power behind him that Ogley and Braceb had, had amazing aim. One of Team C's Chasers fell off of his broom when one of Hawk's Bludgers hit him in the stomach. Again, Cory's team won with an amazing score of two hundred and forty to twenty.

"Who am I playing now?" Harry asked Ron as he stood up and picked up his broom.

"You're playing Team D," Ron replied. "Terry's team."

Harry hopped over the ledge separating the seats from the stands and headed out on the pitch, trying not to limp. His knee still felt week.

"Don't let the Bludgers scare you Potter," Cory called across the pitch.

Harry ignored him and took his position; Cory was really going out of his way trying to psyche him out. At the sound of the whistle, he soared into the air. Harry began to circle the pitch, watching the game like a hawk. Terry and Devon were trying to chase each other down. The Chasers seemed to be evenly matched. Amy was playing on Terry's team as well, and was probably just as good as he was. Every shot seemed to go in and time ticked by without any sign of the Snitch. Harry looked over at the Chasers as Charlie plummeted under the opposing team and scored from below the Keeper. Angrily, one of the Chasers grabbed the end of Charlie's broom. Charlie was thrown over the side and was holding on with one hand. The opposing Chaser was called for blagging and Harry's team was given a penalty shot.

Minutes came and went. The game seemed to drone on. The Chasers were all scoring, but neither Harry nor the other Seeker had caught a glimpse of the Snitch yet. Harry was becoming frustrated. His arm was sore from holding on the broom, even though the mediwizards had healed it. If things kept going the way they were, this was game was going to end up being played through the night.

Suddenly, something smacked him in the head.

"Ow," he said. "What was that?" His heart leapt as he realized that the Snitch had just run right into his head. He swung his arm, trying to scoop it out of the air. But the Snitch was zigzagging in front of him. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the Snitch was taunting him. Harry tried to follow it and hopefully come close enough to grab it, but this proved harder than he thought. The Snitch would be racing forward, but would suddenly drop underneath him and go in the opposite direction, causing him to break, plummet downwards and spin around, not unlike the way a swimmer will turn around during a race. Then it would pull him into loops and figure eights. It was extremely frustrating, especially when he heard the laughs coming from the boys down below. Amy, who was playing Chaser on the other team, shrieked and stopped abruptly and he soared in front her. The players were confused as he continued to do some elaborate twirls and spins in the air, trying as hard as he could to stay with the Snitch.

Within moments, the Seeker on the other team saw the Snitch and began to speed towards it. Harry zigzagged, trying to cut him off, but doing so just gave the Snitch more of a chance to get away. He sped ahead, pressing his broom harder than ever, but the other boy was too quick for him. They were neck in neck, only a few feet away from the Snitch. If it hadn't been for the fact that Harry was smaller than this boy, he could have caught it, but the older boy's arms were that necessary inch longer to catch the Snitch. He turned to Harry, giving him a very smug look, then stopped and turned around, waving the Snitch in his hand. Harry glared at the boy's back.

"Harry look out!"

He turned around and saw that he was flying directly towards the scoreboard. Harry turned the broom sharply, but it was too late. He rammed sideways into the giant gold lettering. After he regained his bearings, Harry flew back towards Ron.

"Not quite the way that I'd want to lose, but you still did alright," Ron said, trying to be reassuring. "I mean, you haven't been playing for too long and you won one of the games. And at least you got a chance to show off all of those flips for the coaches. For a fifteen year old, that's really good."

"If you say so, Mr. Breazley." Stan Swan was walking by on the pitch below them, fingering his whistle. "Personally, I expected more from Mr. Potter."

"Sir, with all due respect, Harry caught the Snitch in his first game," Ron argued. "And he didn't do too badly in his second either."

"Yes, he caught the Snitch the first time," Swan started, "after being hit twice by Bludgers and rocketing himself into the pitch. You do know how to put on a show, don't you Potter?"

"You think I hurt myself on purpose?" Harry asked angrily. This man was beginning to sound like his potions teacher, Professor Snape.

"I expect my students to be able to outrun a few Bludgers," he snarled back. "And I also expect you to respect the pitch on which you play. You could have seriously damaged the scoreboard a few minutes ago. Honestly, Potter, it's a privilege to be in this camp and so far, you haven't done anything to show me that you deserve this honour."

With that, Swan turned on his heel and marched off with his cloak flapping out behind him. Harry gaped at him as the whistle was blown and Team C went up against Team D.

"What was he talking about?" Harry asked angrily. "I caught the Snitch the first time and lots of people have been hit by Bludgers today. Hawk hit at least three people in each game he's played, but I don't see Swan yelling at them. Maybe Cory was right. Who wants a publicity stunt that looks bad?" Harry slumped down into his chair as Terry scored another goal.

"I don't know what's up with him," Ron said, staring bitterly at Swan, who was now patrolling the edge of the pitch, refereeing the game. "I told you that the man had it in for me, and I guess now he's after you too." Ron turned to Harry, suddenly serious. "Harry, you have to win your next game."

"Who am I against?" Harry asked.

"Cory," Ron said. "You need to beat him and show him up. I'm already sick of staring at his smug face every time he wins. He's big now, but by the end of the summer I bet he won't stand out at all."

Harry stared at the pitch. Terry's Seeker had just gone into a spectacular dive and soon had the Snitch in his hand. If he could beat Cory then Harry could prove to him that he was more than a publicity stunt and deserved a little respect.

"Harry!" Teddy called. "We need you out here mate."

"Good luck," Ron called as Harry walked out onto the pitch. Hawk winked at him, but Cory wasn't as sporting. He looked around at Harry's team with a look of pure disgust on his face. The whistle was blown and everyone was in the air. Harry flew up, high over the game. When he couldn't see anything, he plummeted downwards and soared through the game. One of the other team's Chasers had the Quaffle, but Devon was fast on his heels. When the Chaser slowed to shoot, Devon sped in front of him and stopped the shot. Team B's Chasers now had possession and were speeding towards the other end of the pitch. Devon wasn't as fast, but he was good at getting in the way so that the other team didn't have a clear shot at the posts.

Harry flew by his team's goal posts. There was no sign of the Snitch there. He flew towards the ground and skimmed the surface of the pitch, but there was nothing. Cory's Seeker seemed to be just as frustrated.

The game continued in this manner for at least half an hour. The teams were tied at fifty points each and there still had been no sign of the Snitch. Harry sighed and rocket upwards again. Maybe he'd be able to see something from a higher altitude. Once he had found a good lookout point, he scanned the action below. His rival Seeker hadn't seen anything and was slowly circling the rest of his team. Harry was glad that Hawk seemed more interested in the Chasers than the Seekers, because Hawk's aim was getting better and better each time he hit a Bludger. Calvin had a nasty bruise on his face and Devon's foot was twisted at an odd angle.

Cory's team was now up eighty to fifty. Harry glared down at him. He thought that he was so great just because he had a little talent on a broom and could throw a red ball. What did he know about anything? He was just a rich man's son. Harry glared down at Cory on his Firebolt. The gold lettering shone into his eyes.

Wait a minute! Harry squinted down at Cory's broom. It wasn't the lettering that was flashing: it was the Snitch! It seemed to be following Cory around, trying to hide in the tail of the broom. Harry plummeted down towards Cory. He had never been more determined to capture the Snitch in his life. He followed Cory, who was just about to take a shot. Once he had scored, Cory stopped abruptly and spun around, causing Harry to nearly collide with him.

"What the--?" Cory exclaimed. He rocketed upwards to go around Harry, but Harry stayed with him. He couldn't let the Snitch get away.

Cory looked at him, an expression of confusion, annoyance and anger on his face. He began to fly faster and tried to shake Harry off of his tail, but Harry wouldn't allow it. Cory watched angrily as Harry sped up, and just before they were about to collide, Harry's arm shot out and the Snitch was in his hands. He let out a cheer and pumped his fist into the air. They had won with a score of two hundred to ninety.

Ron was cheering in the stands. As soon as Harry landed his team smothered him with high-fives and congratulations. Cory was watching it all with a look of uttermost loathing. Harry looked over and saw the coaches standing with Swan. The coaches were clapping politely, but none of them seemed particularly pleased with the past games. Swan was watching them all through narrow eyes. He didn't look happy at all and he wasn't clapping.

"If you would gather over here, please," Swan was calling out. "We are returning for a late lunch now. There will be no more training for today, however I want you all to read up on some Quidditch history. You should all be able to give a daylong seminar on Quidditch like Mr. Wolverwick here."

"All right Harry!" Ron exclaimed once Swan had begun to walk down the cobblestone path. "That was great. You should have seen Cory; he was so angry that you were following him! And his face when you won..."

"Yeah, that was enough to keep me going all summer," Harry said with a laugh.

"Don't get used to it, Potter," Cory said from behind him. "I wouldn't be surprised if you don't even make the first cut." He spat on the pitch and headed out of the stadium and down the path.

"Aw, don't listen to him," Hawk said, joining the two boys. "He's just mad that a fifteen year old beat him. I've got to say that was some mighty fine flying you just did. And you say you've only been playing for about five years, eh?"

"You better watch yourself the next time you do a dive like that," J.P cut in. "You can't very well do a Wronsky Feint with your head stuck in the mud."

Harry grinned as Hawk and J.P left the stadium. He and Ron were about to do the same when one of the coaches jogged up to them.

"Mr. Breazley?" he asked. "You're supposed to clean up the pitch," he said. "Orders from Mr. Swan. He wants you to rake the dirt and polish the balls before returning them to the storage room." With that he left.

Ron turned and stared at the immensely long pitch. The red dirt was scattered all over. Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, I can't very well do it if there's no rake now can I?" he said, starting to head towards the door. But just as he said this, a thin post rose out of the dirt and a rake was suddenly hovering in front of them. Ron tried to pretend that he didn't notice it, but the rake flew in front of him and stayed there no matter where he went. He sighed and grabbed it out of the air. Harry gave him a sympathetic smile, but headed out before Ron could ask for his help. As much as he pitied Ron, he didn't want to stay and rake an enormous pitch.

"Where's Ron?" Terry asked him when Harry sat down next to Teddy.

"Raking the pitch," Harry said, and explained to them how Swan seemed to want Ron working non-stop. An explosion was heard from the kitchen and black smoke began to billow out of the window connecting the kitchen with the dining hall. Swan came running into the room.

"Where's Breazley?" he bellowed angrily, rushing towards Harry.

"He's out raking the pitch like you wanted him to," Harry said pointedly.

"Blast!" Swan muttered. "What's taking that boy so long? He should be done by now."

"Sir, the pitch is enormous," Harry began, but Swan was already heading out.

"What a grumpy fellow," Teddy said. "I wonder what his problem is."

Harry was one of the last people in the dining hall as lunch was coming to a close. He was saving some food for Ron, who came in with what looked like the beginnings of a black eye, and he was rubbing him arm.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked, looking him up and down.

"Raking the pitch wasn't so bad until my back gave out," Ron sighed as he sat down. He leaned over onto the table, groaning as his back gave a crack. "Then I couldn't figure out where to put the rake, so I went back over to where we got it. Well, it was a good idea at first when the handle started to slide into the ground, but it got stuck halfway. I had to grab the end of the rake and shove it down as hard as I could, and the spokes cut into my hands. Then I had to polish all of the balls, which I thought would be a cinch, but then one of the Bludgers got loose and decided it wanted to attack me. First it ran into my arm, and then it flew up into the air so I couldn't see it. It caught me by surprise and hit me in the eye. And the worst part was that I had to polish them twice because I didn't notice that my hands were bleeding." He heaved a great sigh and took a large bite out of a chicken leg. "Did anything interesting happen here?"

"Well, there was an explosion in the kitchen," Harry began. Ron looked at him, shocked. "So I'd watch myself next time Swan comes around if I were you." Ron let out a whimper and laid his head down on the table.

"How long have we been here?" he asked, his voice muffled by the sleeve of his robes. Harry paused.

"Three days," he replied.

"Only that long?" Ron sighed. They ate the rest of their lunch in silence.

"Let's go to the library," Ron said finally. "I'll let the house-elves take care of the clean up themselves." Harry looked at him. "Oh let Swan yell at me for it. It'll give him a rush for the day. Besides, I don't feel like it; my hands are sore."

They headed towards the library. Harry figured that he should research more about plays and strategies that have been successful in the past. Ron, on the other hand, was looking for a book on house-elf psychology, which, in Harry's opinion, was rather shocking. Perhaps Ron was going to join Hermione in the fight for house-elf rights.

The library was a well-lit room, full of books. While it was nothing compared to the massive library at Hogwarts, it was still extremely full. Most of the books seemed to be Quidditch related, but there were a few smaller sections for the rest of the inns guests. Book cases lined every in of wall, and there were rows of them stretching across the room. In the very center was a grouping of comfortable looking armchairs, all of which were empty. It seemed that the camp goers would rather be letting off excess steam from their last exciting games than reading.

Harry stared up at the rows of shelves. He was now in the back left hand corner of the room, almost completely hidden by shelves. Perhaps it was because Harry was a Seeker, but he always had a knack for spotting things out of the ordinary. And perhaps he saw this is why a certain book caught his eye. It was extremely thick and looked like it might have been a lime green colour when it was first written, but years of sitting on a shelf had worn the colour down and a thick layer of dust covered it. Harry tilted his head, trying to read the title a little easier. It read A Long and Pointless Biography of Valdertroth Codelsbey and the History of his Manor. Based on the title, Harry could see why most people would simply walk past it. But something about the extremely faded leather had caught his eye. He reached up to it and tried to pull it off the shelf, but it stuck tight.

"Hey Ron, would you give me a hand here?" Harry asked. Ron looked up from his book and walked over.

"Why do you want this one?" Ron asked. "It just looks like some old reference book that will tell you exactly how many trees were cut down to make the manor and how many bricks Valdertroth lay personally." Reluctantly, Ron reached up and tugged on it. Both boys ended up tugging with all of their might, and fell over when they finally got it down.

"Ow," Ron said as the giant book landed on his foot. He picked it up, with a great deal of difficulty and gaped at it. It appeared to be a wooden block covered in leather. The dust on the book gave evidence that it hadn't been touched in years. As Ron examined it, Harry stood up, but jumped back as a groaning sound could be heard. The wood in the room seemed to be moaning as the section of bookcase in front of them swung forward a few inches.

Harry approached it cautiously with Ron right behind him. They pulled on the shelf a little and saw that where solid wall should be was a narrow stone passageway. Harry stepped cautiously inside. He could barely see two feet ahead of him. He had only walked a few feet when torches on either side of him lit up.

"Harry get out," Ron hissed. "There are people coming."

Harry rushed out of the passageway and helped Ron push it closed. They barely had time to shove the wooden book back onto the shelf when Albert Ogley and Frank Braceb walked around the corner, eyeing the two suspiciously. Neither looked like they liked Ron. They both took books off of the shelves and began flipping through, though Harry had the feeling that they were watching him. He quickly took a few books off of the shelf and they left.

"I guess that plaque wasn't lying when it said that Codelsbey put in a few secret passageways," Harry whispered as they headed towards their room. They had free study time for the rest of the day.

"We'll have to check it out some time," Ron said. "But first I want to get these cuts cleaned up." He grimaced as he walked, trying to carry the book under his arms without touching it with his swollen hands.

"Did you know that there is a penalty called Flumberswagging?" Harry asked Terry. They were both lying on their beds, pouring over their books.

"No," Terry replied. "What is it?"

"Flumberswagging is the action of a Chaser taking a Bludger out of the air and cracking it over the head of their opposing Seeker in attempts to prevent him from seeing the Snitch," Harry read. "And Flumberswagwaggling is when a Chaser takes both Bludgers and cracks them over the heads of their opposing Beaters with the intention of giving their own Beaters the upper hand." Harry looked up. "What other intention would there be?"

Terry shrugged.

"Did you know any of that Ron?" Harry called.

"No," came Ron's reply from the bathroom, followed by a yelp of pain. "Dammit," Ron cursed. "Thanks to Swan my hands are covered in holes. And they are bruising up too. If that stupid rake hadn't gotten stuck in the ground..." He walked out of the bathroom, clutching a bag of ice between his two hands with a miserable expression on his face. "How am I supposed to do any work for Swan if my hands balloon up?"

"Here, let me take a look at them," Terry offered, putting his book down. "I've taken some medical courses." Ron sat down on Terry's bed, dropping the ice bag. His hands were indeed very swollen. There were circular cuts about half an inch in diameter in both hands that were dark red with dried blood, obviously from the spikes on the rake. The skin around them was becoming purple as it swelled. After giving his hands a quick look, Terry opened his trunk and pulled out what looked like a black briefcase. He opened it revealing an assortment of bottles. Ron looked incredulously at him; they couldn't be more soap? Terry selected a bottle and poured some of its contents on Ron's hands, and then spread some on his bruised face.

"Rub your hands together," he said. Ron did so, but not for long.

"Ow!" Ron exclaimed, pulling his hands apart. "That hurt!" But his hands were back to normal again. His eye was also healing very well.

"I want to be a doctor," Terry explained. "But my dad wants me to play Quidditch. I want to open my own hospital some day."

"Listen to this," Harry said. He hadn't looked up from his book. "Chumblewumping is when a Seeker tackles his opposing Seeker and knocks him unconscious before stealing the Snitch from his hand." Harry looked up. "These fouls are ridiculous! I can't believe that all of them happen in a game once."

"Welcome to the amazing world of Quidditch, Harry," Ron said with a smile.

Harry turned back to the book and began reading up on Blogwoling, when a Beater hits the Quaffle with his club to score a goal. This had to be one of the most interesting books he had ever read (Quidditch Fouls They Don't Want You To Know About, by Anonymous). Harry knew from reading Quidditch Through the Ages that there were seven hundred listed fouls, but most of them were kept secret from the public so that players wouldn't be tempted to try any of them. Though this book only had about two hundred different fouls, Harry could understand why most of them were kept secret. He had never even considered wrestling someone for the Snitch.

"Terry, you really should try to play Quidditch professionally," Ron continued. "Being a doctor can wait. You're obviously an amazing flyer."

"I suppose," Terry said, trying to hide his pleasure as Ron said this. "But Quidditch doesn't help anyone. I mean, as a doctor I'd be able to help people who were hexed and started growing extra legs or cure the incurable diseases."

"Quidditch helps tons of people," Ron said indignantly.

Terry and Harry both stared at him.

"Well," Ron began, "everyone loves Quidditch." He paused, trying to think of how Quidditch helped anyone. "If you were lying sick in a hospital bed, wouldn't it cheer you up to see your team win the World Cup? And you could donate some of the admissions to your games to hospitals and other things like that."

"Maybe," Terry shrugged. "But it's not like I have much of a choice anyway. My dad would rather pay tuition to a Quidditch camp then to a medical school."

"How much did you pay to come here?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure," Terry replied. He frowned as he tried to remember. "I didn't pay for it you see, I only received the owl that told me they had accepted my application, or should I say my father's application. My dad took care of the charges, but I think it was at least a hundred galleons. Why? How much did you pay?"

"Oh, about the same," Harry mumbled, turning quickly back to his book. "I'm just wondering how much I owe my godfather: he paid for it."

"A hundred galleons?" Ron exclaimed with raised eyebrows.

Terry looked at him suspiciously.

"Oh, I just didn't know it cost that much to stay," he said quickly, scratching his reddening ear. "They hired me, you see, so I didn't have to pay anything."

"Your godfather bought you a Firebolt and paid for you to be here?" Terry asked Harry. "Who is he, maybe I've heard of him. He must be famous for something if he has that much money."

"Oh he's famous alright," Ron muttered. Harry coughed angrily.

"You wouldn't know him," Harry said shortly. "He's, uh, part of the, um, Bulgarian Ministry."

"Ah, I see." Terry seemed satisfied with that answer.

Harry turned back to his book. Ron crawled up onto his bunk, and within a few minutes, Harry could hear him snoring softly. Terry looked like he was dozing off as well. Harry lay the book down on his chest and stared up at the roof of his bunk. One hundred galleons, Terry had said. At least one hundred, if not more. And Harry had paid nothing. This began to worry him. If Swan hated him now, it would be nothing to what would happen when Swan found out that he hadn't paid to be there.

Harry sat up and looked out the window. The sky was darkening again with the promise of rain. Two crows were staring into his window, but took flight when Hedwig came soaring towards the window. Harry opened the window for her and Pigwidgeon began hooting happily as she took rest in her cage.

"I guess you don't want to fly through the rain, do you?" Harry asked her. She looked up at him then out the window before sitting back down on her perch. "All right, all right," Harry said. "But as soon as the sky clears up I want you to send a letter to Sirius, ok?" She hooted before closing her eyes and tucking her head under her wing.

Harry pulled a piece of parchment out of his trunk and began to tell Sirius of what had happened, starting with Hogwarts Express breaking down, then Lockley and the Knight Bus, then the seminar and the exhibition games and all about Cory and Terry and Swan. He wrote out all of the questions that had been popping up in his mind since he had met Lockley, like why he had been chosen for this over hundreds of more worthy applicants, over hundreds of more worthy applicants who had actually applied. He sighed and stared out the window.

Do you think that they want me here as a publicity stunt? Harry wrote. I haven't had to pay anything to be here and the tuition is supposed to be about a hundred galleons. Say hi to Hermione for me.

Harry

Harry folded up the note and tied it to Hedwig's leg. She blinked and stared at him.

"Go back to sleep," Harry said. "You can take it later."

He lay back down on his bed and stared up at the bottom of Ron's bunk. So many questions were running through his head. Why didn't he have to pay to come here? Was it because they wanted the famous Harry Potter's name on the group picture in the front hall? Harry closed his eyes. Worrying about everything wasn't going to help him. He'd just have to wait and see what Sirius thought. Harry could hear some people shuffling around outside. Soon it would be dinnertime, and then it would be tomorrow, and he could only guess what the future held.