Harry Potter and the Quidditch Island

The Standing Lesson

"Morning bells are ringing," Terry called out from the bathroom as the seven-thirty bell rang. Pigwidgeon began to screech in his cage, wanting to know where the sound was coming from. Harry opened his eyes.

"Is it dinner time yet?" he asked.

"You slept through dinner," Terry informed him. "It's breakfast now."

Harry yawned. Sun was pouring through the window.

"I saw that your owl had a note attached to her leg," Terry continued. Harry sat up, suddenly very awake. Did Terry read his letter to Sirius?

"Oh, I was meaning to send that," Harry said, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice.

"Don't worry, I let her out this morning," Terry replied. Harry could hear him gargling with mouthwash. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he stood up: he took Terry's casual response to mean that he had no clue Harry was writing to a convicted murder. Ron's bunk was empty. He looked out the window at the Irish Sea. All of the clouds were gone and the sun was reflecting off the water. A light breeze was blowing through the trees.

"We'll have to be careful of the sun today," Terry said as he walked out of the bathroom. "It might throw off our vision."

Harry nodded as he changed out of his pajamas. His stomach growled.

"Guess I should have eaten dinner," he said.

Harry opened the door and was jolted awake by a disturbing surprise. A blue liquid poured down on him. The sensation was almost like walking through one of the Hogwarts ghosts. He was chilled to the bone and almost completely paralyzed with cold. Terry quickly slammed the door shut and pulled Harry into the bathroom.

"Change your robes," Terry said urgently. "Come on, quick."

Harry was shivering as he took off his robes and Terry started filling two sinks with hot water. After throwing Harry's robes in one sink, he grabbed Harry's head and dunked it in the water.

"What did you do that for?" Harry asked, gasping for breath.

"Just put any skin that touched the stuff in the sink," Terry said. Harry dunked his forearms in the water as Terry threw a towel onto his wet hair.

"What was it?" Harry asked.

"Professor Freezo's Frostbite Serum," Terry explained. "It freezes anything that it touches. In this case, you and your robes." He pointed at the robes in the sink, which had frozen the water they were soaking in. "It's very popular for practical jokes. I used to have to treat a lot of frostbite and hypothermia when I was at school helping out in the hospital wing. Small doses like that aren't too bad, but a lot could prove deadly."

Harry shivered and walked back towards his trunk and put another robe on.

"This is just perfect," Harry said bitterly. "Not only do I have to put up with Swan and his constant criticism but now I have to watch my step because a practical joker wants to get me." He walked towards the door and pushed it open cautiously. Terry walked through the doorway and slipped, grabbing Harry's neck to prevent himself from crashing down onto the floor. The floor of the hall outside their door was covered in ice. Passersby were staring at the two curiously. Deciding that the coast was clear, Harry and Terry headed down towards the dining hall. As expected, Ron was half asleep sitting next to Teddy, who was eyeing the scorch marks on Ron's robes with curiosity. Harry explained to Teddy and Ron about the Frostbite Serum.

"I know all about that stuff," Ron yawned. "I bought some a few years ago to get George back for turning my bunny slippers into live rabbits who didn't particularly like it when I tried to wear them."

"Who would do that to you?" Teddy asked.

"Cory," Ron said bitterly. "He's probably just mad because you beat him yesterday. I can check his room while you guys are on the pitch this morning."

"Don't bother," Harry said, shaking his head. "There's no point in you getting in trouble for nothing."

"It'll be nothing," Ron said with a grin. "The title of assistant manager holds certain respect around here. Besides, I have to supervise the house-elves today as they clean your rooms. Apparently, some people got their robes back from the laundry covered in bleach spots." Ron furrowed his brow. "I really have to do something about these elves."

Swan came into the dining hall for his daily briefing.

"Gentlemen," he began, "today is your first flying lesson. You will be meeting everyday, excluding Sunday, on the Quidditch pitch for the next two weeks. Coach Kitimer will be training you. That is all."

"You know, I can't really picture Kitimer as a champion flyer," Harry said. "He just doesn't seem to fit the image."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Harry," Teddy chortled.

"I'll try to come and watch your practice some time today," Ron said as he stood up. "But right now, duty calls." He sighed as a little old witch came in with a mop and bucket.

After they had finished eating, Harry, Terry and Teddy retrieved their brooms and headed towards the pitch. Harry thought back to his first flying lesson with Mrs. Hooch at Hogwarts. If it hadn't been for Malfoy stealing Neville's Remembrall, Harry would never have been discovered as a Seeker. Maybe he would have that beginner's luck with him again today.

When Harry arrived on the pitch, he couldn't help but look up in surprise. At first he thought that there were Quaffles floating in the sky, but he realized that they were much larger. Great red balls with numbers on them were floating in midair. It seemed that Kitimer had set up some sort of floating track.

When nine o'clock came around, Harvey Kitimer entered the pitch, a broom in his hand and the photographer at his side. Harry figured that this man would be coming to all of their practices to get pictures for the front hall. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet; it was going to be hard to concentrate on flying when he had to worry about not making a fool out of himself in front of a photographer.

"It's time to begin," Kitimer called out. "I've set up this buoy system. I want to see you fly the course in numerical order. It'll be a test of your agility and control of your broom. By the way, this is Mr. Newburn, from the Daily Prophet. He's doing a weekly special on the camp, so it's time to show him what you're made of." He waved his hand and the group kicked off. Harry quickly soared to the front of the pack since his Firebolt made him one of the fastest players. He had barely gotten to the fifth buoy when a whistle was blown. Everyone stopped and began to fly back down to Kitimer. There were confused faces all around. Kitimer, was staring at them all with a look of disbelief and disgust.

"Was that a joke?" he asked breathlessly after a few moments of silence. "You call that flying?" He walked up and down the line of confused faces. "You people don't belong on brooms. Not yet anyways. Hand them over." He held his arms out and waited. No one moved.

"It seems you didn't understand me," he said angrily. "Give me your brooms."

Apprehensively, the players walked up to him one by one and handed over their brooms. Kitimer pulled a small black box out of his pocket and laid it down on the pitch. Instantly it ballooned so that it was almost bigger than Kitimer. He promptly put all of the brooms inside and tapped it with his wand. The box shrank back to its tiny size, and Kitimer quickly pocketed.

"Now then," he began, "seeing that kind of form at this camp makes me sick. I expected better of you. There are key things that make one a good flyer. Lift up your robes." Again the group was silent. "I want to see your legs," Kitimer growled. Teddy had been right, Harry thought, appearances could be deceiving. Kitimer had the appearance of a very pleasant man, but looking at him right now, Harry realized that he had greatly misjudged the coach.

The boys began lifting the bottoms of their robes as Kitimer inspected them. Harry noticed that Cory was staring straight ahead like a good little soldier, but he obviously wasn't too pleased with Kitimer's methods. Harry took pleasure in imagining what Cory was thinking after being told he didn't belong on a broom.

"Just as I suspected," Kitimer nodded. "You're all top heavy. You seem to have strong arms and upper bodies, but you're legs are as flimsy as twigs. You need to build some muscle, otherwise your flying will be off balance." He cupped his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he surveyed the pitch. "I think about thirty laps to start off with will help. Get moving!" he barked.

There were some groans of protest but soon all of the All England Recruits were running laps of the pitch. Cory, Hawk and J.P were at the head of the team. Harry frowned. He wasn't going to let them show him up. It was lucky that Harry was a fast runner because he was soon up with the leading pack. Cory looked back at him and snarled, but stumbled and had to turn and face ahead. Harry grinned with satisfaction and started to speed up, wanting to get in front of Cory.

Unfortunately for Harry, Cory didn't take well to being second. The two of them were soon battling for the lead of the line of wizards.

"What are you doing?" Hawk yelled at them. He jogged up and so that he was in line with Harry and Cory who were running next to each other. "You don't sprint a long distance run," Hawk began. "Save the speed for the end. You'll tire yourselves out." Neither Harry nor Cory answered. They both stared dead ahead, their expressions only of determination. Hawk sighed.

"Fine, but don't either of you be complaining when they drag you're sweaty, wheezing bodies off of the pitch." He doubled back to run with J.P.

Time ticked by. The nighttime clouds had completely cleared the sky and the sun was blazing down on them. Cory and Harry were still in the lead, but both were pink in the face and sweating. Kitimer was watching them, a look of satisfaction on his face. He conjured up a tall thin glass of lemonade and drank from it. Harry frowned. That wasn't fair at all.

A long while later, Harry and Cory were finally completing their thirtieth lap. Both were beat red and sweating. Cory looked at Harry then suddenly put on a burst of speed. Harry followed suit. He wasn't going to let Cory get the best of him now. They both ran at their top speeds, which wasn't very fast at that point since their legs felt like lead. They both arrived at Kitimer together and stopped immediately, bending over, gasping for breath. They looked at each other and stood up straight, both vainly trying to hide their fatigue. They waited at attention as the rest of the runners came in. Terry stopped next to Harry and grabbed his shoulder to prevent himself from falling. He was wheezing terribly.

"Asthma," he gasped.

Terry wasn't the only one who was having trouble staying conscious. Many boys fell to their knees at the finish line. One boy had fainted and needed to be zapped with a strong electric charge from a wand before he woke up. Amy Zampowick came jogging to a halt. She didn't keel over like some, but her face was pale. It looked like the sun and exercise had gotten to her, but Harry noticed with admiration that she still looked very determined.

"If you're this tired then you should consider yourselves lucky that you play a sport where the broom does the work for you," Kitimer said walking through the ranks. "Now lie down, all of you. On your backs, legs straight up in the air." Confused, the tired trainees all looked at each other, but finally all spread out along the pitch and lay on their backs with their feet pointed straight up.

Harry laid his head back and stared at the wall with the door that led out towards the manor. Just then, Ron entered looking tired and scruffy. He was still wiping soap bubbles off his hands.

Ron stopped and looked around, bewildered. He was staring at thirty teenage and adult people lying on their backs, sweating and pink in the face with their feet in the air. He looked at Harry, trying to keep a straight face and sat down in the stands, waiting for something to happen.

Kitimer walked along the rows of people towards Ron.

"Would you like to give me a hand here, Breazley?" he asked.

"Sure," Ron said, jumping up. "What exactly are you doing? I thought this was a flying lesson."

"Oh they won't be doing any flying until they strengthen their chicken legs," Kitimer said, staring down at his trainees. "Alright people, listen up!" Kitimer shouted out. "After that cardio workout you probably want a rest. But you aren't going to build muscles by just sitting there."

He snapped his fingers and instantly, Harry felt an extreme pressure on his feet, making his knees buckled and bend over. They were pushing into his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. All he could think to do was to push back with all his strength. If he didn't he would surely break a rib. Looking up, it shocked Harry to see that there were great slabs of stone on top of his feet, forcing them downwards.

Ron rushed over to Terry and helped him out. The slab of rock over top of Terry was pushing down so hard that his knees were flattening his lungs, turning his face purple. Harry turned his head and looked at Cory. His face was red with effort as he pushed upwards. Harry turned his head back to the sky and pushed. Cory was his competition. He had to beat him. Harry had a feeling that Ron was right and it had been Cory who planted the Frostbite Serum over his door. The only way that he could think to get him back was by showing him up.

"Don't complain people!" Kitimer barked as people protested. "Lifting these weights with your legs will help build the muscle you desperately need. If you're at all serious about Quidditch you'll shut up and stop complaining!"

"Hey," Ron said, coming up to Harry. He placed his hands on top of the stone and pretended to push downwards. "Why aren't you flying?"

Harry explained to Ron about the buoys and the thirty laps and his race against Cory.

"It had to have been him," Ron said. "Who else was mad enough at you to plant freezing solution over your door?"

"I don't want to have to start a fight with him," Harry said. "He'd win for sure. So I guess my best bet would be to show him up in practice."

"Well there's no reason why I can't help now is there?" Ron said with a grin. He walked over to Cory and jumped up on top of the stone that was weighing down his legs.

"What are you doing, Breazley?" Cory grunted.

"Come on, Rodricks, I want to see you work!" Ron barked leaning forward to stare Cory in the eyes. "Don't complain or I'll go straight to Swan. I'm sure he'd love to hear that you're finding practice too hard. And that's Mr. Breazley to you." He grinned at Harry, who grinned back despite his fatigue.

The practice loomed on. After a while, Harry's legs were numb from pushing up against the stone for so long. But what option did he have? If he didn't push back he wouldn't be able to breathe. The blazing sun in the cloudless sky was taking its toll on everyone. The clicking of the photographer's camera wasn't helping either. Harry felt like he might faint. The heat was making him dizzy.

Then, after what seemed like hours, Kitimer snapped his fingers and instantly the rocks were gone. Harry let out a sigh of relief and dropped his feet. The people all over the pitch were rubbing their legs. Cory was glaring at Ron, who had periodically returned to sit on his rock.

"Alright people, you can have your break now," Kitimer barked. "Your lunch is late today; you were supposed to go through this session in half the time. You will have an hour after lunch before you have to be back out here. Don't be late." With that he marched back towards the manor.

Harry stood up slowly; his legs were throbbing. Ron was helping Terry up, who fell to his knees when Ron let go. Teddy came over and scooped Terry off his feet, dragging him along as he straightened his glasses. His hair was plastered to his head. Harry could tell that Terry wasn't one who took well to strenuous exercise.

Everyone was moving extremely slowly as they left the pitch. Harry stumbled with dizziness and Ron had to catch him to make sure that he didn't fall. When they reached the lunch tables, Harry, along with many others, flopped onto the benches gratefully.

"Did you notice anything different when you came in here?" Ron asked.

"Hmm?" Harry said lazily, looking up from his potato salad. His head was still spinning.

"Just as I thought," Ron said miserably. "I scrubbed this place from top to bottom while you were out there and no one noticed. Just perfect."

Harry rested his head in his hand. He didn't really care to pay attention to Ron's complaining about the house-elves and their little rebellion. He looked over at Amy, who was extremely pale and clammy. Her hands were trembling as she tried to drink some water. Harry sighed and stared at the door.

Albert Ogley and Frank Braceb came sauntering into the room, thermoses in hand.

"How can they do that?" Terry gasped. His face was still pink and shiny with sweat. "They're walking as it they weren't working at all this morning."

This did puzzle Harry. How was it that these two people could go through a rigorous exercise program and not feel a thing? They must have come from teams that trained harder than most professionals if they could come out of that practice like it was nothing. Harry didn't like these two, especially not after they had been attacking him during their game.

"Maybe they just have very strong legs," Teddy suggested with a shrug as he shoveled another sandwich into his mouth. Teddy hadn't taken as badly to the exercise as Harry and Terry had.

Harry continued to eat, trying to fill up and retain as much energy as he could. When lunch was over, Harry tried to stand up to go to his room, but he fell straight back down onto his seat. Ron ended up having to lift him off the bench and practically carry him up the stairs to their room. Harry groaned as he fell straight onto his bed. Then he let out a yelp of pain. It felt like he had just fallen into a fireplace.

"Oh Harry, your legs can't be that sore," Ron said from his top bunk.

"Fire ants!" Harry cried. "Get them off me!" He rolled onto the floor, scratching everywhere that the ants had bitten him. He ripped off his robes and backed away from his bed as quickly as possible.

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked. He peered over the bed and let out a cry of surprise. Harry's bed was completely covered in flaming red ants. Muggle fire ants were bad enough, but the ones that tormented the wizarding world were worse. Not only did they bite and make you itch for weeks, these little devils were actually on fire, a quality that they had been given by a particularly nasty witch in the fourteenth century who thought it would be funny.

"I didn't notice them before," Harry said shakily. "I was too tired to notice." But he could see them now very clearly. Hundreds of tiny red bodies were crawling over his blankets.

Terry walked in and eyed Harry, wondering why he was standing against the wall in his boxers. He turned to Ron, then to the bed. His eyes widened with surprise.

"What are those doing there?" he exclaimed.

"I wanted some new pets," Harry snapped. Why had someone put ants in his bed? Pigwidgeon began hooting frantically as some of the ants began crawling into his cage and up his legs.

"Fluferious," Terry cried and the ants all turned into cotton balls, which floated around the room as a cool breeze came through the window. Harry began collecting the cotton balls and threw them in the trashcan, which happily gobbled them up and let out a mighty burp. Apprehensively, he lay back down on his bed and shut his eyes.

"That's the second prank today," Terry said. "Why would someone do this to you?"

"I told you before," Ron said sharply, "Cory is angry that Harry in younger and better than him." He leaned his head down over the bunk and looked at Harry. "You are going to get him back, aren't you?"

Harry sighed. After their race today, Cory didn't seem like the kind of person who would try to hurt Harry and scare him away. He was more like the kind of person who would spend extra hours running the pitch to prove he was better. But then again, who else would want to do something like this to him?

"I don't know," Harry said. "I don't think that there's anything I can do. And I don't want to end up pulling a prank on someone who's completely innocent."

Ron sighed.

"If you're worried about hitting Hawk or something, remember what J.P said before. Hawk might be a nice guy but he'd never turn down a good prank."

"But what if I hit J.P?" Harry asked.

"Fine," Ron said. "Suit yourself. But I don't think I'd just sit idly by as someone put ants in my bed and tried to freeze me when I opened the door."

Harry closed his eyes. His legs were still throbbing. A good nap would help. Harry curled up on his side and pushed a cotton ball away from his head. Yes, a nap would help. He sighed.

"Harry, get up," Ron called. "It's time to go."

"I want to go to sleep," Harry groaned.

"You've been sleeping for forty-five minutes," Ron said as he pulled Harry up. "You've got to get dressed and go to the pitch."

Harry tried to roll over and sleep, but Ron shook him and threw a robe over his head. Harry stood up and yawned. The room seemed to be spinning.

"Drink this," Terry suggested. He held a small bottle up to his mouth and poured the liquid down his throat. Immediately, Harry felt like his throat was seizing up. Everything in his body felt frozen. Harry began gasping for air. His lungs were too cold to move. Terry poured another liquid down his throat, and Harry began to breathe again. He was still cold.

"What was that?" he asked. He was shivering slightly.

"I diluted some of the frostbite serum in water," Terry explained. "We had to wake you up somehow. We thought you were knocked out or something."

"We better get down to the pitch," Harry said, still shivering. He wanted to get out into the sun; he had to be warmed up.

They met up with Teddy on the stairs and headed out to the back. The boys were all trudging along slowly. When they arrived, Harvey Kitimer was standing with his arms crossed behind a line of brooms. Harry began to look for his Firebolt, but noticed that the brooms on the ground weren't the high quality brooms that all of the players owned. They looked like they were all Shooting Stars, and extremely old ones at that. Harry knew that these brooms were extremely unsafe since this particular brand of broomstick tended to lose its flying capabilities quickly.

"Are we supposed to fly these?" Hawk asked skeptically. He tapped one with his foot. The broom began to shake and rattle back and forth.

"Yes, Nackoronty," Kitimer replied. Hawk frowned at him. He didn't seem to like his last name, and neither did some of the other boys, who began to snicker.

"Sir, don't you think that it would be better if we flew our own brooms?" Cory began. "I mean, we'd be flying top quality brooms in an actual game so I think it would be best that we are prepared to do so."

"No, Rodricks, I think we'll do it my way," Kitimer snapped, and Harry was glad to see that he didn't seem to find Cory that impressive either. "None of you have given me reason to believe that you deserve those brooms. The technique I saw out there was horrible. Half of you couldn't outrun the Bludgers, and at the same time the Beaters could barely keep up with the bloody things. You Chasers were going so slow that I could actually make out the identification numbers on the Firebolt handles." He spat on the earth. "That's a waste of a lot of money if you ask me. We even had a Seeker who drove himself into the ground." Harry reddened but continued to stare at Kitimer. "And if I'm not mistaken, Mr. Rodricks, you and your Firebolt couldn't even out fly a Nimbus 2001."

Cory stared ahead, his face as hard as stone, but as Kitimer moved along the line, Cory gave Terry such a look that he went red, almost purple, and tried to hide behind Teddy.

"Now," Kitimer barked so suddenly that everyone jumped. "I want each of you to chose a broom and stand behind it."

"Sir, I was given the Top Class Flying Award back at school for four years in a row," a boy protested. Kitimer spun around, looking him up and down.

"Yes, and I see you haven't improved much since grade school have you?" Kitimer snarled.

Everyone walked along the field. Harry stood behind one of the younger looking brooms, thought it was still at least twenty years old.

"Now pick them up," Kitimer said. Everyone held their hands out, waiting for the brooms to rise, but they lay motionless on the ground. A few people tried waving their hands, but the most movement anyone got was a broom that rolled over. Harry paused, trying to remember his first flying lesson. They had similar brooms back then.

"Up," he barked. The broom jumped to his hand. He smiled. Soon, the rest of the boys were doing the same thing.

"Good job, Potter," Kitimer said. "Took you long enough." He glared at the trainees. "You're all to used to your fancy shmancy brooms that react quickly to your every whim. Now you'll have to learn to deal with an old, tired broom. When you can fly properly on the old model, then we will try it with a decent broom. Now mount them."

Everyone swung a leg around their broom and waited. Kitimer stomped a foot on the ground.

"No, no, no!" he cried. "That isn't how you mount a broom! How do you expect to have proper flying technique if you can't even stand properly?" Kitimer walked up to a boy who was slouching over the side of his broom and smacked his knee. The boy stood up straight, wincing with pain. Kitimer began walking through the rows of people, smacking knees and twisting feet and yelling to stand up straight. Soon the group was standing with the highest degree of posture over their brooms. Kitimer, satisfied with what he saw, conjured up a comfortable looking lawn chair, sat down and began to read a newspaper.

"Um, are you going to tell us how you want us to fly any time soon?" Hawk asked after they had been standing for about five minutes in silence. He relaxed his knees and waited for a response.

"Straighten those knees, soldier," Kitimer barked without looking up. "You aren't going to fly until you learn how to stand."

Harry sighed. The frostbite serum was out of his system now, and the heat from the sun was getting more intense by the minute. Kitimer would have them standing there for who knew how long.

When he thought about what Kitimer had made them do that morning, Harry thought that standing with perfect flying posture would be a breeze. But an hour had now passed and the sun was as hot as ever and Harry's legs, thighs, knees, and back were all sore. He had never stood so well in his life.

He looked up at the stands at Ron, who was yawning and dozing off. He looked at Harry and gave a small smile, but it was extremely obvious that he was bored out of his mind, and now that Harry thought about it, so was he.

Kitimer looked up from his paper at the sweaty players. Narrowing his eyes, he rolled up the paper and entered the pitch.

"Pull up those legs," he barked, smacking one person with the rolled up newspaper. "Tighten those knees," he snapped at another. "If you want to fly professionally then you better get used to having perfect posture at all times. If you want to be fly faster then you better learn how to be aero dynamical."

"Uh, Coach Kitimer?" Ron asked, coming up from behind. "It looks like you have this place pretty taken care of. I think I'm going to leave, I have some house-elves to supervise."

"Alright, Breazley, that's fine," Kitimer replied while he smacked Hawk on the back of the head for dozing off. "You might want to prepare dinner a little later tonight. We have at least four more hours left." There were a few groans of protest, but one look from Kitimer silenced them.

Harry knew that Ron was just leaving because he was bored, and he wished he could do the same. There were beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. It was hard enough to stand completely still and keep all of your muscles tight and upright, but with the sun blazing down on him it felt horrible. The worst part was that the whole time he was standing there suffering, he could kick off and fly away at any point.

The photographer returned a few minutes later. Puzzled, he walked up to Kitimer and started talking to him. A few seconds later he gave a great laugh, snapped a few pictures and walked back in the direction of the manor. A few of the boys near Harry muttered angrily. They too weren't looking forward to seeing a picture of this in the front hall.

Harry watched Kitimer sit back down and reopen his paper. Harry squinted, trying to read what the headlines said. He needed something to keep him occupied for the next few hours, and since the paper was so far away, it would take him a while before he would be able to make out what the words were. After about fifteen minutes of staring, however, Harry gave up. Now his eyes were sore as well and the only word he was able to make out was Ministry.

Harry looked around at the rest of the people. Most looked as though they were about to fall asleep. Many legs were quivering with fatigue. Harry sighed and looked up into the sky. There had to be something to watch. But there was nothing but the silent trainees all around him. Harry closed his eyes. How much longer?

"Wake up boy," Kitimer barked and Harry was jolted back to his senses by a smack on the back of his head. Kitimer had hit him with the newspaper. Looking around, Harry noticed that the sun was setting, but it was still extremely hot. There were also a lot less people outside. "Don't sleep on the job, Potter," Kitimer said. "It's time to go in."

Harry sighed with relief and tried to drop the broom, but found himself locked in that position. He couldn't move.

"Not another case of Body-Lock," Kitimer groaned. "About ten people now have found themselves stuck like this. Someone's been having some fun with Uncle Dodo's Immobilization Solution."

"You mean someone wanted us to stay like this?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, it seems someone is quite the prankster," Kitimer replied.

"I've noticed," Harry grumbled. "Professor Freezo's Frostbite Serum is a popular one too, not to mention fire ants."

"Don't tell me we have a serious joker this year?" Kitimer sighed. "Last time we had someone like that here one of our more aggressive Beaters had a nervous breakdown." Stooping down, he picked up one of the abandoned broomsticks and gave Harry a sharp jab right above the elbow. He must have hit a nerve because a great spasm of pain went up his arm and it bent at an unnatural angle.

"What did you do that for?" Harry exclaimed, backing away from the coach.

"Best way to get rid of the Body-Locks and wake up the muscles is a bit of pain," Kitimer said with a grin. "You're moving aren't you?"

Harry started to leave, but Kitimer grabbed his collar. He froze as the coach lifted the bottoms of his robes.

"Up on your toes, Potter," he ordered. Harry rose up onto his tiptoes, wondering what this would prove. "Hmm," Kitimer said. "It appears that those exercises have helped a little. Your calf muscles seem a bit more toned, but don't get your hopes up. It may be just a shadow."

"All that for my calf muscles being 'a bit more toned'," Harry complained to Terry and Teddy at the dinner table. Everyone in the room seemed grumpy and tired: they had obviously expected their flying lesson to contain more than two minutes of flying.

"As much as I'd like to complain," Teddy began, stirring his stew, "we've got to remember that we applied for this camp voluntarily. I mean, they must have gone over thousands of applications and of those, they had to choose the best in England, so we really should be grateful."

Harry snorted. He didn't apply; they came to him. He had no idea that they wanted to work him like this.

"That's true," Terry said. "I remember a few days after my application was sent in some recruiter came and watched a bunch of my games. Apparently he interviewed my coach for hours, getting every single detail about me."

"Harry, could you give me a hand?" Ron had come up behind them, wearing an apron over his robes, his face covered in batter. Harry looked at him apprehensively. He didn't really feel like working with no energy. "All I need you to do is wash some pots," Ron said quickly, recognizing the look on Harry's face. "I have to finish making desert and the house-elves aren't very enthusiastic about this recipe. It's one of Deborah's concoctions."

Harry sighed and stood up; he could sit while he washed.

"Who's Deborah?" he asked.

"That little witch that runs around, pretending to help me out," Ron answered. "She's supposed to be the residing maid or something like that, but now that I've gotten to know her, I'd bet your Firebolt that she's the reason Mrs. Franklin left. I have a feeling that it's her fault the house-elves are acting this way too. Apparently, this new group were hired a few weeks ago, and she hasn't made them feel particularly welcome." Ron sighed. "Now she tries to supervise me. It's really annoying."

The two boys left the dining hall and walked a few paces. Ron walked up to a particularly menacing looking gargoyle lamp just to the right of the dining hall door and tickled it under the chin. It let out a high-pitched giggle and slid up the wall. Instantly, a doorway materialized in the empty space.

The kitchen was a rectangular area behind the dining hall. Harry could see into the hall through the opening that ran along the left hand wall. The walls were lined with cupboards and countertops, and in the centre of the room was a long breakfast bar covered in messy pots, pans and bowls. Also in the kitchen were house elves, sitting on the floor, on the counters or on shelves with their arms crossed, frowning up at Ron.

"We isn't going to be helping Breazle with Deborah's stupid desert," one of the house-elves nearest them squeaked. "And Breazle's friend is not scary, sir. Breazle's skinny friend can't make us work, no sir, he cannot."

"Fine," Ron snapped, "But just wait, when Deborah gets back she'll be chasing you all around with her rolling pin from dawn 'til dusk."

"Deborah no scare us!" another piped up.

"Breazle has his friend," a young girl squeaked. "We is leaving now, let Skinny do the cooking."

They all erupted with high-pitched laughter, turned around and rushed to a small door in the side of the wall, large enough only for a house elf. Within seconds, Ron and Harry were alone in the kitchen.

Ron sighed and shook his head.

"I'll start baking," he said. "Mystical Pumpkin Cake Surprise is what she called it." He rolled up his sleeves. "You might want to watch yourself, my food is known to explode."

Harry walked over to the sink and stared at it. There weren't any visible faucets.

"You see that stone on the wall? The one carved like a whale?" Ron said. "Pull on its tail. That's how you get the water running."

Harry did as he was told, and water began to spray up from the whale's blowhole and into the sink.

"Could you make it a little warmer?" Harry asked politely. It was probably better not to get the house angry with him. The whale rolled its eyes and the water began to steam. "Thanks," Harry said.

"Why were they calling you Breazle?" Harry asked as he through a plate into the sink. "Can't they pronounce it properly?"

"Oh, they can say it all right," Ron said bitterly. "They just don't want to. Helps them be more rebellious I'm thinking. Not that I care. I can't get half of the students to call me Mr.. I'd rather them call me Breazle than Carrot-Head or something like that." He sighed and shook his head. "How was the lesson?" He began pouring blue and orange powder into a bowl full of yellow goop.

"I wouldn't know," Harry replied, pulling up a stool before he began to scrub a great wooden pot. "I fell asleep."

Ron laughed.

"It was bad," Harry continued. "He had us standing with perfect posture in complete silence for the rest of the day."

"Typical," Ron muttered. "You guys stood around doing nothing all day and it was the right thing to do. Swan spazzed on me as soon as I entered the manor. Said I wasn't being productive enough. Made me scrub all of the coats of armor until he could see his reflection in them. That talkative one on the second floor was especially scuffed so I had to listen to his revelations on Valdertroth's head injury for an hour. Then he started making references to some old wizard psychologist who studied brains. He seemed to know a lot about the Codelsbey family though. I wonder if he knows any more secret passages."

"Swan hates you and the coaches hate us," Harry sighed. "This is turning out to be the perfect summer."

"Oh well, he's no worse than Snape," Ron replied. He threw a few pumpkin seeds into the batter, which began to sizzle and pop and emit green smoke. Harry, who had just finished scrubbing his pot stood up to look for a place to put it. He limped around, not sure which cupboard to start with, when the pot began to spin in his hands and flew towards a cupboard, which opened and closed with a slam. Harry smiled; this would greatly ease the workload.

"What would you say to a bit of exploring tonight?" Ron asked. "We should check and see where that passage way we found in the library would lead to."

"Not tonight," Harry said as he threw a few clean dishes into the air. They soared across the room and landed neatly in a cupboard. "I've barely got the energy to do the dishes."

Ron sighed. He poured the large mixture into many different serving pans and brought them to a giant stone oven. A few seconds inside and the batter rose, becoming a bright orange colour. He carried the trays to the windowsill and set them down. In an instant, they flew into the dining hall and to their designated spots on the tables.

"I think I'm done," Harry said as he tossed a few forks into the air. A drawer opened and gobbled them up. "You really need to do something about those elves."

Harry and Ron reentered the dining hall to eat the dessert, which was surprisingly good, before heading to bed. Harry peered into the library and saw that their wooden book was still sitting on the shelf as dusty as ever. Climbing the stairs to the third floor proved to be a very difficult task since their legs didn't seem to want to lift, but after a while they finally arrived to their room. Pigwidgeon hooted happily to them as they entered (Hedwig's cage was still empty). After brushing his teeth and washing his face, a task that seemed extremely long because of his fatigue, Harry fell onto his bed, after carefully making sure that it was not still covered with ants, feeling extremely relieved to finally be able to get some rest. Who knew what the next day's standing lesson would be like?