Harry Potter and the Quidditch Island

A Long Awaited Match

Breakfast was an almost silent meal the next morning as Hawk recapped what they had seen the other night to the second line players. Harry wished he could start a conversation in the meantime to distract himself from what Hawk was saying, but when he tried all that came out was a sort of choked grunt, making it sound like he had a piece of toast lodged into his throat. Hawk was very solemn, and you could literally see the faces of the five other teammates fall.

"So what do you suggest?" Logan asked finally, turning to Cory, who seemed to be the newly appointed leader. "How should we go about getting better?"

Cory was staring off into space with a furrowed brow and didn't answer. Hawk used that moment to snatch a piece of bacon off of his untouched breakfast plate. A bell rang out signaling the end of breakfast, and it was a very subdued group that left the cafeteria and trudged out to the pitch.

"Where's Swan?" Hawk called out to the coaches once they entered the playing field. Their usually punctual manager was nowhere to be seen.

"That's Mr. Swan, Nackoronty," Wolverwick barked in his usual commando-like manner. "And he's running a little late, but it's nothing to concern yourself with. Get up there and start flying."

No one seemed satisfied with that answer, but as Wolverwick was intimidating enough when he wasn't angry, none of them argued. Harry began to fly a few warm-up laps as the Chasers got into position for their first play. Just as the whistle was blown, Swan entered the pitch, looking flustered and excited, holding a stack of ruffled notebooks in his hands. Harry watched curiously as he called Ron over to him and began to flip through the pages.

"Potter, what are you doing?" Harry turned to see Kitimer waving his arms at him. "We need a Seeker who's going to fly, not just sit there. Get on the bench; O'Leary, you're up!"

Harry glared at Kitimer as he flew down to sit with the second line players and Logan took his place. He slumped down irritably and turned to Ron and Swan, who were speaking energetically about twenty feet away. Harry couldn't hear what they were saying, but he did notice that they were both talking, so Swan couldn't just be dictating to Ron.

A loud sharp whistle sounded and the action above the pitch stopped. Harry turned his eyes away from the managers and looked up to see what was going on. Petalbee, the Chaser coach, was flying over to Cory, looking irritated.

"Rodricks, what are you doing? What's with the sudden call for breakneck speeds? Your fellow Chasers can barely keep up with you!"

"With all due respect sir, they should try to pick up the pace a bit," Cory said sternly. Amy and Terry both looked taken aback. "We're not going to win against the Bulgarians by playing like we're still a bunch of fourth year students."

"You're on a team, Rodricks," Petalbee countered. "You can't just go rushing off like that--"

"Rodricks is right," Swan shouted from the stands, making Harry and the other team members jump. "Fly in, I need to talk to all of you."

In a few moments the players and the six coaches were sitting in the stands, waiting to be addressed by Swan. He had bags under his eyes, as if he had been up late into the night, and his hair wasn't as sleek as it usually was, but his eyes were more alive than they had ever been before.

"Rodricks is right," Swan repeated once he had their attention. "You need to pick it up, all of you. I have a good understanding of how the Bulgarians work and, to put it mildly, they're a lot better than we are. Speed will be of the essence and a quick win is our best strategy." He stared pointedly at Harry, who felt as though a ton of rocks had just materialized in his stomach.

"Chasers, we need to work on your plays, as well as your agility," he continued. "The Bulgarian Chasers are strong, and much more confident than you. You're going to have to start taking more risks and flying as fast as your brooms will let you. Take into account, Mr. Rodricks that the other Chasers don't own Firebolts and you have to work together. Coach Jiggs, I'm going to make it your responsibility to help with the Chaser's agility and speed. You've done a good job with the Seekers and I want some of that skill to be transferred in other areas.

"The Bulgarian Chasers are working on a one leader system. Most of the flying that I saw had one Chaser in the lead with the other two in less aggressive positions. I want to turn this into a weakness. I suspect that, and listen up Beaters because you can really help here, if we were to somehow take out the lead Chaser that the others might not play as well. We don't necessarily have to knock him out of the sky," he said, turning to Hawk, who was twirling his club menacingly, "but if we can get him to separate from the other two we might have an advantage. And I want you to play clean, Nackoronty. The last thing we need is the Bulgarians getting a bunch of penalty shots. As much as I respect Mr. Malcotts' abilities, I don't want to risk handing them easy goals."

"Sir, what about the Beaters?" Ron spoke up. "They're strong, and I think that we should get our Beaters up to speed so that they can counter them. The Bulgarians are accurate and fast, and they fly like they know each other's next move. We need to pick up on the defensive side so that we can keep the Bludgers away from our team."

For a second, Harry thought that Ron was really going to get it. They hadn't been directly told that they couldn't see the Bulgarians play, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't be smiled upon. And what Ron had just said made in painfully obvious that he'd been to the barge. At least, it was that way for Wolverwick, whose head turned at those words and gave Ron a calculating stare. Ron, seeming to notice his mistake, started turning red; a dead giveaway that he was guilty.

"You're right Mr. Breazley," Swan replied energetically. Harry's eyes widened in surprise and he thought for a moment that he was about to fall out of his seat from the shock. Not only had Swan skipped a chance to punish Ron but he had actually called him Mr. Breazley.

"The Bulgarian Beaters are more advanced then our own as well. Nackoronty, Walker, Goatsmed, you're going to have to work a lot harder. I want to see some real power behind your swings, and I want to see you hit your targets as well. Now, I have some plays that I want to go over..."

Swan Summoned the large blackboard over to his position and began scribbling on it. Harry looked over at Ron, who was still staring at Swan in disbelief as the new plays were described.

A few days ago, Harry wouldn't have believed that Swan could get even more obsessed with Quidditch, but now it was as though he thought of nothing else. That Thursday Swan was little less than a maniac with an unlimited piece of chalk, which he used to draw out play after play, which Ron copied down as fast as his hand could go. Swan ate with them that lunch hour, or, at least, he stayed in the cafeteria with them, but he barely ate more than half a sandwich. Instead, he went over different plays with Ron and the other coaches, pausing only to shout out corrections to individual players as they came to his mind.

The practices were getting longer as well. That night they flew for hours and woke early the next morning to get a head start on their practicing. Cory was made captain that Friday, to no one's surprise. And he took the position very seriously, almost as seriously as Swan was taking his. The number of plays that they had to memorize was almost doubled, as was their average speed. Getting used to flying so fast was not an easy task. During one practice, Harry had repeatedly flown into his fellow players when rushing to catch the Snitch. It was hard to control yourself when you were flying faster than most cars could go. The nurse ended up having to heal a lot of cuts and bruises on the players that ended up flying themselves into the stands.

"What's for breakfast, I'm starving," Harry asked Ron as he climbed up the front steps of the manor early Saturday morning. They had begun starting practice at five in the morning to get extra playing time. At first, Harry had been just as put out as the rest of them, but when he looked out his window each morning and saw the Bulgarian's barge looming out in the distance he was reminded of why he was doing this and his angry thoughts were replaced with strong determination.

"Ham and cheese omelets, blueberry muffins, sausage, croissants and pancakes," Ron replied. "I'm going to have the house-elves cooking big meals now that you're flying all the time."

"Mr. Breazley," Swan called out. Harry and Ron halted and turned around to see what he wanted. "I have a few diagrams I want you to go over before I teach the plays to the team." He shoved a few papers into Ron's hands and swept off.

"Did you hear that?" Ron said in awe. "He called me mister Breazley."

"I can't believe he wants your opinion on those plays," Harry replied, just as amazed.

"I think he's too busy with Quidditch to remember that he hates me."

"What're you two standing around for?" Cory asked, walking up the steps to join them. "We don't have time to waste doing nothing. Eat your breakfast, Harry, and then get straight back out onto the pitch."

"Calm down, we were just talking to Swan," Harry said incredulously. Cory pulled open the door and ushered them inside.

"He's almost as obsessed as Swan is," Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they were pushed into the cafeteria. Harry agreed, but didn't say anything, as Cory was watching them intently and shoving food into their faces.

"You can't just force us to eat and take nothing yourself," Harry said after his third pancake.

"It's my responsibility to make sure you're all in top condition to play," Cory stated shortly. "And that means making sure you get proper meals--"

"If we need proper meals than so do you," Amy said, pushing an omelet towards him.

"Yeah Cory are you on this team or what?" Hawk asked with a grin. Cory glared at him but started cutting up his omelet, with an expression that made it look like they were force-feeding him sludge.

"These are great," Ron murmured from next to Harry.

"What, the sausages?"

"No," Ron replied. "The plays. These are really, really good. But complicated." He groaned. "Which means it'll take me even longer to copy them out for you all."

Ron was right: the plays were complicated. Harry and the other players found that out fifteen minutes later when Swan began to teach them. Tension was running high as they rushed to learn and perform like they'd been practicing them for months. Swan was particularly angry teaching the third play, as they had to stop, land, and be re-instructed four times before the players could remember what they were doing.

To add to the tension, the Bulgarian team came to the island often, claiming they were there to enjoy the view. Ron took up the role of guard dog, monitoring the perimeter of the pitch for signs of spying while at the same time taking down notes on the performances of the players. When Ron spotted someone walking along the path to the pitch door, Swan almost blasted them through a tree. It was only a young French tourist, however, and he returned to the manor feeling very shaken up.

The days began to pass quickly and soon it was the Sunday before the big match. It was an unspoken decision that they would skip their day off and continue practicing. Just as they were packing off to the cafeteria for lunch, Chilesworth came marching into the pitch, demanding to see Ron.

"Mr. Breazley I need a thorough cleaning of the manor to be done by tomorrow morning," Chilesworth said sharply as Ron stretched out his tired hand. "We're going to have a lot of guests arriving this week, including dignitaries and important Quidditch icons that need to be impressed. I need the entire first floor polished until it shines. And make sure that all of the bedrooms are cleaned. Don't bother with the camp rooms, that's just a waste of time."

"Great," Ron said angrily as soon as Chilesworth had left. "He waits until today to tell me he wants a new makeover for his stupid manor." He hurried off with Harry close behind.

As soon as they reached the entrance hall, Ron stopped and clapped his hands. Within seconds there was the sounds of scuttling feet and a large group of house-elves entered the room and lined up in front of Ron.

"Alright, here's the game plan," Ron said sharply, reminding Harry a lot of Swan. "We're going to have a mad rush of guests that will be staying in the manor for the next week. That number is going to double on Friday when we get more people who are only staying for the game. That's going to mean that we'll have to open up all of the dining halls and fill them with tables enough to seat everyone. The camp cafeteria needs to be cleared out and decorated for regular guests so that we have more room. We're going to need a constant staff cooking in the kitchen, another group to take care of the bedrooms, and the rest on cleaning duty. Chilesworth wants the manor sparkling.

"A Team," he barked, and about a dozen house-elves stood up straight and at attention. "I want you on kitchen duty. You're going to have to make sure that there is food cooking at all times. If the guests want waffles at four in the evening, there needs to be waffles on the grill. If they want pork chops at two in the morning, there better be pork chops cooking."

There was a chorus of "Yes sir!" and "Right away sir!" before the A Team rushed off to the kitchens.

"B Team, I want you to start cleaning up the bedrooms. There should be fires in the cold rooms and fans in the hot rooms. I want the bathrooms shining and the beds made up as if they've never been slept in. Make sure there's soap in every bathroom and a mint on every pillow."

"We never got mints," Harry muttered to Ron as B Team rushed up the stairs. Ron waved this comment and addressed his troops.

"The rest of you need to clean everything else," Ron said to the last and largest group of elves. "I want to be able to see my reflection in the banisters. Three of four of you should get to work right away on the dining rooms, making sure that they are ready for guests to eat in, but do the cafeteria later, because we're having lunch now. Check to see that the bathrooms are all clean. Make sure every picture is grime free and that the suits of armor and all of those other antiques are shining."

"My left arm could use a spot of grease!" called the suit of armor from the floor above them.

"You know what to do, just make sure it's all done by the tomorrow morning. Dismissed!"

"Wow Ron, you've got your own little army here," Harry said as the elves scattered. Ron shrugged.

"It beats me doing all the work, that's for sure."

"So how many people are coming to our game?" Harry asked as they headed to the cafeteria.

"A lot," Ron replied. "The seats are almost sold out. There are some guests that are coming early in the week and staying until the game, and there are others that are coming only for Friday to watch. The friends and parents of the people in the camp can't come earlier than Friday because Swan doesn't want them distracting you guys from your playing."

"I see," Harry replied thoughtfully. Would anyone be coming to watch him fly? The answer was awaiting him in his bedroom after lunch. Hedwig was perched atop her cage with two letters tied to her leg. Harry untied one and opened it quickly. He recognized Mrs. Weasley neat writing on the page.

Dear Ron and Harry,

I hope you're both having fun at camp. Congratulations on making the team Harry! We all knew you could do it. I'm afraid this letter contains some bad news though. None of us will be able to make it to your game on Friday. Arthur has to work, and he wasn't able to borrow a company car for us. Fred and George wanted to come, but their Apparating Test isn't until Saturday, after your game, so we have no way to get there. We'd use Floo Powder, but the manor charges a lot of money for us to use their fireplaces. I'm very sorry, but we all send our love and the best of luck to you, Harry. Have fun boys!

Love from Mum

Harry smiled slightly at this. It was nice to get something from a 'Mum.' He turned to the next letter, which had been scrawled by Sirius.

Harry,

I have to apologize for keeping you in the dark for so long, even though I guess you weren't as unsuspecting as I had hoped. Trust me, I don't think of you a little kid, and I know you can handle a lot more than most people your age, but Dumbledore though it best not to tell you. Honestly, do you think that you and Ron could have played innocent all summer if you knew there was a mystery to be solved? It was Dumbledore's idea to send you to the Quidditch camp, don't ask why, he has his reasons, so I guess it's true that you didn't actually get into the camp because of your skill, but you stayed there because you have talent, so you should be proud of yourself. Concentrate on your game and don't let your mind wonder. I have to ask you not write to me anymore though. Not that I don't like hearing from you, but I'm not going to be at the Weasley's anymore. I can't say where I'm going, but I'm counting on the fact that no one, not even Hedwig, will be able to find me. Have fun playing, and good luck!

Sirius

"That's too bad," Harry said, putting the letters down and stroking Hedwig's head. "I was hoping they would be able to come and watch the game."

"I'm kind of glad," Ron said. "If she saw the way Chilesworth has made me clean this manor, she'd be expecting the same thing at home. I don't think I could handle another summer full of work."

Sunday practice came and went, and soon it was five o'clock Monday morning, four days before the final game. When Harry walked into the entrance hall he was blinded by light. For a second he thought it was cameras taking pictures, but once his eyes adjusted he realized that it was sunlight reflected off almost every shiny surface in the room. The suit of armor on the second floor swung its arms and posed for the players as they walked down the stairs to the ground floor, showing off its shiny makeover. Looking down, Harry could actually make out his reflection in the floor of the entrance hall. Ron was surveying the room proudly.

Morning practice passed quickly that day and it seemed like no time before they were re-entering the manor to get their breakfast. As Harry and his friends passed the dock outside the manor, there was a loud clicking sound and this time Harry was sure that it was from cameras. A whole boatload of tourists was docking and using this as an opportunity to get candid photos of the future Quidditch players. Inside the manor, Harry saw just how congested the place had become. It was only the first day of the tourist boom, and yet the manor seemed like it was packed to the brim, though it may just have been because most of the tourists were spending their time on the main floor, and almost all of them were aiming for opportunities to meet the new celebrities.

The cafeteria, Harry noticed, had been completely redecorated overnight. The large picnic tables were gone and replaced with smaller, more elegant four and six person tables. There were three tables at the back of the room to which Ron led the campers. The guests that were eating there that morning all eyed them with interest and whispered excitedly amongst themselves.

Swan decided that afternoon that the tourist attention wasn't beneficial when a group of teenage girls walked onto the pitch asking for autographs. A hex was put up around the pitch that denied access to everyone except the team, and the campers were forced to confine themselves to camp dorm rooms in their spare time. Swan also began eating in the cafeteria, between the campers and the rest of the tourists. This worked surprisingly well at deferring the guests from disturbing the team; none of them seemed to want to cross Swan.

Even with all the excitement going on, time seemed to be passing very quickly. Practices were flying by in no time and, before Harry could take anymore in, it was Friday morning and the Quidditch players were reentering the manor for breakfast. Swan stopped practice at noon to inform them that the game would be played at four.

"You will be expected on the pitch exactly one hour before the game starts," he said, rather sharply, that afternoon. "I don't want to see any of you talking to the tourists. Come here with your game robes, and don't forget to go over your playbooks a few times to make sure you have everything down."

Lunch was eaten almost silently and as soon as the plates had been cleared the players headed off to the library to read over everything that they had learned and quiz each other on the plays.

"Ugh, I can't take this stress anymore," Hawk said at around one thirty. "If I read this book over one more time I think I might pass out."

"I'm with you," Cory said, closing his book and rubbing his eyes. "Let's get out of here. Anyone want to come?"

"Yeah, I will," Harry replied, shaking Ron, who had dozed off next to him. With that, he, Cory, Hawk, J.P. and Ron left their teammates in the library. With nowhere else to go, the boys headed upstairs to the dorms.

As it turned out, Cory, Hawk and J.P. were sharing a room, so that's where they decided to pass the time. It was set up in pretty much the same way as Harry's: a bunk bed and a regular bed, a fireplace and a window. It was arrange differently though, since their room faced east instead of north. This meant that the window gave them a clear view of the dock, where boats were arriving every fifteen minutes. They amused themselves by watching the tourists come in and talking about how much they disliked the Bulgarian team.

"You know, after what Ireland did to them at the last Quidditch World Cup, the Bulgarians are going to be playing especially hard against us," J.P. said. "Especially Viktor Krum. He's really going to take this second chance against Britain personally."

"Yeah, that's why it's going to be so great when we beat him," Ron said passionately. Hawk laughed.

"I'm with you man. We're going to rock them."

"Hey Cory, your mom's here," J.P. said suddenly, peering out the window. "She just got off the boat."

"Really?" Cory said, lifting his head off the pillow. "Is she alone?"

"Uh..." J.P. craned his neck to see everything, and turned to Hawk, looking uncomfortable. Hawk looked out the window as well. His eyes were searching the ground fixedly, Harry noticed, almost desperately.

"No, she's alone," Hawk said finally. He looked over at Cory uneasily.

"Whatever," Cory replied, laying back down. He sounded casual but Harry noticed his face looked troubled.

"Whoa, I've gotta go," Ron said suddenly, jumping up. "I've got to make sure everything's set up." Without saying another word he rushed out the door and down the hall. Hawk and J.P. started talking again, joking about the things that had happened that summer and laughing about funny memories from their old teams. Harry listened to their stories with interest, but couldn't help but notice that they sounded very unnatural. More than once, one of them shot a sideways glance at Cory, who wasn't talking. They both looked very uncomfortable.

"You know what?" Hawk said at about two forty-five. "I'm going to go down to the pitch. Care to join me Harry?"

He stared pointedly at Harry as he began to rummage through his trunk and searching for his game robes.

"Er, sure," Harry replied, standing up. "I'll see you guys on the pitch."

He and Hawk left the room, stopping at Harry's to collect his robes and the lucky charm that Hagrid had given him, before continuing to the ground floor. Instead of heading out the door to the pitch, however, Hawk began to lead Harry down the halls, peering into rooms at random.

"Where are we--" but Hawk hushed him and continued along at a rapid pace. He stopped suddenly at a doorway and Harry ran into his back.

"Look casual," he whispered to Harry as they walked in.

Hawk had led Harry to one of the manor's many sitting rooms. There weren't many people in it though. Hawk was looking at a pretty faced woman in her late thirties/early forties that was flipping through a magazine in a large armchair. She was very poised and sipped her tea politely as she read.

"Mrs. Rodricks!" Hawk exclaimed suddenly. "What are you doing here?"

Mrs. Rodricks looked up and her face broke out into a large smile.

"Hawk darling! It's wonderful to see you!" She got up and hugged him, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. "How are you doing?"

"I'm great thanks," he answered pleasantly. "This is Harry. Harry, this is Mrs. Rodricks, Cory's mom."

"It's a pleasure to meet you dear," she said amiably. She had Cory's charming smile.

"You too," Harry answered politely.

"So when did you get here?"

"My boat just arrived a few minutes ago."

"Is Mr. Rodricks here?" Hawk asked casually, looking around the room. Mrs. Rodricks' smile faltered ever so slightly.

"Well, not yet," she replied. "He's running a little late at the office. He should be here though." She didn't sound very confident.

"Oh."

"So how does the team look?" she asked, changing the subject quickly.

"Good, we have some really great players," he replied happily. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement not to mention Mr. Rodricks again. Harry was puzzled.

"How many Firebolts do you have?"

"Well, other than my prototype and Cory's real one, only one. It's Harry's."

"What position do you play?"

"Seeker," Harry replied. Mrs. Rodricks smiled again.

"Well, if we can't have more than three at least the Seeker's riding one. That's where it really matters."

"Don't worry, we won't let you down," Hawk said with a grin. "But we had better be going now. Got to warm up and all. See you after the game."

"Good luck boys!" she answered pleasantly before sitting back down again.

They left the sitting room and headed back towards the entrance hall. The happy smile on Hawk's face was gone and he looked troubled.

"What was that about?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too curious.

"I was just checking something," Hawk answered vaguely.

"About Mr. Rodricks?"

Hawk stopped and shot him a calculating look. Then he sighed.

"What is it?" Harry wanted to know.

"It's just...I'm really hoping Mr. Rodricks shows up," he said.

"Cory's dad? Why wouldn't he?"

Hawk sighed again.

"I dunno, I probably shouldn't talk about it, it's really not my place." He paused, as though trying to decide how to phrase what he wanted to say. Harry looked at him skeptically. Since when did Hawk care whether or not it was his place to say something?

"Cory's dad, Mr. Rodricks, he's an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries," Hawk said finally, continuing down the hall. "You know, the people that do all of those top-secret mission type things? Anyhow, he gets called into the office all of the time. It's been like that since we were kids. It's not like he was a bad father," he said quickly, "he just missed a lot of important stuff. He's emotionally distant from his son, you know, in that macho man kind of way, and he's always expecting the best. So in the time that he is at home, he always wants something more from Cory. Cory always resented him for that."

Hawk paused again. "I see," Harry said, not really sure what else to say.

"It didn't make for a very comforting home," Hawk said sadly. "But he's always idolized his father, no matter what he says, and he's always been trying to impress him. That's why being the best at everything is so important to Cory. He was always top in his class, best player on the team, captain, and that's probably why he resented you so much, because he saw you as a real threat. He must have figured you'd steal the spotlight from him, being young and famous and all that."

Hawk sighed again. For a while they continued on silently.

"That family has some real problems with emotions," Hawk exclaimed suddenly, making Harry jump. "Mr. Rodricks is an easy enough guy to get along with, but when he's upset he doesn't really say anything, he gets really quiet and serious. Cory's exactly like him too, and when they're really mad they get vicious, like when we were playing football. Hell, even his mom deals with emotions weirdly. Did you see how she tried to pretend nothing was wrong when I asked her about her husband? She'd never admit it but she's always been worried about her husband not being there enough, and it's so sad to watch. If they weren't so self-righteous and proud maybe things would be better. They're not the perfect family everyone thinks they are."

He said this all very fast, as though he had wanted to say it for a long time. Now that he had said it, Hawk said nothing more. It was a very uncomfortable silence.

"She seemed nice," Harry said finally to break the silence. To his surprise, Hawk laughed.

"Oh yeah, she's nice now," he said as he pulled the door open, "but just wait till the game starts. She's a regular old Quidditch mom: perfectly pleasant in the regular world but on the pitch she goes mad. Even now, when we're almost twenty, our mom's are like this. You should see it when she and my mom get together. They're beasts."

They both laughed and headed around the manor.

Outside of the pitch there was already a crowd of people. Pushing his way through, Harry saw Ron in his gold trimmed dress robes standing at a newly erected ticket barrier. He looked very flustered and was yelling desperately at the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, PLEASE!" he cried. "I can't let you in right now! There are still things that need to be sorted out." He looked around. "Where are the idiots that I hired to do this for me?"

"Hey Ron," Harry said, walking up to him.

"You're late," he replied distractedly as he moved out of the way to let them through the revolving gate. It was difficult to manage with bundles of robes in their arms, but they made it through and entered the change room with a minute to spare.

"Do not get changed yet," Swan said as they walked in. "Do a few laps of the pitch and then some stretches." They obliged spent the next forty-five minutes running and getting limbered up for the game. It was all done in silence, as no one wanted to talk, or was able to either. With fifteen minutes left, Swan entered the warm up room and instructed them to get changed. The sounds of the crowd forming outside were becoming louder and it filled the silent change room. And yet, they seemed distant, like Harry was listening to them from underwater.

"This is it, team," Swan said as they sat on the benches. "You've been selected as the top amateur players in England. All of the sacrifice that you've given, all of the hard work and dedication comes down to this moment. And there's more than your pride on the line. Out there, in the very top seats are scouts from some of the top teams in Britain. This is your chance to impress them and to further your Quidditch careers."

"So no pressure then," Hawk said with a strained grin. Swan shot him a stern glance.

"Of course there's pressure, Nackoronty, lot's of it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity; you may never get another chance--"

"I was just trying to lighten the mood," Hawk grumbled.

"Don't worry Mr. Swan, we'll make you proud," J.P. cut in. There was a murmur of agreement.

"Yeah, Borkoff's team doesn't stand a chance." Swan's eyes flashed at the mention of Borkoff's name. The rivalry between the two managers was still as strong as ever.

"Right then," he said gruffly, straightening his dress robes. "The announcer has a short speech to deliver before he will call both second lines. Fly a lap around the pitch together before landing in the center of the field. Make sure you are in single file, facing the Bulgarians. Next he will call the members of the first line, one at a time. You'll go through the doorway, do one lap around the stadium and then line up behind your teammates. Both teams will shake hands before getting into your starting positions. Understood? Good, line up at the doors, the game is about to begin."

Nervously, all twelve of the players exited the change room and filled the small hallway separating them from the pitch. The door had been replaced with a large red velvet curtain. Swan entered the hallway soon after and began to pace back and forth. Harry leaned up against the wall and waited, fingering the dragon claw around his neck. Minutes ticked by and the only sounds in the narrow hallway were from the excited crowd outside.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice said suddenly, making everyone in the hallway jump. "You are about to experience a part of Quidditch history." The speaker was very dramatic and his words silenced the crowd.

"For over a hundred years the International Quidditch Recruiting Program has been enlisting the top amateur players in the participating nations for an extreme summer training program to turn these amateurs into professionals. The thirty best players from both England and Bulgaria have been narrowed down to twelve each. Now, for your viewing pleasure, these twenty four players will face off in what will be one of the most exciting games of Quidditch you have ever seen!"

There was loud cheering at this. Once it had died down, the announcer continued.

"Not only will these players be playing for their countries, but they are also playing for their careers. Scouts from the top Quidditch teams in Britain and Bulgaria have come to watch this game. The pressure is on for these Quidditch hopefuls, as this could make, or break, their careers."

"Could he be anymore dramatic?" Logan muttered.

"Now, put your hands together for the second line-up of the Bulgarian Team: Balakov, Gatchevska, Prandjeva, Christova, and Todorov!" There was cheering and clapping.

"Please welcome the second line-up of England's Team! Stanton, Chambers, Goatsmed, Faeron, and O'Leary!"

"See you soon guys," Logan said as he and the others walked through the curtain and took off to the cheers of a roaring crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer continued a few moments later, "put your hands together for the Bulgarian Elite Squad A! Stojanov! Strashilova! Yankov! Liapchev! Videnov! Bacheva! And Krum!" The support for the Bulgarian team was varied. There were the obvious cries of encouragement, but at the same time many English supporters were protesting Krum being on the team. Once the shouting had died down, the announcer spoke again.

"And now, the people you've been waiting for, please, put your hands together for the All England Quidditch Team!" The cheering from the crowd almost drowned out the announcer as he called them. "Rodricks!"

Cory straightened his robes and stepped past the curtains and out of sight.

"Whittaker!"

"Good luck Terry," Harry whispered encouragingly. Terry gulped and used a trembling hand to push the curtains aside.

"Zampowick!" Amy took a deep breath before leaving.

"Nackoronty!"

"See you on the other side, Harry," Hawk said with a grin as he entered the stadium and kicked off.

"Walker!" Teddy left, giving Harry a small smile before leaving.

"Malcotts!"

"Good luck," J.P. said.

"You too," Harry replied as J.P left him alone with Swan in the small hallway.

"And Potter!"

Harry's heart started beating even more rapidly. Trying hard to stop shaking, he walked through the curtains and stood on the pitch.

For the entire summer, Harry had practiced in this stadium, but standing on the playing field at that moment it looked completely different. The seats, which had always been empty, were now all full of cheering spectators. Harry stood, looking up at them all. It was overwhelming. For a split second he considered turning right around and letting Logan play the game. He took a deep breath to regain himself and mounted him broom. His legs were starting to shake, and the sooner that he got off them the better. Feeling more and more out of place, Harry kicked off and soared up into the air.

"Way to go Potter!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"You can do it Potter!"

Harry's heart felt considerably lightened as more and more words of encouragement were shouted at him as he passed the fans.

"And finally," the announcer said once Harry has landed behind J.P, "please join me in welcoming the men that put these teams together, Stan Swan and Andrei Borkoff." There was more clapping as Swan and Borkoff joined their teams on the pitch. A referee walked up to the two lines of players.

"Shakes hands," he told them. The two teams walked past each other, shook their opponents' hands shortly. Swan and Borkoff barely touched at all. After that, the substitute players and managers walked off to covered dugouts that had been created on either side of the pitch. The coaches were already waiting there, along with Ron. Harry's heart was pounding against his ribs as though longing to jump out of his chest. He took his position on the field, facing the Bulgarians. The Bulgarian captain looked at the team and grinned sadistically. The other players were looking at the English team in a demeaning way. Harry looked around at his mismatched team, from Teddy, who was about seven feet tall, to Amy, who was inches shorter than Harry.

"Are you ready?" the referee asked. Both captains nodded. Harry tightened his grip on the broom handle, preparing to kick off. The referee reached down and flipped the latch off of a large wooden box. The Quaffle, Bludgers and Snitch shot up into to the air and the whistle was blown. The crowd roared as the players all rocketed up into the sky. The game had begun.

Harry didn't have time to enjoy the relief that came from being up in the air. As soon as he was high enough he began scanning the field for a sign of the small gold Snitch. Krum was about twenty feet higher at the other end of the field. Harry flew up another twenty feet so that they were at the same level. Krum was a professional, so what he was doing was probably the best thing to do.

Harry looked down at the Chasers. They were flying faster than he had ever seen them go in practice. The Bulgarians were flying just as hard, and after barely a minute of play the score was tied at thirty. Harry was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. The closest he had ever come to playing at this level was in the exhibition games at the beginning of the summer, before they had been trained at the professional level.

"Calm down, Harry," he muttered to himself. "Just concentrate on what you've learned."

The Snitch was most likely going to be hiding somewhere near the Chasers, Harry thought to himself as J.P. made a miraculous save and chucked the Quaffle to center field. He decided to fly closer to the Chasers to get a better view.

Harry dove down so that he was flying under the main action of the Chasers. Looking up, Harry watched as a Bulgarian Beater forced Terry to roll over in mid air, allowing one of the Chasers to dodge past J.P. and score. Harry continued to stare up at the game, watching for any sign of gold. A few moments later a Bludger soared straight at J.P., throwing him off guard and allowing Bulgaria to score again.

"Come on guys let's pick it up!" Cory yelled as Hawk's Bludger broke up the opposing team's play, allowing him to grab the Quaffle. Harry watched in dismay as the Bulgarians regrouped. There must have been something he could do...

Thinking fast, Harry shot upwards towards two defending players. Both had to fly out of his way, giving Amy the chance to score. That was what Harry had hoped would happen. There was nothing in the rulebook that said he couldn't get in the way. A few feet above the action, Harry stopped, turned around and rocketed down towards the Chasers, causing one of the Bulgarians to drop the Quaffle into Terry's waiting arms.

Harry continued to throw the Bulgarians off course with dives that greatly impressed the crowd. They didn't impress the opposing team, however, and within seconds a Bludger flew past his face, and another skimmed his knee. The Bulgarian Beaters were trying as hard as they could to keep him away from their Chasers. Harry did a summersault in the air, which received many 'oooh's' from the crowd to avoid being hit. He shot upwards and paused in midair, searching for sign of the Snitch.

Just then Krum rocketed past Harry with his arm outstretched. Harry's stomach dropped when he noticed something gold glittering near his fingertips. Without thinking, he dove after Krum. But the professional player had a few tricks up his sleeve. He was zigzagging as he dove, stopping Harry from passing him and grabbing the Snitch. Harry gritted his teeth and sped up, trying to reach around the Seeker. If only his arms were a little longer...

Then, Krum rocketed upwards. Harry looked up at him in shock, and then faced forward again, only to find himself barely five feet from the ground. As quick as he could he pulled up on his broom handle, but his knees had just hit the ground. In a whirl of colour, Harry was thrown from his broom and rolled across the pitch. His mouth filled with dirt as he skidded to a stop and lay on the ground, panting for breath. A whistle was blown. Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing his head.

"Don't move!" Straightening his glasses, Harry saw four mediwizards running over. The first one to reach him pushed him back down on the ground and began to examine him.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine, just a little dizzy--"

"Where does it hurt?"

"My knees are kind of sore..."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Five--"

"Does it hurt when I do this?"

"Ow! Yes!" Harry said as one of the wizards twisted his arm around. "I'm fine! I'm just a little bumped up, that's all."

"How is he?" Swan had just come over.

"I'm FINE!" Harry said angrily, standing up. He staggered a little but looked Swan determinedly in the eye. "I'll be fine, I didn't hit the ground that hard, I was pulling up anyway."

"Can he fly?" Swan asked.

"Yes, he'll be ok."

"Good. Alright Potter, get back in there."

"Isn't the game over?" Harry asked. "I thought Krum had just caught the Snitch."

"Krum didn't see the Snitch, he was Feinting."

"But I saw it in front of him!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm sure I did."

"Even the best of us can get fooled," Swan said impatiently. "Now get back in there, Krum's had at least two minutes longer to search."

Harry nodded and rushed over to his broom. He kicked off and flew up into the air, where the play had stopped.

"You ok?" Hawk asked, flying over.

"I thought he had the Snitch!" Harry said desperately. "I saw it in front of him!"

"Are you sure?" Hawk asked. They both turned to Krum who, surprisingly, wasn't flying around the pitch. Instead, he was concentrating on his wrist, which he had to do in order to strap back on his gold watch.

"He was holding a watch!" Harry exclaimed angrily. "I can't believe I fell for that!"

"That can't be legal," Hawk shouted. "It's one thing to pretend to see the Snitch, but to actually pretend you're holding it..."

"It is not his fault if your Seeker is stupid," one of the Bulgarian Beaters snapped.

"Harry's not stupid!" Hawk yelled. "Just because you play dirt--"

"Leave it Nackoronty!" Swan bellowed as the whistle was blown. Hawk was fuming, but instead of continuing to fight verbally he sent a Bludger straight into the Beater's back causing him to almost fall off his broom.

"Call my team stupid," Hawk growled as he flew off into the game. Harry was about to do the same when the whistle was blown again: one of the Bulgarians was called for blatching (flying with intent to collide). Just as Terry was preparing to take his penalty shot, the Beater that Hawk had been arguing with swung hard and hit Hawk in the stomach with so much force that it knocked him off his broom.

"Hawk!" Harry shouted. He dove down after his falling comrade and grabbed him by the wrist about ten feet before hitting the ground. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Hawk wheezed as Harry towed him back to where Cory was holding his broomstick. He scrambled on and flew over to the Beater, who was being told off by the referee.

"What the hell was that for?" Hawk bellowed. They began yelling at each other and just as the referee tried to intervene the Bulgarian swung out and hit Hawk in the jaw. Before anyone could stop it, Hawk had launched himself onto the Bulgarian's broom and was pummeling him.

What happened next was chaotic. Some of the players were trying to break up the fight, while others began to join in. Swan and Borkoff were shouting at each other from across the pitch. The coaches had come onto the pitch and were yelling at their players, trying to keep order. Ron and other officials were desperately trying to control the crowd, which had begun shouting and quarreling amongst themselves. The Beater that wasn't fighting with Hawk was hitting Bludgers in every direction.

"No you don't!" Cory yelled as he prepared to swing again. Cory grabbed the Beater around the waste, and swung him in a circle causing the Bludger to go flying away from the fighting in the air. The Bulgarian began cursing at him and smacked the second Bludger straight at Cory, who ducked out of the way as it flew past.

Throughout this, Harry had stayed on the outside of the fighting, not wanting to get mixed up with people that could seriously injure him, so he was probably the only one that saw what was about to happen. The two Bludgers that the Bulgarian Beater had hit were soaring at high speeds straight for the English dugout, where the substitute players were watching the scene above in fascination. Before Harry could shout out a warning, both Bludgers had hit the support bars that held up the roof of the dugout and the planks came tumbling down.

The entire crowd gasped in unison as dust rose and hid the crumpled dugout from view. For a few seconds there was a stunned silence. Then the talking started again, almost as loud as before. The mediwizards, coaches and Swan were all rushing back to the dugout. Harry dove down and landed a few feet away from the rubble, closely followed by the rest of his team.

"Come on, get these boards off of them!" Wolverwick shouted, grabbing two large planks himself. Harry tossed his broom aside and rushed towards the rubble. Within moments a hand was visible under the wood. Harry grabbed it and pulled. Out came Logan, coughing on woodchips. Stanley and Kamel crawled out behind him and were attended to by frantic looking mediwizards.

"Where are Stanton and Chambers?" Wolverwick asked Logan as a mediwizard examined the bump on his head.

"I don't know, they were sitting at the other end of the dugout, over there somewhere," he said, pointing at the left side of the pile of debris. Wolverwick and Kitimer both hurried over and started to throw planks aside.

"I've found someone!" Kitimer called a minute later. "It's Chambers. Good lord, what's happened to him?"

"We need a doctor!" Wolverwick bellowed as he lifted Jeremiah Stanton's limp body out from under a piece of wood.

"What's wrong with them?" Swan asked a mediwizard as the two Chasers were laid out on the pitch. The wizards looked concerned as they examined the boys.

"They're unconscious," one of the wizards replied finally. "I'd revive them but I don't know what's wrong with them right now. We need to get them into the infirmary and find out how bad their injuries are. They'll probably be alright, hopefully just a pair of concussions, but you can never be too sure." He looked worried as he conjured a pair of stretchers and escorted the unconscious players off the pitch.

"Those were England's substitute Chasers Jeremiah Stanton and Charlie Chambers that were just taken away," the announcer said. "With them gone, Stan Swan and his team only have their first line players to depend on."

The crowd buzzed excitedly. The coaches looked livid.

"How could he do that?" Wolverwick bellowed angrily.

"Do what?" Teddy asked as he and the other players joined the coaches and Harry.

"He just put us at a strategic disadvantage," Swan said bitterly. "We might have lost two players, but now that the Bulgarians know what position they played, and that we have no more Chasers to spare, they're going to attack us with all that they've got." He glared over at the Bulgarian dugout where Borkoff and his team were conversing secretively.

"You three need to be on the defensive," Wolverwick ordered Cory, Amy and Terry. "You'll be their prime targets. Nackoronty, Walker, keep those Beaters under wrap. Give them all you've got."

"Make sure to keep the Bludgers away from their Beaters," another coach instructed them. "You're going to have to pick up your speed, but if they can't get the Bludgers then they won't be able to do much damage."

"Are you all ready?" the referee shouted.

"The faster you catch the Snitch the better," Ron said as Harry and the rest of the team headed back to where the referee was standing. He was about to blow the whistle when Borkoff came rushing over.

"Vait! Vat about our penalty shot?"

"YOUR penalty shot?" Swan bellowed. "Your Beater attacked mine when the game was stopped! If anything WE deser--"

"STOP IT!" the referee shouted. His face was red with anger. "Never, in all of my years of doing this have I seen such ruthless and unprofessional playing in my life. You're just lucky I don't throw BOTH of your teams off the pitch and call it a draw."

"But surely my Beater deserves compensation!" Swan protested. Borkoff opened his mouth but was cut off.

"Just go back to your dugouts," the ref growled. "I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with this situation, so I won't. But be warned, the next person who is just the slightest bit out of line is getting thrown out of the game. Understand?"

He glared at them all. Swan and Borkoff stalked off angrily. The referee blew his whistle and the game started again. Harry strained his eyes, looking for any sight of the Snitch, but he couldn't see it. His only consolation was that Krum didn't seem to be able to find it either.

Hawk and Teddy had started playing better than at any practice. It was as if they were playing monkey-in-the-middle with the Bulgarians. Hawk would hit a Bludger, and Teddy would return it to him before the other Beaters could touch it. Now that the Bulgarian Beaters were occupied, England's Chasers could concentrate on scoring, which was what they did, and they were soon up seventy to thirty. The frustration on the Beaters' faces was enough to make most of the crowd laugh, which only made the Bulgarians angrier.

"Time out!" the Bulgarian captain called out. The whistle was blown and the Bulgarians met at their end of the field.

"Good job guys!" Cory said happily, congratulating Hawk and Teddy. "If you two can keep that up the Bulgarian Chasers won't be able to stop us from scoring."

"It's not as easy as it looks," Hawk said, wiping the sweat off his brow. "I don't know how much longer we'll be able to do it. That big guy almost got the Bludger a couple of times."

"Yeah," Teddy agreed. "We're going to tire ourselves out, and then we won't be able to stop the Bludgers from getting you."

Cory paused, thinking.

"Ok, Harry, this is as good a time as any to catch that Snitch. We need a fast capture to end this game."

"You don't have to tell me that," Harry said, feeling annoyed. "But just because I want to catch it doesn't mean it'll fly right into my hands."

The whistle was blown again and the game was back on. Even though Teddy and Hawk were tired, they were still able to keep the Bulgarian Beaters in line. So far, their coach had been right: the Bulgarians couldn't do much damage if they couldn't get to the Bludgers. But that was about to change. Cory had the Quaffle, and he and Amy were zigzagging through the opposing Chasers, passing to each other. Terry was flying at the other end of the pitch, waiting for a pass. Just as Cory was winding up to throw him the Quaffle, the massive Bulgarian Beater flew out of nowhere and swung his club. It hit Terry's ribs with a sickening crunch. Terry slumped over on his broomstick, groaning.

"Terry!" Teddy shouted as he flew over and caught Terry before he keeled over and fell off his broom. Teddy lifted Terry over onto his broom as Cory called for a timeout. Harry grabbed Terry's broom and followed Teddy to the ground.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked as the mediwizards came running over for a second time. Terry began coughing blood onto the ground. His skin looked pale and clammy and his breathing was shallow; he was going into shock.

"Stay with us kid," one of the mediwizards said. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold," Terry moaned, coughing more. "My stomach hurts." The mediwizard pulled open his robes to examine his stomach. There was a large purple bruise forming across the left side of his body and his ribs looked deformed.

"He needs to be taken out of here," the mediwizard said. "He's got at least three broken ribs and I think he might be bleeding internally." He lifted Terry gently onto a stretcher and rushed him off the pitch.

"Never have I SEEN such tactics!" the referee was shouting at the Bulgarian Beater. "That's disgusting! Get off the pitch, I don't care if you don't have a substitute! And THREE penalty shots for England."

"Three penalty shots or not, we only have two Chasers," Amy exclaimed worriedly. "There's no way that the two of us will be able to stop them!"

"Calm down, Miss Zampowick, I need to think," Swan said sharply, but he looked just as worried as she was.

"We could try to play with only two Chasers," Coach Petalbee suggested. "If you just fly faster..."

"Then the Bulgarians will fly faster too," Kitimer said. "I don't see how we can play with two Chasers, Swan."

"But who do we have that can take Terry's place?" Hawk asked.

"Well, I could try," Kamel suggested. "I know some of their plays..."

"Your arm isn't strong enough," Swan said, stamping out that plan. "Your passes would all be stopped. We need someone who knows the plays and can pull them off as well."

Everyone was silent. It was starting to feel like a hopeless situation.

"Are you ready to play?" the referee asked, jogging over. Borkoff was right behind him, looking very pleased with himself.

"They haff no other Chaser," Borkoff said. "They must forfeit de match, no?"

"No!" Swan shouted. He looked around frantically. Then his eyes fell on Ron. "Breazley! You're in."

"What?" Ron exclaimed.

"Vat?" Borkoff echoed. "He cannot play. He is not on de team list."

"Yes he is," Swan said. "It might not say he's a Chaser, but his name is on the list."

"Dey must play vith two Chasers! De rules say you cannot put in a substitute player because of injury. Dey can't do this!" Borkoff shouted.

"They can do what they want," the referee spat at him. "That rule was written assuming the injuring wasn't going to be from such blatant cheating. I'm going to allow this."

"Fine!" Borkoff roared. "Let de boy play. He vill be no match for my Chasers." He turned around and stomped off.

"He's right," Ron said to Swan. "I can't fly like them."

"You can if I say you can," Swan shot at him. "Do you remember the second cut? You scored against one of my coaches then, and you can score again now. Just get up there and fly. You can take Whittaker's broom." He shoved it into Ron's hands and marched back to the dilapidated dugout.

"I don't even have proper robes," Ron muttered as he walked with Harry to the starting positions. "This is stupid, I can't do this." He started to turn around but Harry grabbed his arm and steered him into the starting positions.

"Ron, you know everything about Quidditch," Harry said. "You know all of the plays, you wrote them down a million times, and you know exactly what Swan thought was wrong with them. And you can throw."

"I guess all that practice I got degnoming the garden is coming in handy," Ron said weakly as the Bulgarian Chaser glared down at him. The referee blew the whistle and the players took off into the air. Harry rose above the game to get a good view. Thirty feet away, Krum did the same. Ron looked very nervous, flying next to Cory, who looked just as concerned. As the game really started to get going, it was obvious that Ron hadn't been trained at the same level as the rest of the Chasers. His movements weren't as smooth, and he wasn't as in control, but even though he wasn't as well trained, Ron was keeping up with the rest of them. In fact, Ron's jerky and unpredictable movements were an advantage. The Bulgarians were used to playing against people who knew what they were doing, and none of them seemed to know how to deal with Ron. Within minutes, everyone was surprised when Ron, Cory, and Amy pulled off one of Swan's complicated plays perfectly and Ron scored against the Bulgarian Keeper.

"That was Ronny Breazley," the announcer boomed as Harry cheered along with the rest of the crowd, "the assistant manager of the All England Team, who has stepped in for injured Chaser Terrence Whittaker."

"Way to go Ron!" Harry shouted as J.P. blocked a shot and sent the Quaffle to Amy. Suddenly, the crowd burst into excited yells.

"Harry pay attention!" Swan bellowed from the ground. Harry turned around and saw Krum diving towards the ground. Panic struck him as he shot forward. Krum was halfway across the pitch, and if he saw the Snitch Harry would never be able to catch it in time. Harry looked from Krum to the ground below. Why couldn't he see the Snitch? Harry's eyes were beginning to water as he moved faster and faster. Krum's face was screwed up in concentration. Harry watched him desperately. There was something oddly familiar about his expression...

Could he be Feinting? Harry's eyes scanned the rapidly approaching ground, which looked like it was Snitch free. Then something gold whizzed past his face. Harry braked in midair and spun around. The Snitch was flying up towards the Chasers. Without pausing another moment, Harry shot up after it. Krum looked up at him in confusion, and his lapse in concentration caused him to fly straight into the ground.

Because the Snitch had been spotted, the Bulgarians couldn't call a timeout, which meant that, with their Seeker struggling to see straight, they had to do whatever possible to stop Harry from catching the Snitch.

Bludgers began flying out of nowhere. The Bulgarian Chasers had forgotten about the Quaffle and where now flying at Harry, trying to make him change direction. Hands began lashing out, grabbing onto Harry's robes and broom.

"This is just like Jiggs' obstacle course," Harry told himself as he ducked under a swinging punch. The Snitch was staying close to the Chasers, making Harry's job even harder. Two Bludgers came at him from both sides. Harry ducked underneath them and they ricocheted off each other. The English team was trying as hard as they could to keep the Bulgarians away from Harry as he chased after the Snitch. Harry kept his head low and sped up, remembering what he had done on the day of the second cut. The flapping of robes behind him and the loud shouts from the Bulgarians told him that Krum was back in the air, and by the sounds of it, closing in fast. Harry sped forward; the Snitch was still about twenty feet away.

"Coming through Potter!" Krum shouted as his broom began to pass Harry's. Thinking fast, Harry swerved to the left and bumped into Krum, sending him slightly off course. Harry and Krum began cutting in front of each other and hitting shoulders, trying to throw each other off. Somewhere behind them, Cory was telling his Chasers to start scoring again.

"If Krum catches the Snitch I want us to be one hundred and sixty points ahead of them!"

Krum snarled and rammed into Harry so hard that he almost rolled over in the air. The Snitch began to zigzag in front of them, changing direction every few seconds. Harry and Krum did the same, flying upside down and in circles, all the while trying to knock each other out of the running. The Snitch climbed higher and higher; the players below were becoming smaller and smaller. The Seekers were being led in loop-the-loops and fancy twirls that tested everything Jiggs had taught him, and Harry was feeling more and more like he was on some sort of roller coaster; he was starting to feel nauseous. Just when he thought his stomach couldn't take another jab from Krum, the Snitch plummeted. Harry and Krum did the same, flying shoulder to shoulder towards the ground.

The wind whistled in his ears, and Harry's eyes were beginning to water again. His glasses were being pushed painfully against his face. Krum stretched out his left hand, and Harry did the same with his right. His rapidly beating heart sank: Krum's arms were at least two inches longer than his own and neither of their brooms could go any faster. The Snitch was getting closer, but so was the ground. It was like they were playing a game of chicken, and Harry knew he wasn't going to be able reach the Snitch before hitting the ground.

"Give up Potter," Krum grunted through gritted teeth. "You aren't going to be able to reach it first."

Harry didn't answer. The Snitch was barely an inch away from Krum's fingertips. There wasn't anything he could do. They were closing in on the ground, another thirty feet and they'd hit. Twenty-five feet, twenty...they were closing in fast.

Then an image popped into Harry's mind. An image of himself two months ago, standing frozen exactly twenty feet below where he was flying, frozen on his broomstick after one of Kitimer's lessons. And then an image of Kitimer jabbing him in the arm with a broomstick, right above the elbow, and his arm bending at an unnatural angle...

Realization dawned on him. They were fifteen feet away from the ground and closing...twelve...ten... Moving quickly, Harry bent his right arm and elbowed Krum's left. Krum yelped in pain as Harry hit the nerve and his arm twisted across his body. With all the strength he could muster, Harry swung his arm out in front of him and used the momentum to stretch those two inches forward and close his fingers around the Snitch. With only three feet between him and the ground, Harry pulled his broom up and shot into the sky as Krum let out an angry yell and plowed into the surface of the pitch.

The sound of the crowd suddenly grew as though someone had just turned the volume knob on a very large stereo. Fans were cheering in the stands. Harry could just make out the announcer exclaiming:

"In a spectacular upset, sixteen year old Harry Potter has beaten Viktor Krum to the Snitch! This is amazing! Who would have thought--"

But Harry didn't hear anymore. He beamed broadly as he flew up over the rows of screaming fans, waving the Snitch above his head. He turned to the giant scoreboard which now read England: 290 Bulgaria: 70.

"Harry you did it!" Ron shouted as he flew up to meet him. Harry laughed as Ron grabbed the fist holding the Snitch and pumped it into the air. "You were amazing!"

"YOU were amazing!" Harry exclaimed happily as the pair of them flew back down to earth.

As soon as he landed, Harry was almost knocked over by Hawk, who grabbed both him and Ron and was laughing hysterically. Cory and J.P. were the next to run up, and soon the entire team was a laughing jumble of arms and legs. Teddy lifted Harry up onto his shoulder, and Harry waved to the roaring crowd. It was an amazing feeling.

"Good job Harry!" Jiggs was calling as he rushed over. The rest of the coaches were right behind, all dignity forgotten as they laughed happily. Harry hadn't even seen this much emotion at the World Cup.

"We did it, Swan, we did it!" Wolverwick was crying as he shook Swan's hand vigorously.

"They did it," Swan replied calmly, but he was wearing a smile that Harry had never seen before. It changed his entire face. Swan caught his eye and Harry grinned back.

"Nice tactics Potter." Harry turned to look at Kitimer, who looked extremely pleased.

"It wasn't my idea," Harry called down to him. They both laughed.

"Good flying Potter," Cory said happily as he shook Harry's leg, which was dangling from Teddy's shoulders. The expression on his face made it look like he was about to cry.

"Ron, I can't believe you did that!" Amy shrieked. She had actually broken into tears of joy. She threw her arms around Ron's neck. Ron looked terrified.

"It wasn't that great," he spluttered as he looked at her awkwardly.

"What are you TALKING about?" Hawk exclaimed. "It was BRILLIANT!"

"Awesome," J.P. agreed, clapping Ron on the shoulder. Ron's face turned pink and he grinned sheepishly.

"Anyone mind if we join the party?" The team turned to see Charlie Chambers and Jeremiah Stanton walking slowly across the pitch with a mediwizard on either side of them. Terry was behind them, being pushed in a wheelchair by a third mediwizard who looked as though he wanted to wheel him back around and take him to the infirmary.

"Can I have my broom back?" Terry asked in a hoarse whisper. Everyone laughed loudly as Ron handed Terry back his Nimbus, thanking him over and over again. Harry hoped down from Teddy's shoulder and joined Terry and Ron. Terry was still pale, but he looked just as happy as the people around him. Harry looked back up at the stands where flashes from cameras were lighting up the entire stadium. He waved up at the spectators, laughing uncontrollably. Cory and the rest of the team joined him and more cameras flashed.

"Dis vas not FAIR!" Harry turned around and blinked the spots out of his eyes. Borkoff was yelling at the referee and waving his arms at the English team. "He hit my Seeker! He hit his arm out of the way."

"Come off it, Borkoff," the ref yelled back. It was apparent that he was sick of the Bulgarian manager. "Nowhere does it say that Quidditch is a non-contact sport. Your players were a lot more violent than England's."

"Vell...vell... dey cannot haff a manager play Chaser!" Borkoff screamed, trying desperately to convince the ref to change the result of the game.

"I said that kid could play," the ref said, waving his hand in Borkoff's face. "You lost, fair and square."

"You!" Borkoff growled, turning and pointing a finger at Swan. "You CHEATED! I know you did. Your team didn't win fairly. You cheated and I know it."

Swan's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Watch what you say, Borkoff," Swan replied icily. His happy smile was gone and his pale eyes blazed fiercely, making Borkoff back up a few paces. "Today my Seeker out flew the best Seeker in the world. My team out flew the best players that you could come up with. This day marks a change in English Quidditch history. Give me two years and I'll have as competitive a team as you can handle, and then you'll be flying against the best Seeker in the world."

Harry beamed up at Swan, who continued to glare at Borkoff. The Bulgarian manager was shaking with anger but couldn't think of anything to say. He spat in the dirt and spun on his heel. In his anger, he turned a little too far and a little too fast, lost his balance and fell onto the ground. The English team howled with laughter as Borkoff scrambled to his feet and stormed off to his dugout where his team was sitting dejectedly.

For another thirty minutes the team stood on the pitch, talking about the game and waving to the crowd. Then, Swan and the coaches started heading off the field. The rest of the team followed slowly behind. Harry took one last look at the stands, which were still emptying. At the very top in covered seats were the scouts, all of whom were still conferring. Harry continued to look up at the stands, savoring his first real victory before Ron grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along with the rest of the team.

"Harry what are you doing?" Hawk asked as Harry started to change out of his robes.

"Changing," Harry said. "Isn't that what we're all doing?"

"Are you nuts?" Hawk exclaimed. "We've still got reason to look good yet. There're fans to meet!"

"Fans?" Harry repeated blankly. "Like, people that are going to want autographs?"

"No, the big ones with propellers," Hawk said sarcastically. "Of course people who want autographs. People always want autographs after amateur games like ours. Geeze, how many have you played in?"

"Well..." Harry started, but Hawk was putting more gel into his spiked hair and wasn't listening.

"There are going to be a lot of people out there wanting to meet you, especially after the way you shook up Krum," Hawk continued as he rubbed his fingers through his hair. "So, we might as well not keep them waiting. You guys all ready?"

"In a minute," Cory mumbled vaguely as his teammates passed him heading towards the door. He was staring at a mirror, combing his hair with his fingers.

"Come on, pretty boy," Hawk said with a grin, pulling Cory from under the arm. Harry laughed as Cory scowled at his friend, and then exited with the rest of them.

The path back to the manor was empty, but as soon as they walked out of the forest and onto the paved area behind the manor, cheers filled the air again. The area was jam-packed full of people who wanted to get a glimpse of the All England Quidditch Team.

"This is where the fun really begins," Hawk said with a grin as people began moving forward, brandishing pens and waving programs in their faces.

Quidditch fans of all shapes and sizes came over to congratulate the team on the game. This was enough to make Harry want to do nothing else but play Quidditch for the rest of his life. People kept shaking his hands, and patting him on the back and asking him to sign whatever they could find. Harry felt especially pleased with himself when a very small boy no older than five came up and asked him to sign his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.

"I could really get used to this," Harry said to Ron as the little boy thanked him profusely before going back to his mother.

"You might like it now," Terry cut in, "but try to imagine what would have happened if we had lost. That little boy would be throwing eggs at you right now. I should know." He shuddered.

Harry laughed and turned to see how everyone else was enjoying the attention. A little girl with curly pigtails walked up to Cory, barely coming up to his knees, reached up and pulled on his robes. Cory knelt on the ground, signed her poster and gave her a hug.

"Aww!" Amy exclaimed, clapping her hands together as the little girl turned bright red and ran off to her father. Cory stood up and straightened his robes gruffly, glaring at Hawk, who was laughing madly.

People kept coming at them from all directions. Then, a new wave of fans came. These were the teenage girls who were all bursting out into fits of giggles and daring each other to go up and get autographs from their favorite players.

"Now THIS is what Quidditch is all about," Cory said to Harry as he ran his fingers through his hair. Harry looked on as the groups of girls handed quills to the players while smiling and laughing and flipping their hair. Most of the players seemed to be in their element, Hawk and Cory especially, who were getting the most attention of all.

"Hey there," a dark haired girl said, coming over to Harry. "You're the Seeker right?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry spluttered. He could feel his face turning red and wanted very much to give Ron a good smack, as he was laughing hysterically a few feet away. The girl smiled.

"You must be really young then," she said, handing him a piece of parchment and a quill. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," Harry replied timidly as he signed her parchment quickly and gave it back to her. She gave a small laugh.

"Well, that doesn't bother me at all," she said with a wink. "See you around Harry."

"Smooth," Ron said once he had regained himself. "Very smooth." But just as he said this a short, curly haired girl walked up to him and started going on and on about how amazing he was, being a Chaser and a manager. Now it was Harry's turn to laugh as Ron went beet red. Amy was scowling.

For another twenty or so minutes, girls continued to swarm down on the players, and Harry was feeling stupider by the second. Harry and Ron, both feeling very self-conscious, stuck near Cory, Hawk and J.P., who all seemed to be having the time of their lives. Harry was hoping that their confidence would rub off a bit on him.

"Well, the three of us have been playing together for almost ten years," Cory was telling a group of girls who were rapt with attention and admiration. "So it was natural that we'd end up on the team together."

"So J.P.," of the girls said as her friends started giggling. "Are you staying at the manor all weekend?"

"Yeah, we still have to meet up with the professional scouts," J.P. said. "Who knows, by this time next year we might all be getting paid for this."

"No doubt!" the girl exclaimed. "You know, I'm going to be staying until Tuesday...maybe we could get together sometime."

"I can't, sorry," J.P. said considerately. The girl still looked crushed.

"Yeah, sorry ladies!" Hawk announced to the crowd. "Our Keeper is off the market!"

"I'm with someone," J.P. said with a smile as a pretty girl with long brown hair walked up to him and put her arm around his waist. The girls all cooed affectionately.

"But there are still a Beater and a Chaser who are looking for some company!" Hawk exclaimed. The girls around him erupted in shrill laughs.

"Can I have your autograph?" one of them burst out suddenly. "My name's Jessica, by the way."

"Of course you can, Jessica," Hawk said with a grin. "I'm Hawk."

"Hawk, that's cool. What's your real name?"

Hawk opened his mouth to answer but didn't get a chance.

"RODNEY DARLING!"

Hawk closed his eyes and grimaced as his mother's loud voice filled the air. The girls around them laughed and walked off, waving as they went.

"My grandfather just HAD to have a stupid name, didn't he?" Hawk said with a sigh.

"Go on Hawk, your mother's calling," Cory said with a grin. Hawk smiled broadly as he turned to the short, rather plump blonde woman that was making her way through the thinning crowd.

"MUM!" he exclaimed, giving her a big hug and lifting her up off the ground, which wasn't difficult as she was almost a foot shorter than he was.

"Oooh, I've missed you so much," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Anna darling," she shouted, "they're over here!"

"Mum, this is Harry and Ronny, some people I met this summer," Hawk said, introducing them to his mother, who already knew Cory and J.P. She smiled. She didn't look all that much like Hawk, Harry noticed, who was tall and slender, not short and plump. But he had her blonde hair and laughing eyes and, it seemed, her loud personality.

"Rodney, my boy, great game!" said a tall, sandy brown haired man. He had a small mustache and wore glasses, but his face looked a lot like Hawk's.

"Hey dad," Hawk said happily. What happened next was a bit of a family reunion. The parents and friends of the Quidditch players all joined their sons and daughter. Harry had a good time meeting Terry and Teddy's parents, who all congratulated him on his flying. As Logan had expected, his father wasn't too happy about the robes they were wearing, but seemed proud nonetheless. Stanley's father looked very out of place in his suit and tie, and even though he didn't seem to understand how Quidditch worked, he knew that they had won, and that was good enough. As interesting as everyone's parents were, Harry spent his time with Cory, Hawk and J.P., as their parents were probably the most interesting people there. Mr. and Mrs. Malcotts were some of the nicest people Harry had ever met, as was J.P.'s girlfriend Sara. There was so much chemistry between the three families that you would think that even the parents had grown up together, which, now that he thought about it, they probably did. Hawk's two younger brothers were there as well, and the elder of the two, Calvin, was less than friendly towards Harry.

"Mom, this kid's my age," he complained, looking at Harry enviously. "Why couldn't I try out for the team?"

"Because it was much too dangerous, Cal," Mrs. Nackoronty said as she fiddled with her youngest son's pacifier. Calvin scowled.

"But look at him! He's fine!"

"Yeah, but he's better than you," Hawk said. His brother glared at him and punched him in the arm. Hawk grabbed him in a headlock and wrestled him to the ground.

"All right, all right!" the younger one said, wriggling out of Hawk's grasp. "I'm gonna split. There are a few people I want to meet." He grinned Hawk's mischievous grin and looked over at a group of girls who were sitting in the shade of one of the trees.

"Take David with you," Mrs. Nackoronty said, dropping three-year-old David into his arms. Calvin looked disgusted.

"Aw, come on mom, he's your son!"

"Trust me, Cal," Cory said, "kids are total babe magnets. Just ask Amy."

"Amy eh," Calvin said, looking over at her. "Alright I will. Later!"

"My goodness, Charlotte, your sons are so much taller than you are!" Mrs. Rodricks laughed.

"Before you know it, little Davy will be carrying you around!" They all laughed.

"I know what you're saying," Mrs. Nackoronty laughed. "Most people don't believe they're my sons until they hear them talk."

For a few minutes, Harry felt a little awkward. The three families had enough to talk about together, and he didn't really know what he could add to the conversation, but they all seemed to want both him and Ron to stay. Like everyone else, they congratulated Harry on his skills and marveled at the fact that he had only been flying for a short time. The mothers were especially impressed with Ron, and thought it was amazing to see a young person in such an important role.

"Why couldn't you be that organized?" Mrs. Nackoronty asked Hawk sharply.

"Well I'd need a role model to teach me how," Hawk said back. "And you're not setting much of an example now are you?" Mrs. Nackoronty reached up and yanked his ear while the others laughed.

"Michael!" Mr. Malcotts said suddenly. "What a surprise! I haven't seen you in ages."

Harry and Ron both turned to look at the dark haired man that had just joined the group. It didn't take long for them to realize that he was Cory's father. He had Cory's dashing good looks and his serious eyes.

"Michael old boy!" Mr. Nackoronty exclaimed, embracing him like a brother. "Did you manage to get out of the office long enough to catch the game?"

"Indeed I did," Mr. Rodricks answered. "I was just talking to Mr. Swan about the players. He was very proud of the team. Apparently they weren't too good to begin with, but he whipped them into shape."

"Well they impressed me," Hawk's dad said happily. "Oh, have you met Harry and Ronny?"

"Ah yes, the kids," Mr. Rodricks said, looking at them with the same type of expression that Cory used when they had first met. The resemblance between the two was remarkably familiar, from the way they stood to the dignified and superior look in their eyes.

"Michael," Mrs. Rodricks said warningly. Her husband looked at her apologetically and then smiled.

"You did well boys, very well."

The conversation turned back to the game, and all of the boys were talking enthusiastically about what they had done and which of the Bulgarians caused the most trouble. Well, not all of them. Cory, Harry noticed, was being surprisingly quiet about all that had gone on.

"I was surprised at the score though," Mr. Malcotts was saying. "I've seen you guys score a lot higher than that."

"Well, they were a good team," Cory began.

"I think they did well," Mr. Rodricks cut in. Cory looked at him with a shocked expression on his face. "They've never played against a professionally trained team before. Two ninety is a pretty impressive number. You should be proud, son."

Cory shrugged, but Harry could tell from the look in his eyes that he was hiding his happiness.

"I think I'm going to go to the manor," Amy's voice suddenly called out from behind them. Harry turned around to see her marching across the cobblestone. Calvin was following behind her with David bouncing in his arms. "I'm really feeling kind of tired!"

"Well I'll walk you to your room!" Calvin called.

"Oh lord, what's he doing now?" Hawk groaned. "Come on guys, let's give her a hand."

Harry and Ron followed after him, while J.P., Sara and the other adults stayed behind. Taking a second glance over his shoulder, Harry saw that Cory and his father were walking off in a different direction towards the beach. He smiled as he watched them go. The day couldn't have a better ending.