Harry Potter and the Quidditch Island

The Bulgarian Elite Squad A

After what he'd seen the night before, Harry was looking at Swan very differently. The difference between when he was sober and when he was drunk was astounding. He was hardly recognizable as the man that had complete control over the All England Quidditch Team, or the powerful Auror that Harry was sure he must be. But, the next day, he seemed back to his usual self.

Lunch had just started Sunday afternoon when Swan entered the cafeteria, looking as sharp and calculating as ever, though his eyes did look slightly bloodshot. His message was short: he wanted the campers to meet in the lounge opposite one of the dining halls. This was unexpected, as that lounge was usually meant for the guests of the inn only. When they arrived at the room, they discovered a red velvet rope was blocking the doorway and a small sign with golden letters read: Reserved for Campers. Twelve makeshift changing stalls had been erected at one end of the room. A team of seven witches was sitting on one of the large couches, talking airily as they sifted through rolls of fabric.

"Uniforms," Swan said briskly, crossing the room to join the team members. "You'll need them for the game at the end of the year. You will also be given dress robes to wear when you meet with your opposing team. This shouldn't take long."

At that the seven witches jumped up and picked out five of the players to begin measuring. One grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him forcefully into the room. A measuring tape began snaking its way around his body, measuring every inch of his arms, legs and stomach. The witch scribbled quickly on a notepad, watching the tape intently. As soon as it measured the width of Harry's neck, it shot back into her hands and she turned swiftly away from him and headed towards the pile of fabric. After reading her notes once more, the witch tapped her wand on the pile and the pieces of cloth swirled around in the air as though attracted to each other magnetically. He watched as lengths of thread shot from the witch's wand and snaked through the cloth. One last string connected two ends of material, and then the robes fell to the ground. The witch scooped them up and shoved them into Harry's arms before turning swiftly back to the rest of the campers.

It all happened very fast. Soon, the other campers all had bundles of clothes in their arms and were heading for the change rooms. Harry entered one of the stalls and pulled the curtain shut behind him. The first set of robes was black, not unlike the robes that he wore to school. The material was softer, however, and they were trimmed with a gold stripe along the end of the sleeves, as well as the neck and the bottom. After a quick check of how they looked, Harry went back into the change room and took them off, eager to try on his new Quidditch robes.

They were fashioned in the same manor as the robes that he wore during his house games. They were red and white, the national colours, but they were made of a shinier material that reflected the light magnificently. He had a set of practice robes as well, made of a tougher material but looking just as sharp. Both sets fitted perfectly, and when Harry surveyed himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but feel very proud of himself.

"My dad'll like this," Stanley Goatsmed said, joining Harry at the mirror. "He's a Muggle, see. He always dreamed of having a son who would play football for England. When I turned out to be a wizard, he was crushed, because he didn't think wizards had any sports. He'll be happy to see me playing in our colours."

"My dad won't," Logan said sulkily, looking at his reflection unhappily.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because this is an English team. I grew up here, but he's from Scotland and we spent a lot of my childhood Edinburgh. He's real patriotic." He sighed. "He's not gonna like this at all."

When everyone had their uniforms on, and alterations had been made Swan told them to put away their dress robes and game robes safely, to keep them in good condition. They would be wearing their new practice robes every day now. The team left the room in high spirits, and even hours worth of homework couldn't bring Harry down.

Maybe it was the impressive new uniforms, or maybe it was the prospect of finally playing a real game, but for some reason the campers were playing better than ever. The only person complaining was Ron, whose hand seized up during one training session and had to see the nurse to get it moving again. Swan was back to hating him again, much to Ron's dismay, and he didn't feel any sympathy for his assistant's swollen hand.

But, with the exception of Ron's problems, everything was running smoothly. The plays were being run with utmost precision, and the coaches were running out of things to criticize them on. On Wednesday evening, just as practice was wrapping up, Chilesworth came onto the pitch with a second man. As soon as Swan spotted them, he blew his whistle loudly and flew down to the ground, looking particularly stern. The campers followed him curiously and landed behind him. Ron rushed over too and stood next to Harry, wanting to be a part of the action.

"Chilesworth," Swan began. His voice was calm, but he sounded angry. "What is he doing here? We are in the middle of a practice."

"Now vat vey is dat to greet your guests?" the man asked with a grin.

Harry surveyed the man. He wasn't particularly tall, though he looked much shorter standing in Swan's shadow. He was wider, however, than Swan, with very broad shoulders and what looked like a bit of a pot belly forming under his dark red robes. He had dark skin and dark hair with a slightly receding hairline. He had dark eyes as well: black, beady and devious looking. And, Harry noticed, Swan didn't seem to like him at all. Swan had his back to him so Harry couldn't see his expression, but he could see Swan's hands, which were in tight fists and his knuckles were white.

"Welcome to Codeslbey Manor," Swan said crisply, though there was no trace of welcoming at all. "This is Mr. Borkoff," he said to his trainees without taking his eyes off the man. "He's the manager of the Bulgarian Elite Squad A, the team that you will be playing at the end of the summer. They were randomly selected to play against us. Mr. Borkoff, this is my team."

Borkoff leaned around Swan and surveyed the team with narrowed eyes. He looked particularly amused. His eyes lingered on Amy and Harry, who were both smaller than the rest of their teammates, and on Ron, wearing shabby robes and clutching a crinkled notebook in his hands. He snickered and turned back to Swan.

"I did not mean to interrupt your, your practice," he said icily. "I just came to inform you dat ve haff arrived. Shall we all haff dinner tonight? At, say, 7 o'clock?" Swan nodded gruffly and Borkoff grinned again.

"Excellent," he continued. "I vill see you den." He gave the team one last condescending stare before heading off the pitch with Chilesworth. Swan continued to stare at the exit for a while after the men had left.

"Shall we continue?" Wolverwick asked after a few moments of silence.

"No," Swan replied shortly, still looking at the door. "Go to your rooms and prepare for dinner. Take a shower and clean yourselves up. Dress robes tonight, and we'll be eating in one of the guest dining halls." With that he stalked off and out the door.

As they still had two hours before dinner with the Bulgarian Elite Squad, Harry and Ron spent their time working on homework. With a half an hour before dinner, Harry put the last period on his last essay and closed his books, grinning broadly. With his homework done he could finally concentrate solely on his flying.

"What's the answer to question 34 on McGonagall's worksheet?"

"Er, seven," Harry said, flipping through his answers. There was the sound of Ron's pen scratching across the paper and then a book snapping shut.

"Finally!" he exclaimed. "I thought it would never end."

Harry and Ron both took their showers before changing into their dress robes. Ron's almost exactly like Harry's, except for one thing: they had two gold stripes on the edges instead of one. Ron said that he was wearing coaches' robes. Apparently, Swan's robes had three stripes. Harry gave his messy hair one last pointless combing before heading down to the dining hall with Ron and Terry.

The rest of their team was gathered around the elaborately carved wooden doors that blocked off the nicest dining hall in the manor. Many of the inn's guests were walking by, giving the campers jealous looks. From one end of the corridor, Harry heard the front doors opening and closing. A few moments later Borkoff appeared from around the corner, flanked by four coaches and a troop of Quidditch players. At the same moment Swan and the other coaches came in through the other end of the hall. Swan and Borkoff stopped face to face about two feet from each other. Harry felt a lot like he was watching some sort of western show down. Swan's eyes passed from Borkoff to his team and his mouth fell open. Harry turned his head to see what had shocked Swan. There, standing in the middle of the small crowd was the hook-nosed, surly faced professional Quidditch player Viktor Krum.

"What's he doing here?" Ron whispered to Harry.

"What is he doing here?" Swan asked at the same time. He was very angry, Harry noticed, and his eyes were bulging.

"Who?" Borkoff asked innocently.

"May we have a word?" Swan hissed, pointing to the lounge opposite the dining hall.

"You may seat yourselves," Borkoff said to his team, who all entered the room. Swan and Borkoff entered the lounge opposite the hall and closed the doors behind them.

"Should we sit down?" Harry asked Ron, not taking his eyes off the lounge.

"No way I'm missing this," Ron said as he crossed the hall and put an ear up against the door.

"You read my mind," Hawk said, joining Ron at the door. Harry did the same, as did Logan. The rest of the team gathered behind them, waiting to hear what was going on.

"What is the MEANING of this, Borkoff?!" Swan's voice came from behind the door.

"Vat is your problem now, Swan?"

"Viktor Krum! WHY IS HE ON YOU TEAM!"

"He is vithin de age limit, he can play."

"He's a professional player! This program is for amateurs, not people who have been playing in the major leagues for years!"

"You haff already approved my team list, ve can play."

"He wasn't ON your team list!"

"Vell ve haff no other Seeker. If you do not let him play, ve cannot play."

"Then you won't play. It goes against the rules."

"You are just mad because your Seeker is not good enough."

"Of course he's not good enough!"

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed indignantly, but Ron smacked him in the ribs.

"Not good enough to play against a professional!" Swan continued. "Our man hasn't played a professional game in his life, like ALL of our team members. Krum cannot play!"

"I though you were less of a coward den dis," Borkoff said smoothly. "I thought you vould haff us play a real game, but you are just too scared dat you vill loose. Again."

"I'm not afraid of your team," Swan replied, his voice shaking uncontrollably. "I am merely following the rules--"

"And de rules clearly state that once you haff approved our team list it is final. I said I had not chosen a Seeker, and you said it vas fine and ve could come vith vat we had."

"You rotten, cheating scumbag. You did that deliberately so that you could sneak in a professional player. You've always been this way. Cheating and scheming, playing dirty so that you can win; well it's not going to work this year, Borkoff!"

"Ve shall see. Play us and ve shall see. Ve vill fly your team into de ground."

"We'll see indeed."

There were the sounds of Swan's angry footsteps. The campers at the door rushed into the dining hall and sat down just as the doors to the lounge opened. Swan came in and sat at the head of the table. His face was red and he looked like he was about to explode. Borkoff followed and sat down directly opposite Swan at the other end of the table. He was grinning slightly and he looked very pleased with himself. The two teams ate at opposite ends of the long table. Harry and Ron were seated at the middle of the table. Viktor Krum was seated opposite them. He gave Harry and Ron a small smile as they sat down. Harry nodded back to him, but Ron just glared.

Dinner was a very tense meal. Both teams were giving each other nasty looks from across the table. Harry sat at the dividing line, next to a very large Bulgarian who looked like he must be in his twenties. The Bulgarian was glaring down at Harry and flexing his muscles, trying to be intimidating. Harry tried very hard to concentrate on his mashed potatoes, and to ignore the comments that were being made from the Bulgarian team.

"Do you see dat little boy?"

"Vat is he doing on de team?"

"And vat do you think about de oaf on de end, vith de skinny blonde vone who looks like a two year old?"

"De red haired boy haff two stripes on his robes. Is he a coach?"

"Maybe he is de captain."

"If he is de captain, den dis team must be a pushover."

Ron speared his roast beef angrily.

"Look, der is a girl on de team."

"Ve vill haff to see her after dinner."

There was loud laughter at this. Ron made a move to stand up but Harry grabbed his arm and kept him in his seat. He nodded pointedly at the large player sitting beside him. They both glanced over at Amy, who was staring very intently at her meal. As she brought her fork to her mouth, Harry noticed that her hand was shaking.

Harry had expected that there would be a lot of team rivalry between them, with the players as serious as they were, but he hadn't imagined that it would flare up this badly in such a short period of time. The English team wasn't making any comments about the Bulgarians: it seemed that everyone was too angry to speak. The Bulgarians continued to talk, however. It wasn't always about the English team, but the comments that were about them were said loudly so that they could be heard across the table. Swan seemed to be the angriest out of all of them. He hadn't touched his dinner; all he did was stare across the table with a murderous glint in his eyes. A vein was throbbing on his temple, making him look all the more frightening.

When the dishes were cleared, Borkoff stood up and bowed out of the door with his team following behind. The English team waited until they left before the talking began.

"What is their problem?"

"They have some serious issues."

"Mr. Swan does Harry actually have to play against Viktor Krum?"

"Yeah, he'll be flattened! No offense, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said resentfully.

"Don't listen to them Amy," Cory said angrily, staring at the open doorway where the Bulgarian team had just passed.

"Yeah, if anyone tries anything, I'll pound them."

There were murmurs of agreement and comments on their table manners. Amy smiled weakly, but she still looked very shaken. Ron was looking livid.

"I can't believe they brought that scumbag Krum," he snarled, pounding his fist against the table. "You better beat him Harry, you better."

"Yeah, you can do it Harry!"

"Fly him into the ground!"

"Mr. Swan, what are we going to do about those creeps?"

Swan had remained silent during the angry discussion. He was staring at a spot in the middle of the table with the tips of his fingers together and his chin resting on top of them. He paused for a moment before speaking.

"There is only one thing we can do, Mr. Chambers," he answered calmly. "We must beat them."

There was a loud outburst of agreement from the table. Even the coaches joined into the cheering: the Bulgarian coaches had been just as rude as their pupils.

"But we cannot do that while we sit here," Swan continued seriously once the talk had subsided. "We must train, harder than ever. I am going to be extending your practices after dinner from now on. Study your plays and practice in your spare time. We only have a week and a half to achieve perfection. Now get to bed, all of you. You'll need to get a good night's sleep."

The campers stood up and left, all talking seriously amongst themselves. Harry took one last look at Swan, sitting alone at the table, still staring into space. His pale blue eyes seemed to glow as bright as the candles that illuminated the room.

In the entrance hall, Harry met with Cory, J.P. and Hawk. Terry, Teddy, Amy and Ron were there as well; the others had gone upstairs. Hawk was pounding his fist into his hand.

"We've got to beat them, we just have to. And I don't just mean beat them, I mean demolish them."

"We know that, Hawk," Cory said, wearing the same determined expression as Swan had. "And we will. What we need to d--"

"Harry?"

They stopped talking. All eyes turned to the door. Viktor Krum had just entered and was standing alone in the opening.

"Do you know him Harry?" Hawk growled, balling his fists.

"Yeah," Harry replied, still eyeing Krum. Krum stepped forward to join them in the manor.

"I just vanted to vish you good luck," he began. "I haff been looking forvard to playing against you since I vatched you fly two years ago."

Harry opened his mouth to answer but he was cut off.

"Harry doesn't need your luck," Ron spat at him. Krum glared at him.

"Yeah, Harry got on the team because he has talent, not because his manager is a liar and a cheater," Hawk put in angrily. At this, Harry's insides did a funny sort of turn. That wasn't completely true...

"Go back to your team, Krum," Cory said strongly. "You aren't welcome here."

Krum opened his mouth to say something, looking shocked and angry, but sounds came from behind him. In walked the Bulgarian team, looking at the English in a patronizing way.

"Vat haff you found here Viktor?" said a tall Bulgarian. "Did a bunch of Muggles find der vay into de manor? Or is dis de team dey expect to play us?"

Hawk took a step forward but Cory stuck his arm out to stop him.

"I vas just leaving," Krum muttered, looking angry and yet disappointed.

"Vy leave!" he exclaimed with a broad grin. "De fun is just getting started."

"No, I think Krum's got it right," Ron said. "Why don't you all get out of here."

"Who are you?" said a burly, sour-faced player. "Are you a coach or did you just pay extra for de second stripe on your robes?"

"I'm the assistant manager," Ron snarled.

At this many of the Bulgarians laughed. Ron's face turned bright red and his fists started shaking.

"You should have some respect!" Amy exclaimed shrilly, stepping forward from the back of the group. "You're a bunch of jerks! Your pathetic excuses for Quidditch players."

"Hey, Assistant Manager, are you going to let your girl do de fighting for you?" the tall Bulgarian laughed. "Vy don't you come here, girl, ve vill show you vat real Quidditch players are."

At that, Ron and Hawk both leapt forward. Harry and J.P grabbed Ron's arms to hold him back, and Teddy had to grab Hawk around the stomach and hold him above the ground to make him back down.

"Get out of here!" Cory yelled, looking like he wanted to throw something at them.

The Bulgarian team burst out laughing.

"Come, ve haff practicing to do. Let de little boys go off to bed."

With that they left, Krum giving Harry one last disappointed look before leaving with his teammates.

"I can't believe them," Ron said once the door had closed. He pulled himself out of Harry and J.P's grasp. "They can't be as good as they say they are."

"I wish we could see them," Harry said. "I wish we could see what we're up against."

"Why don't we," Hawk said angrily as Teddy put him back down. "I don't know what the rest of you want to do, but I'm going to go watch their stupid practice."

"Do you even know where they practice?" Terry asked timidly, coming out from behind Teddy.

"I do," Ron answered. "They sailed in here on a big raft that has a stadium built right on it. We could fly out there and see just how good they actually are."

"Do you have a broom, Ron?" Amy asked.

"I can get one," he answered with a mischievous grin. He turned and headed down a hall, his large key ring jingling in his hands.

In five minutes they were all back in the entrance hall, clutching their brooms in their hands. Ron was holding a Nimbus 2000 and looking around nervously for any sign of Swan. Together, they pushed open the door and flew off into the sky with Ron in the lead. For a few minutes they flew in silence. Then, up ahead, Harry saw something large coming into view.

It looked like someone had transplanted a Quidditch stadium onto a barge. The massive boat loomed in front of them like a giant metal island. Harry could see stadium lights shining down on the inside of the pitch. The group halted in the air and surveyed the floating arena.

Harry looked at his teammates. Terry was looking terrified, and Amy wasn't looking very composed either. But the determination in Ron, Cory, and Hawk's eyes was enough to make them all stay.

"Fly in slow," Cory said in a voice that was barely a whisper. "We don't want to make any noise at all." With that he headed down to the stadium, keeping close to wall. Harry followed right behind him, hoping that his rapidly beating heart wasn't making as much noise as he thought it was. Soon they were all lined up along the edge of the top of the stadium. Slowly, Harry raised himself just enough for his eyes to see over the last row of seats.

At first he thought that the Bulgarians had been lying about practicing that night. But he could hear and feel air racing in front of them, and he knew that there was no wind that night. Squinting, Harry tried to follow the sound of the wind with his eyes. Then his jaw dropped open. What he was hearing was the Bulgarian team, shooting back and forth across the pitch. It took a moment for his eyes to pick them out, but when they did he wished they hadn't. The Bulgarians were flying so rapidly that they were barely visible. All of the pride that he had felt about his own team that week vanished as he watched what were undoubtedly more experienced and talented players.

Harry scanned the floating pitch in awe. His eyes traveled to Krum, who was working with his own personal coach. They were fighting over a Snitch that was zigzagging in front of them. It was then that Harry realized how hard it would be to fight off Krum, who was bigger, stronger, faster, and more experienced.

"Uh oh," Harry heard Hawk say a few feet away from him. Harry looked up and watched the Bulgarian Beaters. As he had suspected, the person that he had been sitting next to was a Beater, and a very strong one at that. He turned to Hawk, whose eyes were following the Bludgers. He looked very nervous.

"This isn't good, Cory." J.P. had just flown over. Harry looked over at them. J.P. was watching Cory intently with a very serious look on his face. Cory was watching the pitch. His eyes were narrowed and he was chewing on his bottom lip. He looked deep in thought.

"I know," he said finally.

J.P. turned to watch the Bulgarians as well. Harry was still watching Cory. This must have been a serious dilemma for him, as he was probably the most serious Quidditch player Harry had ever met. He was sure that Cory had never faced anyone that was a better player; this must have been a new experience for him.

"We should go back," Cory said suddenly. "This is pointless, let's just go." He shot off and flew at high speeds back to the manor. The rest of the starting line followed.

Back at the manor, they all met at the sitting room off the entrance hall. Cory had his head in his hands and was staring at his knees. Everyone was silent. Terry looked purely terrified. Even Hawk didn't have anything to say.

"We shouldn't let them get us down," Teddy said finally in a last attempt at being cheerful. "I mean, we still have a week and a half left. We can't just give up now, they would have wanted this. We just need to keep practicing and get better."

There were a few nods of agreement but none of them very enthusiastic. One by one the teammates stood up and headed up to their rooms. Harry was about to leave after Ron but stopped. Cory was still sitting in his chair, staring at his knees.

"Teddy's right you know," Harry said to him. "The summer's not over yet. We can still win."

"What?" Cory asked, looking up vaguely. "Oh, right. Yeah, we can."

He ran his fingers through his hair absentmindedly as he stood up and left the sitting room, looking troubled. Harry watched him climb the stairs and head off to his room before following behind him. Loosing to the Bulgarians wouldn't be so bad if they weren't going to get so much satisfaction from it. It was a good thing that Harry had finished all of his homework, because he was going to need all strength he could muster to pick up his game.