Harry Potter and the Quidditch Island

A Trunkful of Secrets

At seven thirty, as usual, the wake up bell rang. This was one of the only events that occurred that day that was customary at the Quidditch camp. The cafeteria looked extremely empty, as there were only twelve camp members and one assistant manager to fill it. Everyone sat at one table, and everyone was extremely tired. There wasn't much said at breakfast and more than one person nodded off and landed in their porridge.

At eight thirty, as usual, Swan walked into the cafeteria. However, the expression on his face was something that none of them had expected to receive. He was giving them the furious look that was usually reserved for Ron.

"I suppose you're expecting congratulations," he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "You've made the team. You've been chosen out of some of the best flyers in the country to come to a very prestigious and almost historical camp where we've been teaching you how to fly like the professional Quidditch players that you all adore so much. I assumed that this was an honour that you would all take seriously."

He glared at them furiously; a vein was throbbing in his temple.

"Outside all night!" he roared. "Partying until the wee hours of the morning, when you KNEW you had practice the next day. Don't expect me to go easy on you all because you're tired. You're going to be playing your hardest today. I want you to prove to me that you deserve to be here. Out until two in the morning," he spat at them. "Never, never have I had a group of people who cared so little about the opportunity that they are being given. And I haven't even addressed the way that you reentered the manor last night. It is my understanding that the doors lock at eleven. Would anyone care to explain how you got back in?"

His eyes went from person to person, as if trying to read the truth in their eyes. No one spoke, as they didn't want to incriminate Ron, but, in Harry's opinion, Ron's reddening ears were doing the incriminating for them. Swan's eyes lingered on Ron for a very long time but after a few very tense seconds he started talking again.

"Get yourselves ready. You're expected out at the pitch at nine." He gave them one final disgusted look before sweeping out of the room.

Ron was there with the team members as they walked out onto the pitch. Now that he had the house-elves working properly he had a lot more spare time on his hands. As they entered the stadium they were all surprised, and rather intimidated, to find that Swan was standing with the coaches. He didn't usually attend everyday practices, but he was there, standing between Wolverwick and Kitimer.

"Why is Swan coming to practice?" Harry whispered to Ron.

"He's really serious about how well this team does," Ron whispered back. "He really wants you all to win against the team you play at the end of the summer, so he's taking your performance personally. That's probably why he got so ticked about last night."

"Gentlemen," he barked. In front of him, Harry heard Amy sniff angrily. "It's time to get down to business, so I won't talk for long. You're a team now, and so you need to learn to work as one. You need to trust each other. What we're going to do this morning is a drill to build that trust. You're going to be flying above the pitch together, back and forth, up and down, what ever you want to do. However, after a few minutes, we're going to start pulling your brooms out from underneath of you. That means that you're going to fall towards the ground and it's up to the rest of the people on the team to catch you and make sure you don't break your necks."

"Wait a minute, isn't that a little dangerous?" Hawk asked, voicing the concerns that had arisen in Harry's mind.

"Yeah, I mean, why don't we fly over the water?" Logan put in. "We've been doing that in Seeker practice all last week, and it hurts a lot less that it would to hit the ground."

"Do you think that you'll be able to convince a referee to allow you to play over water?" Swan asked menacingly. "I don't want to hear these types of complaints today. Get up there and start flying."

Harry looked nervously at Ron, who looked just as worried. Reluctantly, Harry kicked off and flew up into the crowd. The coaches were all on brooms too, flying around the perimeter of the pitch, holding wands in their hands. Swan and Ron both remained on the ground.

For a while the players simply flew back and forth in a tight group, but Wolverwick put a stop to that with a few well-chosen and extremely loud words. After flying for a few minutes, Harry began to feel very nervous. No brooms had been taken away yet.

Just as this though was going through Harry's mind, he felt his Firebolt fly out from underneath him. It slipped between his fingers as if the handle was greased with butter. He let out a shocked cry as he began to plummet downwards.

"Harry!" He looked over to see Cory diving towards him, his hand outstretched. Harry reached out and grabbed it, hanging in midair.

"Thanks," he called out as Cory pulled up, still holding onto his wrist, and headed for Harry's broom, which was floating thirty feet above them. Jiggs was nearby, grinning. Harry remounted his broom and started flying again.

After Harry's fall people began dropping out of the sky like raindrops. No one had yet hit the ground, though Teddy had come very close. It took two people to haul him up to his broom, as he was almost seven feet tall and very muscular.

They had been flying for nearly thirty minutes when it was Harry's turn to catch someone. High above him, Amy's broom suddenly shot out from underneath her. She shrieked as she fell from the sky. Thinking fast, Harry sped forward and grabbed her around the waist as she passed.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly.

"No prob--" but his words were cut short as his broom was pulled out from underneath him and they plummeted downwards together. Up above him, Harry saw Hawk dive down after them. He grabbed Amy by the back of her robes and reached out for Harry, but his arms just weren't long enough. Harry's fingers slipped from Hawk's grasp and he kept falling. He closed his eyes, braced himself, getting ready to hit the ground. But before he hit the earth he felt as though he had just fallen into a pool of jelly. Opening his eyes, Harry found himself about twenty feet above the ground, drifting slowly downwards. He landed feet first with a small bump.

"Are you ok?!" Harry turned to see Hawk flying down to him, holding his Firebolt.

"I'm fine!" Harry exclaimed, shocked to see Hawk's pale frightened face. Hawk breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought I'd killed you or something," he said shakily as Harry remounted his broom. They took off together and soared back into the sky.

As the practices continued, Harry learned why Ron had been so tired and stressed out when he was forced to work for Swan. Swan was a perfectionist in the most literal sense of the word. The campers had thought that Kitimer's first lessons were a nuisance, but compared to this week's practices they would have gladly stood still for half a day.

And it wasn't just Swan that was getting picky; their practices were being watched very closely by the rest of the coaches, who flew around the edges of the pitch on broomsticks. If they saw something they needed to change, they would blow their whistles and stop everyone. It was very embarrassing to be the one that made a mistake, as one of the coaches would fly out to talk to you while everyone watched.

But, even though the practices were hard, tiring, and often excruciatingly boring, the results quickly became apparent. What Swan had really wanted was for them to be able to work as a unit, to be able to predict and to know just what each of their teammates would do next, and by the Friday of that week, Harry realized that that was pretty much what they were doing. As a Seeker, he could often stop for a moment and watch the action below him, and his own Chasers were flying with skills that emulated the performances he had seen at the Quidditch World Cup the summer before.

Not only could he foretell the actions of his teammates, but Harry could also describe their flying styles. For example, the Beater Stanley Goatsmed overturned ever so slightly when he made quick turns in the air, causing him to have to straighten out before he flew again. Kamel Faeron, the Keeper with dreadlocks that had played in goal during the football game, had created an individual technique. It seemed that he enjoyed football so much that he brought it into Quidditch, and was prone to kicking the Quaffle away from the goal hoops instead of catching it.

"Stop doing that!" the Keeper coach called out one afternoon when Kamel kicked the Quaffle and sent it to the middle of the pitch. "Catch the Quaffle, don't kick it. You can't control it as well when you do that. How stupid will you look during a game if you send it straight into the arms of an opposing Chaser?"

Kamel glared at him, but, to everyone's surprise, Swan stepped in.

"I must disagree. There are no rules that stop a Keeper from kicking the Quaffle, and as long as they stop the other team from scoring. If this method works for Mr. Faeron then I suggest that we not stop him. However, you will need to practice your aim, as your coach makes a valid point." Kamel nodded dumbfounded at Swan: never before had he contradicted a coach like this.

On Monday morning, after a well-deserved day of rest from some serious flying, Swan addressed them all as they sat on the pitch.

"As you must already know, in three weeks the summer will be over," he said, pacing back and forth in front of them. "You will most likely be going back to your jobs, your schools or your teams. But before that we have a game to play. This game will be the culmination of the hard work and dedication that you have shown, so I want you to win." At this Harry couldn't help but notice a crazed look in his eyes.

"So," Swan continued, "it's time to get down to some serious business. We need to get your plays ready so that when we meet up with your opponents you will be able to fly them into the ground. Breazley," he said, turning to Ron, "bring the board out. The coaches and I have been working out a series of different plays and game strategies that you must all learn."

As written copies of the plays were passed around to the team members, Harry watched Ron push a large heavy blackboard across the pitch to where they were sitting. Once it was in position, he sat down next to Harry, sweating slightly from the effort.

"You awake?" he muttered to Harry. "You've got a lot to learn. Swan worked out fifty different plays. I should know, I had to write your booklets by hand."

Coach Wolverwick stood up and began to explain what each play consisted of as chalk lines snaked back and forth across the blackboard, illustrating his instructions. Swan was constantly cutting him off to put in his own word, which was beginning to annoy Wolverwick, who seemed extremely put out that his word as Head Coach wasn't good enough. Minutes ticked by, turning into hours, and still the coach and the manager were talking about the plays. Their discussions continued well after lunch and they barely did an hour of flying that day.

As their practices continued, the level of commitment from the campers had to increase. Harry's flying was becoming more and more demanding and very exhausting. Ron was having a hard time at practice as well. True, he didn't have much housework to do anymore now that the house-elves were working for him, but Swan had filled in all of that spare time by forcing him to write down everything that happened during the practices. While the coaches surveyed the players, who were zooming across the pitch, Ron scribbled away furiously on a notepad, writing down everything from comments and corrections that were made to how each play was performed. And Harry and Ron didn't just have exhausting practices to worry about; as they were both still in school they had their summer homework to complete. All of their assignments had completely slipped Harry's mind, and Hermione's letter had been a painful reminder of the end of summer deadline that was looming ever closer. So, while the rest of the team members slept and studied plays after practice, Harry and Ron sat in their room pouring over textbooks and writing on rolls of parchment.

"My hand is KILLING me," Ron moaned from the bunk above Harry's head one Thursday evening after dinner. "A whole day of writing for Swan, and now I have to do an essay on the effects of the cycle of Jupiter on my daily life. Who cares?"

"Mmm," Harry replied vaguely. He didn't feel like saying anything more, it was hard enough to keep his eyes open. He closed them and shook his head vigorously, trying to stop from seeing double.

"This is stupid! I don't understand it!" Ron exclaimed. "What did you say was the spin cycle of the fifth moon, what's its name...Io?"

"It performs two rotations, once around the Chaser then dives under the other two and scores from below the Keeper."

"What?"

It took Harry a moment to realize that he was reading off one of the sheets his playbook instead of his own essay. He shoved the books and parchment to the end of the bed and fell back onto his pillow, rubbing his eyes.

"This work is going to kill me," he groaned.

"Why don't we go to bed," Ron said, shutting his books and pushing them off the bed. They fell down past Harry's head with a dull thud. "Neither of us getting anywhere. Why don't we--"

But Harry didn't hear what Ron thought they should do. He fell asleep before his friend could finish.

The days dragged on in a sort of dull tedium. Everyone was exhausted, but no one had it as bad as Ron or Harry. Ron got into a lot of trouble when his mind wandered during one of the more important plays and he started writing about Jupiter's moons instead of what was happening on the pitch. Terry had offered numerous times to help Harry with his Potions homework, which he had been very good at as most of the work he had done in the school hospital was mixing medicines, but Harry refused. Snape would have known if someone had done the work for him, and all Harry needed after a summer of long, tiring days was a month of detention pickling snake livers and gutting rats in the dungeons.

Sundays, which were supposed to be their day off weren't that at all. Harry and Ron both slept in and started on homework the moment they awoke, as Harry wanted to get it all done before the end of summer game so that nothing would distract him from Quidditch. Unfortunately, while they were in their room working, the other campers were outside swimming and enjoying the beautiful day. By mid-afternoon Harry had shut the window to block out the sounds of the fun that was going on outside. The sun continued to pour in onto his back, making the room feel hot and stuffy. Their day of rest wasn't restful at all, and the next morning they were both up bright and early to start practice.

The week dragged on and Harry barely knew how he got through all the work. He took comfort in the fact the team was looking better with each practice they did. And the list of homework to complete was getting shorter, even though there was still at least a week's worth of stuff to do.

"We aren't working tonight," Ron said shortly as he and Harry ate dinner Saturday night.

"Ron, we still have Divinations homework to complete," Harry said mechanically. "And then we have Transfiguration worksheets to fill out, and two History of Magic essays..."

Ron scoffed at him.

"Please. We can make up the Divination stuff; it always worked before didn't it? Besides, we need to sleep tonight. And if I don't take a break from writing I think my fingers might fall off. I can barely hold a fork in my hand."

It was true. Ron had had to wipe his face countless times that night because his forkfuls of lasagna kept missing his mouth. Harry sighed and pushed his plate away; he was too tired to be hungry.

"You're right," he said finally. "What do you say we go to bed right now?"

"I can't," Ron replied bitterly. "Or at least, not yet anyway. I have to do my rounds tonight, you know, make sure the house-elves are working properly, check on the rooms, take inventory, make sure the equipment's all right, stuff like that. It shouldn't take more than an hour, not much more..."

He trailed off and stared at his plate miserably.

"I'll come with you," Harry said sympathetically. "It'll go faster. Besides, I haven't seen as much of the manor as you have. It'll be interesting."

"Yeah, real interesting..." Ron said disbelievingly, but Harry could tell he was grateful nonetheless.

Ron was right: inspecting the manor wasn't very exciting. Maybe it would have been if the house-elves were still acting up, but as they were now under control, Harry felt a lot like their time was being wasted. All they had done was walk into pretty much every room in the manor and scan Ron's list to make sure everything was in order. Harry's feet were beginning to drag and he was feeling bored and restless when they reached the equipment locker. Ron stopped and examined his large key ring, looking for the one to fit the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked Harry once the door had been unlocked. Harry was reaching for the doorknob, but stopped abruptly at this.

"What? I thought I was helping?" Harry replied, stunned.

"You aren't allowed in here," Ron said sharply, pushing Harry's hand aside. "That was one of Chilesworth's rules at the beginning of the summer. No campers are allowed in here. If they caught me letting you--"

"All right, all right, I get it," Harry said disappointedly as Ron slid through the door and shut it behind him.

Harry looked up and down the hall, which was empty. He sighed and turned around, slumping up against the wall. As he stared forward dejectedly, he noticed the door opposite the equipment room was open just a crack. The gold writing on it read Manager's Office. Through the small opening Harry could see the corner of a desk covered in stacks of notebooks and papers. He eyed them curiously, wondering what Swan had to write about that would require so many books. Surely there wouldn't be any harm in looking while Ron was busy. Checking to make sure that no one was around, Harry crossed the hall and pushed the door open with his hand.

As soon as the door opened a loud whirring noise filled the room. Harry's heart gave a jolt when he noticed a Sneakoscope spinning on the corner of the desk. Cursing his stupidity, Harry crossed the threshold, grabbed the device and chucked it into a cupboard holding many well-pressed cloaks. He slammed the door shut and paused, listening. Luckily, the sound was so muffled that it wouldn't be heard from the hallway. But what was a Sneakoscope doing in Swan's office?

Looking around, Harry took in all that was there. On one side of the room was a large desk that stretched in an L shape across the wall. It was completely covered in numerous stacks of papers and books, as well as shelves full of all sorts of files. Knowing Swan, Harry would have thought that these books would be well organized, much like the documents in Chilesworth's office. But Swan seemed to go through things in a hurry because they were strewn about in an unorganized fashion. On the other side of the room was a settee, the kind of couch that you would see in a psychiatrist's office.

Harry walked up to the desk and picked up a large, worn grey notebook on the top of a pile. Inscribed on the front cover were the words:

Plays and Strategies: 1973

Inside were moving pictures of plays not unlike the ones in Harry's booklet. There were stacks of aged books like these, even a few diagrams that looked like they were from a school Quidditch team. And then there were a few notebooks that looked brand new. Looking around cautiously, Harry lifted the cover of one of them. The pages were filled with illustrations with comments like 'that won't work' and 'try this on Thursday.'

Harry replaced the book carefully, which might has seemed pointless given the disorganized state of the office, but Harry had a feeling that Swan would notice if even one book was an inch out of line. He pulled at a few drawers, but all were either empty or locked. Not wanting to risk unlocking a cursed drawer, Harry stepped away from the desk, feeling rather disappointed. His dangerous venture into Swan's office hadn't been as exciting as he thought it would be. He took an unhappy step towards the door when a face appeared, blocking his way. Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air, and he could have sworn his heart had stopped.

"What are you DOING?!" Harry's heart started beating again when he realized it was Ron who was hissing at him from the hall. His face was pale and his eyes looked like they were about to jump out of his head.

"Just looking around," Harry replied breathlessly, leaning against the desk for support. "You scared me half to death!"

"You scared ME half to death," Ron hissed, his eyes still bulging. "Let's get out of here RIGHT NOW, before Swan gets back and murders the both of us. I don't know what you were--OW!" Ron winced in pain as he stubbed his foot on a large black trunk at the end of the desk. He hopped angrily over to Harry and grabbed his arm.

"Come on, let's get going."

But Harry wasn't paying attention. He was too preoccupied staring at the trunk, which had popped open when Ron kicked it.

If Harry hadn't seen Mad-Eye Moody's trunk the year before, he probably would have shouted with shock and informed everyone where they were. This trunk opened into a large cavern in the floor, making it look like the chest was a trap door to an underground room. This 'room', so to speak, was completely filled with strange contraptions that Harry had never seen before. Next to him, Ron whistled.

"Holy smokes," Ron said in awe, peering over the edge of the trunk. "Would you look at all this stuff?"

"Tell me about it," Harry said back, also leaning over. "I'm going in." And before Ron could stop him Harry had stepped into the trunk and jumped down. He landed on his hands and knees on the cold stone floor. He pulled himself to his feet and looked up at Ron, who was staring down into the room with a look of terror on his face.

"Harry this isn't funny!" he moaned, glancing over at the door.

"Ron, lighten up! It's nine thirty, Swan doesn't have any reason to come back here, the night's over."

Ron stared at the door for a long time, bouncing on his toes. Then, closing his eyes as if jumping into a pool, he hopped over the edge of the trunk and fell with a thud at Harry's feet.

"That wasn't too smart," he grumbled, standing up and rubbing his backside. Harry laughed as he looked around.

They were surrounded by odds and ends, and dozens of odd-looking contraptions that were piled along the walls. To his left, Harry saw an enormous silver mirror with shadowy figures moving across it. He recognized the mirror as being a Foe-Glass: a Dark detector that showed the owner who his enemies were.

"Wonder why he didn't see Braceb and Ogley in that mirror," Ron said, coming over.

"I suppose it's because he would be seeing their actual faces," Harry replied thoughtfully. "If they were taking Youngening Potion, they probably wouldn't be recognizable. What I'm wondering is why Swan needs all of this stuff."

There was plenty more in the room that, while he didn't know exactly what they were, Harry would bet his Firebolt they were Dark detectors of sorts. Harry walked around the small room, not sure what to look at first.

"Hey Harry, check this out!" Ron said excitedly. He was holding a long thin rod with a golden ball at the end. He put his hand against the wall, stepped back, and touched the golden ball to where his hand had been. A misty fog poured from the end of the rod and in a few seconds there was a ghostly replica of Ron touching the wall.

"Weird," Harry said as he walked over and examined the two Rons. The ghostly figure looked exactly as Ron had when he touched the wall, except it was made of a thin white mist. He reached out and put his hand through the shape; it disappeared immediately.

"And look at this one here," Ron continued. He headed over to a large wooden armoire and opened the doors revealing...an empty wooden armoire.

"I don't get it," Harry said bluntly. Ron shook his head.

"I'm not done yet, watch." He stepped in and closed the doors. "Now open it," his muffled voice called through the wood. Skeptically, Harry walked over threw open the doors, only to find himself looking at the back of the wardrobe.

"Cool, huh?" Ron said, and it sounded as if he was right in front of Harry. "This would be an awesome place to hide and spy on people wouldn't it?"

"Where are you?" Harry asked, peering into the armoire. He jumped back as Ron's grinning face emerged in front of him.

"It's a sliding panel," he explained. "There's this big piece of glass here that separates the armoire, but you can't see me from your side. Handy eh?"

They kept on rummaging through Swan's trunk for a long while. There were some pretty fascinating things, such as a pen that emitted a loud beeping noise if anything unwholesome was written, and a book whose pages were completely transparent so that you could watch the rest of the room while pretending to read.

"I wonder what this does," Harry said and he picked up a very large pair of glasses that fit easily over his own.

"You look like Professor Trelawny," Ron laughed as Harry stared through the lenses. However, he wasn't seeing the room. Instead, he was looking in on the entrance hall of the manor.

"Wicked," he said quietly as his vision began to travel through the manor. There were a bunch of guests out and about, but very few campers were still awake. His eyes traveled up the staircase, and his stomach dropped as he saw Swan swaying back and forth as he stumbled down the stairs. He looked drunk.

Immediately, Harry seized the glasses and threw them down.

"Ron, we've got to get out of here now," he said quickly. Ron picked up the glasses and almost fell over in shock at what he saw. Nodding, Ron rushed over to where they had landed and looked up at the office above them.

"How do we get out?" he asked frantically, looking around for something to climb on. There was a small stool, which probably would have been enough to get Swan out, as he was unnaturally tall, but neither Harry or Ron would be able to pull themselves up from there.

Thinking quickly, Harry looked over at the large wooden armoire that Ron had hid in.

"Climb up," he said, grabbing the stool and setting it next to the armoire. With a big jump he was able to pull himself onto the top and with another great leap he was able to pull himself over the edge of the trunk and into the office.

"Breazley!!!" Harry could hear Swan yelling from the hall as Ron scrambled out of the trunk and shut it. Harry took a step towards the door but Ron stopped him.

"No time!" he whispered frantically. "Swan's in the hall, how will it look if you come running out of his office?"

"BREAZLEY!!!"

Thinking fast, Harry dove behind the desk and hid up against the wall just as Swan barged into the room.

"Mr. Swan, I was just looking for you," Ron said anxiously as Swan thundered in.

"Where've you been Breazley?" Swan asked loudly. His normally smooth and crisp voice was slurred and uneven. Harry braved a glance around the desk and saw that Swan was staggering on the spot. He was holding a brandy bottle in one hand and was waving it around dangerously.

"I've been, um, I've been in the library," Ron covered quickly. Swan waved the bottle accusingly in Ron's face.

"No you weren't, I know you weren't, I'm not...not..."

"Stupid, sir?"

"What did you call me?!"

"Nothing sir!"

Harry watched nervously as Swan stumbled on the spot, glaring dangerously at Ron. Ron looked like he wanted to run away.

"You should watch your mouth boy, it'll get you in a tight place one day..." Swan stopped and took a swig from the bottle. He turned back to Ron a little too quickly, staggered and fell on top of him. Ron's knees buckled as Swan toppled over onto him, but he didn't fall.

"How about you lie down sir," Ron said sympathetically. He dragged Swan over to the settee and helped him down. He pried the bottle out of Swan's hands and set it down on the desk, well out of reach. Swan groaned and rubbed his head.

"I'm tired Breazley. It's been a tiring summer."

"I know sir," Ron replied, glancing over at Harry, who was watching nervously from his hiding place.

"No you don't," he replied tiredly. "There's been more work, what, with Potter and all."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, trying not to sound so curious.

"They needed help this summer, best man for the job they said. Needed protection...secrecy though, always secrecy...always has been, always will be...so many secrets..." He paused and looked at Ron suspiciously. "Never mind," he said, a hint of his usual crispness in his voice. "You should learn to stop asking questions where they are not appropriate. Do you have the list from Borkoff?"

"Yes sir. He doesn't know who his Seeker is though, says he'll try to tell us as soon as possible."

"Curse him!" Swan exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He staggered again and fell to his knees. Harry watched, stunned; Swan looked like a lunatic, not at all like his usual self. Ron helped him to his feet, looking concerned.

"I can't let him win, not again. He's always been a liar and a cheater and he's used that to win every year that we've seen each other. I can't, not again, we must win, we must--"

"Why don't you go to bed," Ron said soothingly. "I'll walk you there, and I'll send a house-elf up with a meal and something for your head."

Swan glared down at Ron, who became paler and paler. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.

"No, Breazley, I think I'll manage," he said, tugging at his robes pointlessly. He swayed on the spot and steadied himself. "I can climb the stairs myself."

Swan crossed the room and Harry couldn't see him from where he was. Peering around the desk, he saw that Swan had stopped at the doorway and was looking at Ron. However, there was no sign of the hatred that he usually had for his assistant manager. It wasn't quite admiration that Harry saw on Swan's face, more like fondness. He frowned and looked at Ron, who was still very pale and looked as confused as Harry felt.

"You're a good man, Breazley," Swan said after a long pause. "You remind me of your mother." With that he left.

Harry emerged from behind the desk. Ron was still staring at the doorway, looking completely bewildered.

"What was that?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head, his eyes still wide.

"I have no clue. He's not usually that pleasant when he's drunk. It's usually a lot worse." Ron shuddered slightly as they headed out the door.

"How does he know your mother?"

"I have no clue," Ron said. "He must have been thinking of somebody else. Not that I'm complaining, he's pretty bad after he's been drinking. I owe a lot to that Mrs. Breazley. Kudos to her, wherever she is."