Harry Potter and the Maze of Anomy

Chapter One: Quintillus Quipnick’s Quixotic Quidditch Camp

Harry’s feet landed with some force and as the world around him began to unfold, he realized that the group had materialized in the middle of a vast field. The crowd began to disperse a bit, and a red-faced Cho Chang took a few steps away from him. Draco Malfoy and Montague took the opportunity to disappear entirely. It was a good thing that Harry had Madame Hooch with him, because he didn’t think he’d ever seen Malfoy looking quite so inconvenienced by his presence, and really didn’t want to put up with another one of Draco’s famous scenes.

Looking around, Harry noticed to his left there were several log cabins in the distance. To his right sat a line of long, narrow tables, where several wizards in gray robes were seated.  In front of the group Quintillus Quipnick was standing on a podium, and was once again calling for the attention of the crowd.

 

“Now that we’re all here,” he shouted in a clear voice. “I’d like to introduce you to your instructors. First; Mr. Aiden Lynch, Seeker for the Ireland National Quidditch Team!” He pointed to the front of the crowd where the sandy haired Aiden Lynch stood, and a cheer broke out. After a moment of him allowing Lynch to smile and waive, Mr. Quipnick spoke up again. “The other Seeker who happens to be with us for the summer is none other than Bulgaria’s own Viktor Krum!” The crowd broke into an even louder cheer, if imaginable, as Viktor revealed himself. Harry strained to see Viktor from where he stood, and noticed he seemed just as surly as ever.

Mr. Quipnick continued to introduce all of the staff, Madame Hooch included. Harry couldn’t believe how many celebrities were there. Not only would he be spending the summer with Lynch and Krum, but also the Keeper for Puddlemere United; one of the Chasers from the Thundelawa Thunderers; and three, not one or two, rather, three members of the Moosejaw Meteriorites. (All of them doing their share of smiling and waving.) Mr. Quipnick then gave a very long, considerably boring speech about ‘his goal as a young Quidditch champion to unite the wizarding world using their love for the sport,’ which, after about an hour or so turned into a detailed explanation of the camp rules. Harry noticed, after giving up trying to look as attentive as possible, that many of the others were looking just as bored as he was. Katie Bell looked like she was asleep where she stood.

“Is everyone clear on that?” Mr. Quipnick continued. “Nothing below the waist! If I see one bludger directed lower than….”

Harry was beginning to think that Katie had the right idea.

“So, that being said, If you would all line up at the long tables to your right,” Mr. Quipnick continued on, pointing over to the tables where the wizards in gray robes were all just barely awake, heads propped up on elbows. “They will give you your cabin assignment and class schedules.”

Quintillus Quipnick took the opportunity to launch into a spiel about how he had personally selected each students schedule by his very own self, but no one waited around to hear how it ended. A cavalcade of teenage witches and wizards in Quidditch garments poured down on the gray robed sleeping wizards, frightening them out of their catatonic states, crowding the tables, fighting for their paperwork. Madame Hooch, along with some other staff members, tried breaking up the crowd; shouting at them to maintain order, but they were too soon lost in the stampede.

Harry chose to stay behind the screaming horde, but ended up getting pushed around by the frantic crowd anyway. A group of rather giggly, over excited girls rammed right into Harry as they passed, sending him straight into a brown haired boy who had been just as quietly standing to his left. The boy fell over, and Harry very nearly did the same.

“Are you ok?” he called, grabbing the boy by the arm and helping him to his feet.

“Viktor varned me about this,” he said, shaking his head and looking a bit dazed. “Viktor told me this vould happen.” He had very messy, shaggy brown hair not unlike Harry’s own unruly mop; a sharp nose; and eyebrows that almost met in the center of his slender, dopey looking face.

“Thank you for your help,” he said, dusting off his robes, which Harry noticed were the same as the Bulgarian National Quidditch team’s.

“I’m Harry,” he said, holding out his hand. “Harry Potter.” The boy shook it.

“It is nice meeting you Harry Potter,” he said with a smile. “I am called Stanislov Dovinivichnivinivinsky.” He had an awkward, clueless however grateful sort of look on his face. “You can call me Stan,” he said, pointing at his chest.

Harry would soon be very grateful that he could call the boy ‘Stan,’ because he ended up in the same cabin as him, as they found out when the crowd had finally dispersed and they could reach the line of tables. Stanislov, he would find out, was a Seeker at Durmstrang, with aspirations for joining the Bulgarian national team. His English was not very good, and he constantly referred to himself as “Stanislov” instead of the usual “I” or “me.” He likewise referred to his possessions as “Stanislov’s hat,” and “Stanislov’s broom.”

Aside from the quirks in his speech, Stanislov turned out to be pretty good company. He knew everything there was to know about Seeking, it seemed, and was glad to give Harry pointers. He knew all of this, Harry would find out, because he was a very good acquaintance of Viktor Krum, and Viktor Krum, Harry knew, knew all of this.

Also in his cabin, he would later find, were two French boys who couldn’t speak a lick of English, a very moody American who stayed mainly to himself, and by an extreme stroke of luck, Viktor Krum. Viktor’s schedule was so hectic that he spent very little time actually in the cabin; rising very early in the morning, and not returning until well after the rest of the boys were fast asleep.

“Have a minute Harry?” Madame Hooch asked, once Harry and Stanislov reviewed their schedules. Harry followed her over to a shaded area behind one of the cabins.

“Now Harry,” Madame Hooch said quietly, looking around to see if anyone was watching. “I am one of the instructors at this camp, so I will have duties to attend to. However, I will be keeping a very close eye on you.”

“If you happen to see anything peculiar going on, anything at all, you come and fetch me right away. I will be staying in cabin eleven. I will be expecting you to check in with me regularly as well.” Harry nodded in consent, and Madame Hooch pulled something out of her robes.

“Professor McGonagall asked me to give you this. I’m sure you already know what it is,” she said. She handed Harry a letter and walked away.

Harry stood there for a moment and stared. He knew what the letter was; it was his O.W.L. results.  He thought for a second about throwing the letter into that bag of unopened mail, or burning it, or throwing it into the bag of unopened mail and burning that, but he knew he had to get this out of the way. He walked over to a nearby bench, sat down, broke the envelope’s seal, and prepared himself for its contents.

Dear Mr. Potter:

Enclosed you will find the result from the O.W.L. exams you took last year, as well as a complete list of required textbooks for your upcoming term. You will also notice that this year your schedule has been pre-determined, and is also enclosed.

It should come to no surprise that I have decided to appoint you Captain of this year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team. Please take the knowledge you have attained over this summer and apply it to a winning strategy for your teammates, and your house.

As always, term begins on September 1^st. Please arrive to Kings Cross promptly, as the Hogwarts Express leaves at exactly 11:00.

Sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Quidditch captain? That was great! Well, at least one thing was going his way. He’d have to pen Ron just as soon as he could; he definitely was not going to believe this. ‘At least some good news will lessen the blow a bit,’ he thought to himself, and turned to the next piece of parchment; his O.W.L. results.

Ancient Runes…………………………………..n/a

Arithmancy……………………………………..n/a

Astronomy………………………………………..E

Care of Magical Creatures……………………O

Charms…………………………………………..O

Defense Against the Dark Arts……………….O

Divination………………………………………A

Herbology……………………………………...O

History of Magic……………………………...E

Muggle Studies…………………………..……n/a

Potions………………………………………….O

Transfiguration……………………………….E

An ‘O’ in potions?

He was definitely going to have to pen Ron about this. Harry couldn’t believe it. Things couldn’t have gotten better if Viktor Krum had Wronski Feinted Draco Malfoy right into a great big pool of quicksand. He was going to be an Auror! He had the grades to do it! This called for a celebration.

Fortunately, there was one. That night a great feast was held for all of the students, at which Harry ate so much he thought he might need to send for Hermione to perform a de-gorging charm on him afterward. Stanislov apparently discovered the wonder that was butter beer. He discovered so much of it, in fact, that it took Harry and the two French boys, muttering angrily in their native tongue the entire way, to get Stanislov back to the cabin that night.

“Stansoloff is champion of butter beer!” he sang the whole way there, completely oblivious to anything but the lovely taste in his mouth. Harry didn’t even want to imagine just how many butter beers it took to put Stanislov in the state he was in.

When they entered the cabin, they found the moody American sitting in the corner, tossing a ball into the air as they dragged Stanislov inside. He looked at them, raised an eyebrow, and then went back to tossing his ball, saying nothing.

It turned out that the rest of his bunkmates were all Seekers, and were in most of his lessons, all of which ended up being taught by Viktor Krum. Harry found that there were eleven Seekers in total at the camp. Out of them, he and his bunkmates had been chosen to attend more advanced classes than the other Seekers at the camp.

The moody American, who Harry later learned was named Kevin McClain, did what he was instructed to do, and not much more. He rarely spoke to the others. When he did, he’d have something very sarcastic to say about their flying. The two French boys, who’s names Harry tried to learn but could never properly pronounce, stayed mainly to themselves. Their interpreter followed them around like a second shadow. Stanislov was very friendly and talkative, but he didn’t quite seem to have the same grip on reality as the others. His head, as Aunt Petunia would put it, must’ve been up in the clouds.

A more novice lesson plan was set up for the rest, and this was mainly instructed by Aiden Lynch. Draco Malfoy was in this second group. Therefore Draco, out of the greatest chance of luck ever known to man, wasn’t in any of Harry’s lessons. He barely saw him at all. When he did, Madame Hooch was hovering so closely to Harry that Draco didn’t dare try anything. He later found out from Viktor that Draco was suffering a stab to his ego; he hadn’t been selected for the Advanced Training Program like Harry had. He hadn’t even been invited to the camp; his mother had to pay his way in. Without his two cronies by his side for support, coupled with the fact that Viktor Krum no longer thought very highly of Draco after all of the things he heard about him from Hermione, Draco Malfoy was nothing more to Harry that summer than another boy at camp.

And camp was going great. Harry completely lost track of time. In fact, he hadn’t even realized that an entire two weeks had gone by until one morning, after just waking up, a slew of owls arrived in his cabin carrying packages of varying size along with several envelopes. They dropped everything they were carrying on the floor in front of him, and it wasn’t until they did that he remembered it was his sixteenth birthday.

“Vat is the occasion, Hah-ree?” he heard Stan call as he sat down on the floor to examine the many packages.

“It’s my birthday today,” Harry replied. Stan, yawning loudly, joined him on the floor.

“That’s great!” he exclaimed. “Vai you no mention this to Stanislov?”

Harry shrugged. “I forgot, to be honest.”

“Vell,” Stan continued, pointing at the items on the floor. “Some people not forget.”

“I guess not,” Harry replied, and picking up the first package he unwrapped it. It was from Hagrid, a small note inside the package told him so; ‘Happee birthday Harry, thought these could be of some use.’ Inside of the package Harry found a very handsome pair of dragon skin boots. They were dark brown, rough to the touch, and lined with a very soft material.

“Vow Hah-ree! You vill try them on?” Stan asked, looking more excited than Harry himself felt he actually was. He did, however, slip the boots on. They were unbelievably comfortable, and he found as he stood up and walked around that they were also very flexible. He could move his feet around with as much ease as if he were barefoot.

“Dragon skin, they say, is very hard,” Stan said as Harry sat back down and began to take the boots off. “A boolger could hit your feet and not make harm.” He figured Stan had meant ‘bludger,’ but knew that trying to teach him how to properly pronounce it could likely take all morning.

Instead, Harry turned his attention to the next package. He knew it to be from Fred and George Weasley, because the wrapping paper on it read: ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.’ Inside the package, Harry found an array of class-missing aids the twins had created during their time at Hogwarts. Harry smiled, and couldn’t help but think of how upset Hermione would have been to know what the Weasleys had given him. He would have to make sure he ‘forgot’ to tell her about the Weasley brothers’ present.

The next gift he opened was from Ron, and contained a very large box of chocolate frogs.

A package of home made cauldron cakes came from Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny knit him a dark green scarf. There were various birthday cards from all of the members of the Order (that Harry knew of) including; Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and even Mad-Eye Moody himself.

“Hah-ree,” said Stan as Harry began to pile all of his gifts by his bed. “You are missing a gift.” He handed Harry a very small, delicately wrapped box. Harry opened it carefully, and could not believe what was inside.

“Is this vat I am thinking?” Stan asked, peering into the box. The item inside did not allow Harry to answer him. It flapped a set of small, silver wings, and then shot out, whizzing around the small cabin at all angles.

“A Snitch!”

“A Zinich!” 

And it was.

A Golden Snitch had flown out of that little box, and was now zooming madly about the room. Harry jumped up and in a second he was after the Snitch, stretching his arms out to reach as it flew in and out of the posts of one of the bunks. Stanislov, apparently, had gotten the same idea. He too was now running after the snitch, jumping at it, barely missing as it whizzed by his lop of messy brown hair.

“This not so easy without broom Hah-ree!” he shouted as he narrowly missed catching the Snitch again.

“You’re not kidding!” Harry replied, jumping up onto a chair and reaching out to try and grab the golden orb now hovering by the ceiling. Stanislov began jumping up and down, flailing his arms in any attempt he could to reach it, accidentally kicking one of the legs of the chair Harry was standing on.

Harry saw it coming, but couldn’t stop the collision. In an instant he landed right on top of Stanislov, sending a mess of entangled arms and legs crashing to the floor. The snitch, as if gloating, flew close by the pile of teenage boy on the floor. It hovered for a moment, and then whizzed off toward the door that Harry suddenly realized was wide open.

“Very cute,” came a mildly amused voice. Harry looked to the doorway and found the origin. Holding his Golden Snitch effortlessly between thumb and forefinger stood the moody American, Kevin McClain. 

Harry stood up and dusted himself off, Stanislov in tow. “Thanks, Kevin,” he said, holding his hand out.  Kevin ignored him. He looked intently on the ball he held in between his fingers.

“You’ve got a real fan, Potter,” he said after several seconds, closing the ball in his hand and looking up at Harry once again. “These don’t come cheap. Don’t lose her.” He tossed the Snitch back at Harry who caught it and gave him a bewildered look. Kevin looked at him for a moment before turning and walking out of the cabin. 

“Who says it has to be girl type?” Stanislov called after him. “Come on Hah-ree,” he said, turning back to Harry and smiling. “You can give boy type name too.” He pointed down at the Snitch. “Why not call it…. Stanislov! That is strong boys name!”

But Harry wasn’t sure that that’s what Kevin actually meant…after all, it had been a present from-

“Harmiminee? Hah-ree, who is this Harmiminee? She has good taste!”

The next night found Harry sitting at the small desk in the cabin, writing out thank you notes to all of his friends. He wrote one to Hagrid expressing his gratitude for the wonderful boots. He then began writing to each Weasely in turn, taking the time to write an especially long letter to Ron detailing absolutely everything that had happened since his last letter. He folded it up, wrote: ‘Ron Weasley, Room Underneath the Attic, The Burrow,’ on an envelope and stuffed it inside. He then proceeded to write his next note of gratitude.

“Hah-ree! Hurry Hah-ree!” Stanislov shouted, bursting into the cabin, clutching his chest. He looked as if he had just run halfway across the campground. “Quidditch match! Cabin six against cabin seven!” he called out, trying to catch his breath. “They are needing Seekers!”

Harry made a mental note to finish his thank-you cards later, gave the ones he had completed to Hedwig, put on his boots and cape, and ran out of the cabin and towards the field, Stanislov leading the way.