Harry sat glumly at his desk, looking blearily out of his bedroom window at the manicured lawns, square houses and over clean cars of Privett Drive. The warm June sun shone through the window and fell in rays across the desk, trying to tempt the seventeen year old to go outside, but Harry wasn't interested. For one thing, the fact that he was entering his final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry meant that he had a large pile of essays that needed to get done. Second, and perhaps the more pressing reason, he felt gloomy. Although he had only been back with the Dursleys for a week, his separation from the magical world was already starting to gnaw at his spirits. He knew that it couldn't be avoided, knew that Privett Drive was the only thing keeping him safe, but it was still a very hard pill to swallow.
After a few minutes of depressed sitting Harry rose, and thinking vaguely that he might as well do something to occupy his time, wandered over to his trunk and took out his faithful Firebolt, along with the Broomstick Servicing Kit that Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday. Sitting lazily on his bed, he began rubbing handle polish onto his broom, as he stared absentmindedly out of his window.
Then, something caught his eye that made him stop in mid-rub. It was an owl, but not Hedwig, she was off hunting. As it drew closer with every second, Harry recognized it as a tawny owl, brown and handsome, with a letter-sized envelope clamped in his beak. Harry opened the window as it landed with a soft thud on his sill, wondering who it was from. The owl was not from Hogwarts, nor was it from Ron or Hermione. Harry took the letter and looked thoughtfully down at it as the bird took flight, noticing, with some curiosity, the strange seal stamped on the back. It showed an outline map of England, with a pair of broomsticks crossed in the forefront. His interest peaked, Harry opened the envelope and removed the letter from inside. He unfolded it, saw the same crest as was on the envelope printed in the corner, and started to read:
Mr. Harry Potter,
On behalf of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the England National Quidditch Team would like to invite you to the National Team trials. The trials will be held from July 15th to 17th, in preparation for the upcoming World Cup in France. After reports of your many stellar performances during your years attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we offer you one of the trial births for the position of seeker. We are looking for a new seeker following the retirement of Gerald Whittly, and will be making our decision after the trials mentioned above. Please respond as soon as possible to confirm your attendance.
Yours Sincerely,
Mathias Oaksharp
England National Quidditch Team Captain
Harry looked in disbelief at the letter, having to read it over three times for the information to sink in. At first he thought there must be some mistake, that the owl delivered the letter to the wrong person. He checked the front of the envelope, but it clearly said Harry Potter, and so did the letter. Was this a joke? Maybe Fred and George had decided to play a prank on him by mail? Or could it a ploy by Voldemort to lure him away? It was true that Harry was a fairly good quidditch player, true that he had been responsible for a number of Gryffindor victories, but the National Team? He had watched the Quidditch World Cup, had marvelled at how fast and skilled they were. He couldn't compete with those men and women, he was still in school. Could they be serious? Would Dumbledore even allow him to go?
Then, as if the book that was his memory had flipped open, he remembered the dream that he had been having at the World Cup three summers ago. He had been on his broom, soaring throughout the huge World Cup stadium as Ludo Bagman's voice boomed. "I give you, Potter!" This was his chance to realize that dream, his chance to be famous for something other than that stupid scar! This was his opportunity, and he wasn't going to let it pass him by.