Anything you recognize from Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. There's some text from the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone - they don't belong to me.

Author's Note: So far in total I have 90 reviews. I'm curious to see who will be my 100th reviewer. I'll announce it when/if my 100th reviewer reviews. I got four reviews, that's okay, considering it was only all in one day. I enjoy writing this story. Hope I'm not boring you with this, because I think its popularity shrunk a bit. Oh well. :) By the way, tell me what you think of this story so far! Review and make my day (or night, I suppose).

Chapter Twelve


"That's it. Now concentrate on moving it higher," James coaxed while sitting on the couch and watching Harry leviatate a glass cup by summoning a gust of wind underneath it. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Harry's head. The cup floated higher and floated around until Harry felt something sting his wrist, exploding his concentration.

"Ow!" Harry scowled at James, rubbing his wrist. James raised an eyebrow. "You didn't have to send a stinging hex like that, you know."

James hid his smile behind his cup of tea. "You're making progress," he said at last when he thought he could control his grin. "But you need to work on focus more. You have to be prepared for anything. But very impressive. Far better than the lightning bolt you used to toast the carpet."

Harry grinned guiltily. "It was an accident!"

James handed him a chocolate frog from the pile of chocolate by Harry's bed. "Get eating, or Madam Pomfrey will be furious."

Harry took a bite out of the chocolate and felt a warm tingling feeling run through his body as he sat down. He wiped the sweat from his brow away and took another bite. James smirked. "Good, isn't it?"

"Mmm." Harry nodded. He finished the chocolate and wiped it off on a napkin. He glanced at the time and then groaned. "I have to finish the Potions essay on bezoars or Professor Snape will kill me." He gathered his bag and said, "I'm going to the library to study."

James nodded. "Yes, of course. Our lesson is finished anyway."

Harry nodded his goodbye and hurried out. He jogged through the hallways, now used to the sideways glances people gave him. He turned a corner and fell flat on his face. With a groan, he felt the arm he had fallen on throb. He could already tell that he would get a bruise. He rolled over to see a group of Slytherins laughing at him. It was Pucey, Bletchley, and Flint. They were obviously out for revenge for nearly drowning Bletchley in the lake once.

Harry tried to get up when Pucey flicked his wand lazily and said, "Impedimenta!"

Harry groaned as he felt his body stiffen. "Carpe Retractum!" Bletchley said. A rope shot out of Bletchley's wand and curled around Harry before dragging him over.

"Let me go, you little-" Harry began to growl.

"Silencio." It was Flint who had sent this spell, and Harry glared silently, unable to talk.

Bletchley dragged him closer until they were nose to nose. "Now you listen to me, Pretty-boy Potter," he said softly. Harry glowered at him. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

Harry made a grunting sound, the only sound possible to make. Bletchley sneered. "Alarte Ascendare!" Harry was flung into the air where he hit the ceiling and spiraled back toward the ground. Harry closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the pain and the sound of cracking bones ... but it never came. Harry slowly opened his eyes to see a furious Professor McGonagall. She flicked her wand and Harry bounced softly on the floor before he could scramble back to his feet.

"I have never seen such behaviour from Hogwarts students!" Professor McGonagall said, eyes flaring in fury. "You will report to Professor Dumbledore immediately! Your head of house shall be informed."

Harry watched as Bletchley, Pucey, and Flint hurried off. "Are you hurt anywhere, Mr. Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth but no sound came out. He mentally screamed in frustration and gestured wildly at his throat. "Ah. Of course." Professor McGonagall waved her wand.

"Those little effing-" Harry stopped abruptly and then blushed furiously. "Sorry," he muttered when Professor McGonagall eyed him disapprovingly. "And no, I'm not hurt except for a few bruises." He massaged the shoulder that had hit the ceiling, wincing. "Dislocated, I think." He tapped his shoulder with his wand and the pain ebbed away. Thomas had already taught him how to heal dislocated bones. He examined the nasty purple bruises. Professor McGonagall waved her wand and they faded away. "Thank you, Professor," Harry said politely. "I was on my way to study for Potions."

"Well, off you go," Professor McGonagall said. "And do be careful, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry called over his shoulder as he entered the library.


"Hey, Harry."

"Hello, Jason," Harry answered, flipping through the pages of the book he was reading. Jason sat down beside him and eyed the thick book in his hands.

"Merlin, don't tell me you've read all of that," he commented.

"No, I haven't," Harry replied. He set the book down.

"I heard about the revenge of Flint and his gang," Jason said at last, reaching for a newspaper that read: The Daily Prophet.

"Mmm," Harry hummed, half listening as he took out another book that read: Bezoars: The History and Origin. Jason glanced at him and shook his head before flipping the page of the Daily Prophet. "You enjoy reading the newspaper?" Harry asked, a bit curious. Back at the Dursleys, Dudley had never read the newspaper. Only Uncle Vernon had.

"Well, there's a bit of interesting information in here," Jason replied without glancing up.

A particular page caught Harry's attention. "Hey, can I see something?" Without waiting for an answer, Harry grabbed the newspaper, ignoring Jason's indignant 'OI!' that earned him a glare from Madam Pince.

Harry nudged Jason. "Hey, Jason. Somebody broke into Gringotts! Listen. Believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown, Gringotts goblins have checked it out and says nothing was taken. The vault in question, number 713, had in fact been emptied earlier the same day." He looked at Jason. "That's odd. That's the vault Hagrid and I went to."

Jason looked at the newspaper thoughtfully. "That means there's something special in that vault. But what is it?"

Harry shrugged and handed the newspaper back to Jason, who immediately began reading it again. Harry could tell Jason wasn't as curious as he was, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He didn't want to dwell on thoughts that didn't make sense for hours and hours. He opened the book in front of him and with a sigh, began to read.


Harry saw Hedwig fly down to him with a rather large parcel. With a frown, he opened the note.

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everyone knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch Pitch at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor M. McGonagall.

Ron groaned enviously. "A Nimbus Two Thousand! I've never even touched one!"

Harry was flying around the Quidditch Pitch while waiting for Wood to come when he heard Oliver call, "Hey, Potter! Come down here!"

Wood's eyes glinted. "Very nice," he said. "I see what McGonagall meant. You really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practices three times a week." He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated as Wood took out a ball the size of a foot ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Harry recited. "So - that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously. "Never mind," said Harry quickly, scolding himself. Wood was obviously born in the magical family.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper -I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, determined to remember it all and show everyone that he could do it. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat. "I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers." He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noted that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box and stepped back, a bit wary.

"Stand back," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers. Immediately, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose and most possibly knocking him out, and sent it zigzagging away into the air - it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood said, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team - the Weasley twins are ours - it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So - think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Erm - have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hoping he sounded casual. He was a bit worried by the words the Weasley twins had said to him jokingly.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers unless they crack my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers - I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Harry smiled at that as Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"This," Wood said, holding it delicately as it fluttered, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages - I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. "Well, that's it - any questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem. He shuddered at the image of him falling to the ground, knocked out by a Bludger.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these." He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

Harry didn't miss a single one (though one was a bit risky), and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year thanks to you, Potter," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley. He could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. And he had enjoyed every moment of it.


End of Chapter Twelve

Author's Note: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW FOR ME! They make me happy and I update faster!