The first fanfic I started on, so pretty old, and very silly, but I thought I'd get it posted before I leave uni and lose my internet access…
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Quidditch Through The Ages
Chapter One: An Idea
The Gryffindors at breakfast were in good spirits, since they'd just hammered Slytherin at Quidditch the previous afternoon. Snape was peering down his nose at them from the staff table with a particularly sour look on his face. McGonagall, next to him, was clearly gloating, and kept grinning over at Harry, whose capture of the snitch after three and a half minutes, by which point Gryffindor were already thirty points up, had been really quite spectacular.
"Professor Dumbledore, there's a Muggle outside, they're coming this way!!!" A Hufflepuff sixth year, rumoured to have Vampire blood and aspirations of becoming a Muggle lawyer known as a "barrister", dashed down the centre aisle of the Great Hall, towards the staff table.
Dumbledore jumped to his feet, and decided not to ask what he'd been doing outside while everyone else was at breakfast. "What? A Muggle? Here?" Dumbledore drew his wand and left the Great Hall at a run.
A poor, confused Muggle postman stepped out of van, and stared at the ruin before him, then at the address of the letter he was holding, then back at the decrepit ruin, which had "DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE" signs at intervals along the perimeter. "I'm sure this is the right road…"
The postman's confusion grew as an elderly man with a slightly overgrown look, in what appeared to be a long purple dress, dashed out of the ruin, and the letter was snatched from his hands by a barn owl, which swooped on him from one of the decrepit towers up ahead. The elderly man raised what appeared to be, at that distance, a twig. The next thing the postman knew, he was back in his van, driving happily along in a Muggle sort of way, with no memory of the ruin, the owl, or the elderly gentleman in the nice dress…
Dumbledore marched back into the Great Hall, clutching the letter, which the owl had deposited unceremoniously on his head on its way back to the owlery. "Which of you" he addressed the masses, "was responsible for this?"
Obviously, nobody knew. "Perhaps you should look at the address, Albus" McGonagall suggested helpfully. "Muggle postmen don't know where they're supposed to deliver to you know, unless you write it on the envelope, they're not like owls."
"Ahem" Dumbledore got the students' attention back. "Dean Thomas. Perhaps you ought to come up here and get this, since it belongs to you."
Dean, muttering what sounded suspiciously like swear words, left his seat beside Seamus and walked, head down, to the staff table, to the sneers and sniggers of the Slytherins, and sympathetic laughs of other students whose Muggle friends had made the same mistake. "Thanks" he muttered, taking the letter from Dumbledore.
Snape sneered. "I suggest, Mr Thomas, that you send an owl to your Muggle friends when you want them to contact you. And lose twenty points from Gryffindor."
"Oh no Severus, that's hardly fair…" McGonagall protested. "Just because you're still bitter about your spectacular Quidditch defeat." Snape shot her a murderous look. McGonagall continued to stare at him and shake her head.
"What?" Snape growled irritably.
"You don't send owls to Muggles, Severus!" McGonagall exclaimed condescendingly. "Honestly!"
Dumbledore chose that moment to put a stop to their conversation, and turned to McGonagall. "I think we may need to review those security measures, Minerva."
Dean Thomas marched back to his seat. The usual breakfast chatter resumed as Dumbledore sat back down. "What is it, Dean?" asked his best friend and fellow Gryffindor, Seamus Finnegan.
"Letter from one of my mates who I went to school with. You know, before I came here."
The other Gryffindors went back to their own breakfasts and left him to read it.
"Harry!" someone was chasing him along the corridor as he made his way out of Transfiguration, the last lesson before lunch. "Harry, wait up, I've had an idea!" Harry stopped and turned, Neville almost slamming into the back of him, Trevor ribbiting in shock. Dean Thomas was jogging along after him, looking very excited, and waving something in the air. Only Hermione ever looked that excited when leaving the transfiguration classroom, Harry thought with a wry smile.
"What's up, Dean?" Harry asked. Ron and Hermione, flanking him as usual, looked interested. They continued walking towards the Great Hall, books tucked under their arms, Hermione's stack, of course, the largest.
"That letter I got this morning. Gave me an idea!" Dean sounded very excited.
"Come on, you can tell us about it at lunch," Ron encouraged, as they rounded a corner towards the Great Hall.
"Mate of mine's at state school back home in London…you know, Muggle school" Dean added, seeing Ron's confused look. "They've broken up for the holidays already…they don't stay there, you know, they live at home?"
Ron shrugged, and Dean shook his head in an exasperated way. "Anyway, they had a staff student football match at the end of term, it was bloody funny…football, you know Ron? Soccer? West Ham…? Never mind." He gave up on Ron, and directed his attention to Harry, who looked interested, and Hermione, who at least looked like she understood. Harry remembered the time in the first year he had caught Ron prodding Dean's West Ham poster in the dormitory with his wand, trying to make the players move. "Anyway, it was all for charity – they collected all this money…Muggle money obviously, and whichever team won got to decide what it all went to…" Dean continued.
"Sounds like a good idea…" Hermione began uncertainly, as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table, exchanging obligatory sour looks with the Slytherins. Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, who were generally acknowledged as the school's biggest cretins by members of all houses, including their own, looked particularly vindictive. Harry had the urge to wave cheerfully, just to annoy them and remind them of their worst Quidditch defeat for years, but refrained.
"Anyway, that's not the best bit, with it being for charity and all that, everyone got dressed up and there were a few bets on…you know, if the staff won the students had to…well, never mind, there was no danger of them winning, but, if the students won they got to be teachers for a day and they could do what they wanted…you know, tell the staff off and make them wear uniform and set them homework and that..."
Harry's eyes lit up at the thought of telling Snape off. "Dean, who won?" he exclaimed.
Dean's eyes twinkled. "The students, of course…my friend was in goal, he says he didn't have much to do cos all the action was down the other end…the staff kept scoring own goals…they raised a fortune, says it's the most fun they had all year…there were obviously quite a lot of informal bets on as well, got a bit out of hand"
"Wicked." Ron at least understood that part of the conversation.
"So, do you think we'll be allowed?" Dean asked enthusiastically.
"But nobody knows how to play soccer…" Ron began.
Hermione glared at him. "Honestly Ron! Don't be silly, he means Quidditch, don't you Dean?"
The look on Dean's face was ambiguous. He was torn by the idea of seeing the Hogwarts faculty attempting to master the skills of soccer, while he ran rings round them, but realised that it wouldn't happen, that the staff would never agree. Quidditch though…he had an idea some of them had played in their youth, and might be up for it. He sighed, and reverted back to the original plan. "Yeah, I meant Quidditch…"
"Cool" Ron exclaimed, serving himself a second helping of lunch.
"And I thought, Harry…" Dean's enthusiasm recovered "that you could maybe…you know, ask Professor Dumbledore if it'd be OK."
"He should let you do whatever you want after yesterday!" Ron grinned. "Did you see the look on his face when you got the snitch Harry, it was wicked!"
"Sure" Harry smiled. "I'll go see him before afternoon lessons."
"Cheers," Dean thanked him.
Harry reached Dumbledore's office by his usual process of trial and error, "Fizzing Whizzbee" being the key. Dumbledore didn't seem at all surprised to see him, but then, he never really did, although Harry had an unfortunate habit of turning up in the oddest of places. "Ah Harry, yes, I thought I might be seeing you. Please, have a seat" Dumbledore offered as Harry entered the room.
"You thought you might be seeing me, Professor?" asked Harry, slightly confused, wondering if there might be something else Dumbledore wanted with him, or something terribly important he had forgotten.
"Mr Thomas' enthusiasm has been noticed by several members of staff, Harry," Dumbledore told him, sounding pleased. "And the answer is, of course, yes."
Harry stared at him blankly. "Yes?"
"Yes, you may have your game. A fine opportunity to raise funds for a worthy cause." At this, Dumbledore looked positively delighted. "I would suggest you contact the Quidditch captains and come to some arrangement with regard to the team, and your chosen charity. I understand you may have ideas for some…er…rather, informal bets, shall we say, but I limit this to nothing illegal, dangerous, or against school rules. The staff will, of course, also be most sporting."
"They…they will?" asked Harry, shocked, imagining Snape being "sporting." "Are you sure?"
"Ah, I shall see to it that they shall," said Dumbledore with an air of satisfaction. "Next Friday afternoon seems suitable. All classes shall be cancelled. A fine end to the term."
"Thank you, Sir," said Harry, unable to believe his luck. He dashed back to Gryffindor tower to give the others the good news.
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