Harry Potter and the Maze of Anomy

Chapter Two: Old Flames Burn Just as Badly

The following weeks provided much of the same. When Harry wasn’t taking lessons, random Quidditch matches were springing up all over the campground. Harry found himself in high demand as a Seeker, and aside from meals and the occasional letter to Ron detailing what he’d been up to, he had time for very little else. There was something about that that surprised him though; he liked it that way. He found that on some level he was very happy that he wasn’t left any time to think.

 The best part of all was that Viktor Krum was now giving him private lessons almost every other day; seemingly determined to turn him into a better Seeker than the boy the Irish Seeker Aiden Lynch was mentoring, who just happened to be Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was not so delighted. Viktor and his classmates from Durmstrang had practically been honorary Slytherins during the Tri-Wizarding Tournament. The look on his face every time he walked by with Aiden was enough to know that Viktor Krum had definitely lost a few notches on the old popularity belt (as far as Draco Malfoy was concerned, that is.)

Harry found out that Viktor, when not looking as miserable as it was possible for one person to look, could actually be a really fun guy. He was also somewhat of a prankster. He charmed several bludgers so that when they were hit with a bat they would splatter like a pumpkin. He also placed a heating spell on one of the Snitches so that when Malfoy caught it one day during practice it burned a hole in his dragon-hide glove. When Draco went directly to Madame Hooch and blamed Harry, Viktor (doing such a remarkable job of maintaining a straight face that it was obvious he was clearly a professional in the matter), told her matter-of-factly that the campground was infested with gremlins, and it was most likely one of them who’d enchanted the Snitch.

The story did ultimately result in the group going to Diagon Alley a bit sooner than was expected, as the entire ground now needed to be inspected for gremlins. No one really cared too much. Harry, Viktor, and Stanislov spent the day visiting Fred and George in their new joke shop stocking up on any anti-Malfoy/Lynch apparatus they could get their hands on, and helping themselves to chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties.

Harry did, however, grow a bit upset towards the end of the day when the fact that he wouldn’t be meeting up with Ron and Hermione began to sink in.

“Cheer up, Harry,” said Victor as he finished off another chocolate frog. “You’ll see them at school all year. I’ll be vy-ting to Hermeeohninny, vould you like me to inform her?” Harry agreed, and made a mental note to pen Ron about it. The trio bade a mournful farewell to the twins, and then made their way through the various shops of Diagon Alley. Harry and Stanislov picked up all of their schooling needs.

“It is very sad,” Stanislov said after they finished stocking up on quills and ink. “Just how quickly Stanislov’s summer has gone.”

Harry had to agree that the summer was flying by. His summer had gone on so quickly, in fact, that before he knew it he was packing his things and getting ready to go to the end of summer party the staff planned.

As Harry finished packing up his trunk, Stanislov wandered into the tent looking his usually clueless self and told Harry they were about to start. The two left the cabin and set off to find Viktor who was doing a poor job of hiding in the bushes. He said it was due to a large pack of fans who were hell-bent on getting his autograph before they left.

“I’m not a people person!” he shouted as Harry and Stanislov literally dragged him out of the bushes. “Just let me spend my last night in peace!”

Harry, Stan and Viktor (reluctantly) ended up having a great time at the party. The long tables that once housed a set of sleepy (and later battered) wizards in gray robes were now covered in food and drink.

The staff members conjured up a large bonfire and were having a delightful time themselves trying to make everyone muggle s’mores, burning hands (and somehow feet) in the process.

Even Madame Hooch, though still keeping one eye on Harry at all times, seemed a bit lax. She was having a conversation with Quintillus Quipnick where the two spent a lot of time making vigorous hand motions as they spoke.

Somewhere around midnight, Viktor was accosted by a group of giggling girls (many of which Harry recognized as being the ones who’d knocked him over on the very first day) who began begging him excitedly to sign their robes, their arms, their…

Rather flushed by the situation, Viktor did what any self respecting world renowned Quidditch star would have done in his position.

He ran for it.

“Come on Hah-ree!” Stanislov shouted in desperation. “Ve must be saving Viktor!”

“Uhm, why don’t you go and save him yourself, Stan,” Harry replied politely, not really wanting to spend the rest of his evening fighting of a gaggle of giggling teenagers. “I’d probably just get in your way.”

Stanislov looked rather dignified by what Harry said. “You are right, of course, Hah-ree,” he said apologetically. “These things can not be helped.” He patted Harry sympathetically on the shoulder, and Harry tried his best to look let down.

“Don’t vorry, Viktor! Stanislov is coming!”

Growing a bit tired and now very alone, Harry took a seat on a log by the fire, and fumbled momentarily in his pocket. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled it out and stared.

It glowed in the firelight, reflecting bits of Harry’s face on it’s smooth, shiny surface as it flapped it’s tiny wings in his hand, attempting to escape his grasp.

How peculiar it was, that just looking at the little golden orb in his hand could make him feel so complacent. He had taken some time ago to carrying the Snitch around in his pocket, and even caught himself on several occasions pulling it out and just holding it in his hand. It made him think of his father, who he knew to have carried a Snitch around with him everywhere. The thought made him feel warm inside, and smiling down at the Snitch he allowed the memory of his father, smiling and laughing with his friends, to envelope him.

The warmth he felt did not last long. As he opened his eyes he caught sight of Cho. She was staring at him from her place in front of the bonfire, a tall glass of untouched pumpkin juice in her hand. The flames played upon her graceful features as she watched him. Placing the Snitch back in his pocket, he smiled an invite. She walked toward him wearing a slinky pair of cut off shorts and a tank top that didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination.

“Hey Harry,” she said quietly.

“Hi Cho.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Harry patted the log he was sitting on. She sat down next to him, a little too close for comfort. She looked gorgeous though, she really did. He did his best not to stare.

“This is some summer we’ve had,” she said awkwardly, looking into the fire.

“Yeah, guess so,” Harry replied. He picked at a rip in his jeans, just above his left knee. She shifted slightly, and ran a hand through her long, raven hair.

“I wish I had gotten a chance to see you a bit more.” Cho said after a few moments. Harry looked over to see that her face was now very flushed.

“Oh,” he said dully, noticing from her flattened expression that his was not the response she had been anticipating.

“I’d really like to start over with you Harry,” she continued after some time. Looking away she added, “If you know what I mean.”

“You... you would?”

Harry was a bit startled. Hadn’t she had enough? Hadn’t he bludgered it up good last time? She really did look amazing in those shorts though…

“Mhmm,” she replied, looking at his baffled expression. “What do you think about that?”

Harry went back to picking at the rip in his jeans. Cho watched him with some anxiety on her face, and then he looked at her again.

“I think,”

“Yes?” she asked, leaning forward in anticipation.

“I think,” Harry said softly, moving a bit closer.

“Uh huh?” she replied. Closing her eyes, she let her face steadily move closer to his, their lips inches away.

“I think you’re just too much for me Cho.”

Her eyes flashed open, shock eminent.

“W-what?”

“Listen, you’re really nice and all,” Harry said apologetically. “And even though you’re extremely beautiful and I’m probably going to regret this in about ten minutes, you’re also...”

Harry hesitated.

“Also what, Harry?” Cho asked, giving him a very quizzical look.

Harry took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Too complicated.”

He searched for some comfort in the fire, though he knew it would not save him; not now that he had bludgered things up so incredibly well. He awaited her response, unsure as to what would come next. For a long time, she didn’t speak. And then…

“Complicated,” she said simply.

“Complicated,” she replied a moment later, more to herself than to Harry.

She stood. Harry looked up at her.

“I’ll show you complicated!” she shouted.

And then she did.

She showed him just how complicated she was.

Flinging her right arm forward she sent an ice-cold glass of pumpkin juice straight into Harry Potter’s unsuspecting face. Leaving Harry with an utterly shocked expression, she turned around with a triumphant “Humph!” and walked away.

“Oh yeah,” he said sarcastically to her retreating form, removing his glasses and wiping his face with his hand. “If that doesn’t scream mood swing than just call me a pile of bubo tuber puss!” He got up from the log and walked in a rage toward his cabin, ignoring the looks from the other campers that were very obviously directed at him.

‘That is exactly why I didn’t want to start over!’ he thought angrily to himself as he reached his cabin and threw himself onto his bunk.

‘Because your kind are completely insane!’

He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly he had begun to refer to them as ‘your kind’ but, truth be told, Harry Potter was just plain sick of girls.

What good had they done him anyhow? Nothing but a big fat headache, they were.

Sure, he had the same urges as any average sixteen-year-old boy would; that much was true. And as wonderfully delightful as satisfying his manly desires with Cho Chang would have been, should he have chosen to keep his big fat stupid mouth shut that night, he knew that after all was said and done she’d sprout those devil horns of hers and attempt to sacrifice him at the alter in some ungodly manner. She’d probably start by plucking every hair from his body one by one, and then drown him in some horribly scented designer perfume. He could just picture the blood lust on her face as she pushed him further into the stinking pool.

“Now be a good boy Harry, and drown like you’re told,” she’d say with bright eyes and a fiendish smile. Then she’d probably bake his remains into a pie and serve him up to all of her complicated, bloodthirsty friends. “Don’t worry girls,” she’d tell them maliciously. “He tastes much better than he looks.” Then they would all giggle and complain about their weight, before oxy-moronically gorging themselves on his perfume-and-pastied remains.

 ‘Not tonight thanks,’ he thought, taking the Snitch from his pocket and examining it once more. Girls were just too difficult to understand. With every other problem he had weighing down upon his shoulders at the moment, he felt he really didn’t need to go finding himself another. The unsolvable puzzle that was the average woman could certainly wait until he jumped a few other hurdles in his life, such as fulfilling that gut-wrenching prophecy of his.

He looked intently at the Snitch.

The prophecy.

It was the first time he’d thought about it in months, and thinking about it didn’t settle well in his stomach. Not that the prophecy itself wasn’t mind blowing enough. Thinking about the prophecy always made him think about Sirius. That was something he’d been doing everything in his power to avoid. That was something that kept him up all night with knots in his stomach and throat. Harry felt too guilty about what happened, and the guilt was enough to eat him alive.

He concentrated hard on the Snitch and silently hoped that Stanislov would burst through the door any moment, his robes torn to shreds by the devil horned pack of blood suckers that chased Viktor away, and provide him with some comic relief.

But Stanislov didn’t come to his aid. He didn’t wander in with his arm in a sling and his hair all a mess, wailing on about how he single handedly fought the banshees off of Viktor. Still clutching the snitch in his hand, Harry was forced to fall asleep with his thoughts on the thing he had been trying all summer to forget.

His guilt.