A/N: I am a horrible, horrible person, known for (among other things) not updating in months, never responding to emails, and disappearing for large chunks of time. I am so, so sorry to everyone. I could bore you all with the details of the unbelievably crappy year I've had, but you guys would rather read some fic, right? So I'll just say the following: 1.) I will update Not Myself. I can't guarantee a time period, but I have not abandoned that fic. 2.) If you've emailed me and I haven't replied, I am so sorry. I'm still trying to transfer everything over to my new computer, so please be patient with me. 3.) If you want to yell at me for any of the above (and I won't blame you!) or hear about my reasons for being MIA, feel free to email me at the address in my profile.
A/N part two: This fic takes place the summer before PoA. Imagine a sort of Junior Quidditch World Cup, played by school age teams from all around Europe. I've messed with the timeline of the summer a little bit, but basically this takes place after the Weasleys went to Egypt and after Harry blew up his aunt. There won't be much romance, but the little there is will be F/A, G/A, and L/K. Everything else should explain itself. Okay, read!
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The village of Ottery St. Catchpoole was bathed in the fresh light of dawn. Birds chirped, a warm breeze gently rustled the leaves, and the milk truck could be seen winding it's way serenely down the village road.
On the outskirts of the village, the first rays of sunshine hit the Burrow. Chickens clucked around in their pens, dew began to dry from the surface of the late summer tomatoes, and a persistent band of garden gnomes resolutely marched across the yard.
The only sign of the coming disturbance was a brief whooshing sound, barely detected by anyone who happened to be awake at this hour. So it was really quite a shock to the seven residents of the Burrow when the violently purple Knight Bus arrived with a triumphant bang on the front lawn.
George and Fred Weasley immediately awakened at the noise.
"MERLIN!" screamed George, sitting bolt upright in bed. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT NOISE?"
Fred repeated George's sentiments, albeit with a much more colorful vocabulary. Further speculation on the twin's part was halted, however, by a disheveled looking Mrs. Weasley bursting into the room still wearing her dressing gown.
"Did you two neglect to tell me anything?" Mrs. Weasley hissed, her face burning red. Fred and George shot guilty glances at each other.
"Honestly Mum, we didn't know he'd drink all of it."
"The tail will be gone in a few days."
"It'll match his head boy badge!"
"Not that!" If possible, Mrs. Weasley's face had gotten redder. "You didn't tell me that the girls would be arriving this early to go to the quidditch tournament and I'm not even –" Fred and George leaping out of bed cut off Mrs. Weasley's rant.
"We're supposed to go to the tournament today! Bugger, I forgot!" Fred began to drag his trunk out from under the bed while George sprinted around the room, grabbing brooms, quidditch robes, and a suspicious looking tin of biscuits that appeared to be rattling on it's own accord.
"Mum, could you just entertain the girls for a little while? And maybe make us a spot of breakfast? Ooh, and it would be nice if we could have some sandwiches to pack for later… Thanks! We'll just get dressed!" George shut the door with a smile, and Mrs. Weasley found herself out in the hallway. She forced herself to take a deep breath before going down the stairs to start cooking.
"One of these days…"
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Twenty minutes later, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell were eating eggs, sausages, and toast, along with Ron and Ginny, the two youngest Weasley children. Mr. Weasley had dashed through the kitchen a few minutes earlier, grabbing a stack of toast before heading to work. Thumps coming from upstairs, punctuated by the occasional curse word, meant that all the Weasleys were accounted for, with the exception of Percy. While Angelina worked on her third helping of eggs, Alicia and Katie were staring transfixed out the window at the backyard, where Percy was doing his morning calisthenics.
"No, Katie, you're crazy. He's not mimicking the giant squid, he's pretending to ride a Hippogriff!"
Katie resolutely shook her head. "No, watch. Squid… squid… angry house elf! Squid… squid… angry house elf! It's all in the arms."
Mrs. Weasley, approaching the table with more orange juice, cut their debate short. "So, are you girls looking forward to the tournament?"
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," replied Katie, in conjunction with polite nods from the other two. "Oliver says we were lucky to get a spot this year. There are 32 teams playing from all over Europe."
"Are any of the other teams from Hogwarts competing?" asked Mrs. Weasley, now flicking her wand towards a garbage bag, which then escorted itself towards the compost heap.
"The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are both using their teams," responded Angelina. "But the Slytherins aren't listed on the registry."
"Why is that?" asked Mrs. Weasley.
"Because Mr. Malfoy decided to take the whole team on holiday to the south of France. Gits." Fred grabbed a stack of toast as he entered the kitchen; George followed, noisily dragging their trunks down the stairs.
Mrs. Weasley glanced at the clock, and than began to hurry the five quidditch players towards the door. "Hurry up! You lot don't want to miss your portkey." She gave her wand a quick wave; five trunks zoomed out the door and came to rest outside near a rusty bicycle wheel.
"I packed you a spot of lunch," said Mrs. Weasley, shoving a bundle at Fred that was so large his knees buckled under the weight. "Have fun, and stay out of trouble!" she added, kissing both her sons on the cheek. "Your father and I will come watch you play if you make the final round. Good luck!"
Alicia, Angelina, and Katie, politely called goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Ginny as they exited the door, while Fred and George both waved over their shoulders, yawning as they felt the cool morning air.
The five friends approached the portkey, each placing one hand on the rusted wheel, and one hand on their trunks. Katie checked her watch.
"We've still got a few minutes." She moved her arms above her head and arched her back into a stretch. Halfway through, she froze. "Hang on a minute. Where's Harry?"
"Not here," said George, fiddling with the lock on his trunk.
"Blew up his aunt last week," added Fred, in a rather offhand manner.
The resulting shriek from the girls was enough to make both Fred and George wince in pain.
"He what??"
"She's not dead or anything," George said hurriedly. "They patched her back up, gave her a memory charm… she's good as new. Dad told us all about it."
Angelina closed her eyes in an expression of internalized rage and disbelief much like Mrs. Weasley's. "Well, that's all well and good, but how are we supposed to play in a quidditch tournament without our seeker?"
Fred shrugged. "Guess Oliver will have to figure that one out for himself, right?"
The shriek that followed somehow managed to be louder than the first.
"You haven't told Oliver??"
Feeling a resounding tug around his navel region, George took hold of an extra tight grip on his trunk. "He'll find out soon enough."
A resounding pop followed his words, and all five teens disappeared.
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"Five fifty eight AM from the Burrow." A haggard looking wizard with a large clipboard reached in between Alicia's right knee and Fred's sneaker to retrieve the rusty bicycle wheel from the tangle of limbs and trunks. "Move along please. Registration line is directly ahead, campsite will be assigned to you there."
The five managed to right themselves and began to drag themselves towards the seemingly never-ending line.
George squinted. "Does anyone even see the end of the line? Who in their right mind would get here early enough to get a choice place? This is insanity."
Before anyone could respond to George's thought, however, a yell pierced through the crowd.
"WEASLEYS! CHASERS! I'M UP FRONT!!" Oliver Wood was enthusiastically bouncing up and down at the front of the line, knocking over at least three people around him in the process. By the time his team had dragged their trunks over to him, there were only two other teams ahead of them in the line. Oliver excitedly hugged everyone, kissed all the girls on the cheek, and punched Fred and George.
"Brilliant!" said Oliver, swinging his arms around enthusiastically. "I've been here since a little before four holding our spot in the line. They just opened up about half an hour ago. We can set up our tents, and then we get a whole afternoon of guaranteed practice time."
"Look, Oliver, we really have to tell you something…" Fred trailed off, rubbing the sore spot on his arm where Oliver had hit him.
"And I came up with a great new play! Now, it'll involve one of you girls flying on your broom upside down while hanging on by crossing your ankles, but I think it'll really help our scoring opportunities!"
"Oliver, listen. This is important." Katie tried to wave her hand in Oliver's face, but he wouldn't be deterred. The line shifted forward as the team at the front of the line walked off. Now they were only one spot away from the front.
"Also, I've planned for us to go on a five mile jog in the mornings each day before our games. It's supposed to really invigorate the body, and –"
"OLIVER!" Alicia finally yelled.
Oliver looked at her, puzzled. "What, Alicia? Wait a minute. Where's Harry?"
Alicia avoided Oliver's intense gaze by staring at the ground. "Um, the thing is…"
Oliver bristled. "Is he arriving late? This is absurd! I told him not to miss the portkey when I owled him a few days ago!"
Alicia still wouldn't meet Oliver's eyes. "That's the thing. He wouldn't have gotten the letter."
Oliver was looking increasingly frustrated. "Well, why not? Somebody answer me! Where is our Seeker?"
Alicia took a deep breath. "Ourseekerkindofblewuphisauntandcan'tmakeittothetournament."
There was a brief, two second long pause before the explosion. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN OUR SEEKER KIND OF BLEW UP HIS AUNT AND CAN'T MAKE IT TO THE TOURNAMENT?!?"
A cough behind Oliver cut off any further yelling. Oliver turned to see that the team ahead had moved out of the line, and they were now in front of the Registration Witch who was seated at a table.
"Team name, please?"
"We're… we're the Gryffindor Lions. Oliver Wood, team captain." Oliver had momentarily recovered his composure, although the look on his face suggested he had choked on a rather large watermelon.
The witch retrieved a piece of parchment from a stack. "Well, Mr. Wood, if your seeker blew up his aunt, and he isn't here, than I'm afraid you don't qualify…"
"No! No! I mean…" Oliver suddenly burst out into very forced laughter. "That's just a little inside joke we have! It's code for, you're a great teammate!" At this, Oliver grabbed Alicia and wrapped a very tight arm around her shoulders. The witch looked quizzically at Alicia, who nodded, seeming slightly terrified.
Oliver continued to smile. "The thing is, though… there's been a change in our lineup. We have a new Seeker."
The witch adjusted her quill. "Name?"
"I… I don't know." Oliver was now starting to turn an odd shade of green.
"You don't know the name of your new Seeker?"
Oliver gave an even weaker laugh than before. "Nope. Not a clue! He likes to keep us guessing. Or she. It's a mystery!"
The witch rolled her eyes. "You have fifteen minutes to give me a name, or you're not in the tournament. Next!"
Oliver and the others scrambled away until they were out of earshot from the Registration Witch. Oliver looked absolutely panicked.
"A new Seeker? Oliver, are you insane?" Fred was trying not to yell, but with very little success. Suddenly, a genuine grin crossed Oliver's face.
"We can solve this," he said enthusiastically. He grabbed his wand out of the pocket of his jeans. "Accio Harry Pot- OOF!"
Oliver lay on the ground, pinned by a flying tackle from Angelina. "There will be no summoning of Harry! Got it?" Angelina glared down at her captain.
"Fine," muttered Oliver, despondently, getting up. "Well, do you lot have any better ideas?"
"Yes," said George. "We withdraw from the tournament."
"NO!" bellowed Oliver, the watermelon color returning to his face. "We can't. I won't allow it."
George threw up his arms in exasperation. "How are we supposed to find another bloody Seeker in fifteen minutes?"
Katie hurriedly stepped in between the two before things could get ugly. "Let's all calm down, okay?"
Oliver took a deep breath. "You're right. We're a team, and we'll make this decision as a team. Let's all just close our eyes and think for a few minutes. If we can't come up with a way to get a Seeker, we'll withdraw from the tournament. Okay?"
Everyone nodded, and closed their eyes accordingly.
Fred had been pondering for about twenty how nice it would feel to go home and get back in his bed when a thought popped into his head. When had Oliver ever let the team make any decisions?
Fred's eyes flew open, and sure enough, Oliver was gone. He spotted Oliver's back rapidly retreating, shoving aside other teams and running towards the reception table.
"Bloody hell!" yelled Fred, breaking into a sprint. "He's making a run for it!"
The rest of the team quickly followed behind Fred, dashing madly through the crowds covering the field.
"He's right by the table!" George yelled, a definite note of panic in his voice. Angelina frowned, and put on a determined burst of speed. Spotting a trunk a few feet in front of her, she leapt up onto it as hard as she could, and then launched herself towards Oliver.
However, it was not meant to be. The last thing Angelina heard before colliding with the ground six inches behind Oliver's feet was his voice, frantically yelling at the Registration Witch.
"LEE JORDAN! Our Seeker's name is Lee Jordan!"
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