Chapter 16: Hurricane

"The invention of the Golden Snitch is credited to ... Bowman Wright of Godric's Hollow." - Quidditch Through the Ages

- - -

Thursday morning, the thirtieth of November, the beginning of the Winter holidays - or as Ron put it, 'Freeeedooooooom!'. This was quite astounding, as being a Pureblood, he had never even heard of Braveheart.

Hermione and Harry didn't linger too long on this, though; they were too busy packing their things and leaving for the carriages. They would be staying at the Burrow until the eighth of December, which was when they would be starting off for Kopparberg in Sweden, the place where the annual Swedish Broom Race began.

This was the first time that he wouldn't be at Hogwarts for Christmas, Harry realised, as he set Hedwig's cage onto one of the spare seats and pulled himself up to sit next to Ron, Ajax hopping in after him. Hermione, sitting opposite the boys, pulled the door closed, and as she did so, the coach started to move off down to the train station.

Their trunks had already been taken down to the train by the House Elves, and they were only taking their animals with them (except for Ron, who had managed to convince Dobby to put Pig on the train with his luggage, so that they wouldn't have to listen to his hyperactive hooting for the duration of the trip). Hermione had Crookshanks and Morgana, her great-horned owl. Ajax kept silent, thankfully - Harry wouldn't have liked to explain a talking bird - but regarded Crookshanks with suspicion.

It took a long time for them to finally make it into the train, and even longer them to reach Platform 9 ¾; the station was packed with boarding-school students returning home, and their families, people returning from work, people taking the train to an airport or port for their holidays - with the unmistakable orange hair of the Weasley family, it still took the trio, the twins and Ginny ten minutes to spot Mr and Mrs Weasley.

"Had a good term?" Mrs Weasley asked, as the students easily slipped into the Ministry vehicle, the same type that they had travelled by in their third year. "The Ministry's letting us use this car for a while," he explained before Harry asked. "Since Fudge had finally admitted You-Know-Who's return and all. Now, I think it would be best if you all went straight to bed when we arrive - you've had a long day, I'm sure."

Harry could have prescribed an Oxtamed pill for himself to sort that out, but decided he really shouldn't give up on sleep completely - he was quite exhausted now that the term's events had caught up with him, and when he stumbled into Ron's bedroom at the Burrow and collapsed onto the bed they had set up, he was asleep in moments.

- - -

The next few days were spent beginning holiday homework so that they would have more time for recreation in Sweden - Harry had less than the others, thanks to taking the OWLs early, but there was still plenty to be getting on with - and by December the second, Harry had already finished his Charms and Herbology essays, as well as most of his Astronomy composition. The others had done about the same amount.

There were dubious cracking sounds, like muffled explosions, coming from the twins' room occasionally, and Harry was thankful he hadn't been put in there - Hermione was staying in Ginny's room, while Percy was severely aggravated, and usually locked his door, screaming through the wood for Fred and George to 'stop that racket' because they were 'interrupting important Ministry work'. "You'd think the second-in-charge of the Department of International Magical Co-operation could get his own flat or something," they pointed out in retaliation.

There was a trip to Diagon Alley to buy presents for Hagrid's wedding (and to hire suits and dresses for Ron, Harry and Hermione), and several spirited games of Quidditch back at the Burrow.

All too soon, it was Thursday, and after waking up early for a long trip on the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade, where there was a Wizarding church - and Harry felt quite uncomfortable in his black suit - they arrived at St. Anthony's Church for Wizards and Witches, pouring in with the other guests to wait for the bride to arrive.

Harry had been right - Wizarding marriages were different to Muggle ones, though unfortunately not very much - there was no special magic used, apart from to decorate. Hagrid was nowhere to be found for a while, but after a bit of explaining by Ron and some other Wizarding-born guests, Harry discovered that the bride and groom arrived together; and arrive together they did, just a few minutes later.

The wedding went smoothly (though Mrs Weasley and several other women burst into tears), and Harry thankfully didn't lose the rings that he had been given just before the wedding march. The vows were slightly different to Muggle ones; there were several lines added, and a few words were changed.

Finally though, the photos had been taken, the cake - a ten tier of monstrous height, impossible to make without magic - was cut, and the formalities dissolved into friendly speech and celebrations. Now, the trio could get Hagrid alone to voice their fears, and they saw their chance when Olympe Hagrid disappeared for a few minutes to talk to some of her staff, who had travelled from Beauxbaton.

They started with greetings and congratulations, but finally Ron blurted out, "Hagrid? Where are you and Madame Max- Olympe - going to live?" He elaborated, "You're not moving to France, are you?"

Hagrid looked surprised. "Move to France? 'Course not! Not goin' t' move away from Hogwarts, now, am I?"

Ron smirked triumphantly at Harry and Hermione. "Where are you going to be, then?" the girl asked.

Hagrid scratched his neatly combed beard, which was astoundingly tangle-free. "Well, we've had a long talk about it. During holidays, I can't get away from gamekeepin' duties, so Dumbledore's goin' to have special quarters set up for us inside the castle. At term times, Olympe can walk down to the Hogsmeade Portplace, and head over to Beauxbaton in a jiffy."

"They've set up a Portplace in Hogsmeade?" said Ron, fascinated. "Cool!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ron. That's how we're getting to Sweden."

The other boy paused. "Oh. I didn't know that."

"Goin' t' Sweden for the holidays?" Hagrid said in interest, bending down lower. "Stopped by there on my... travels," he said, looking incredibly shifty, "Really nice place. Goin' to watch the Broom Race, no doubt?" The trio nodded. "Yeah, they were advertising that when I was there. Goin' to be a real good one, this year. Anything interesting happen while I was gone? We didn't hear much of the news - only got back last night."

"Trelawney was eaten by a daemon that was released from an Unspeakable's Myrrh Cage by a Death Eater who tried to sacrifice me." said Harry immediately, after a deep breath to get it all out in one go. Hagrid laughed.

"That's a good 'un, Harry. Nothing important then?"

"He's telling the truth." Hermione informed him. As Hagrid stared at her, disbelieving, they explained the whole story. "But some good did come out of it, because now the Ministry's admitting You-Know-Who's return."

"Well, at least the daemon's gone," Hagrid muttered, mopping his forehead with a large handkerchief. "Blimey, Harry, when you get into trouble, you go all the way, don't you?"

"It's not as though I tried to get involved," Harry grumbled, allowing himself a sip of the champagne. Well, it was a wedding, after all. "Anyway, where are you going for your honeymoon?"

- - -

Two days later, they were back in Hogsmeade, this time heading for the Portplace. It was a small, unmarked building of the same type as the estate agents, as in 'squashed between two other buildings' and 'bloody small'.

"Kopparberg, ten o'clock, room four." snapped the receptionist as the trio and Mr Weasley entered, pulling their luggage behind them. Thankfully, room three was only one storey up, so they didn't have to lug their belongings up more than one flight of stairs.

A large fireplace - taking up most of the room - were the sole contents, and a few Wizards, who stood huddled in a group, chatting about the 'Elemental Rider' brooms. Harry guessed that they too were going to the Swedish Broom Race. Mr Weasley said goodbye at the door and left, while Harry and Hermione and Ron took their place in one of the corners of the fireplace. "It's more like Floo than Portkeys," muttered Hermione.

"Well, that's what I told you before," Ron retorted. "Anyway, how long until ten o'clock?"

Harry checked his watch; "Two minutes. Er - there's not going to be a fire lit, is there?"

"Yeah, but there's flame-freezing charms all over the room," he explained cheerfully. "We're completely safe - unless someone's tampered with the protection spells."

"Ron, don't say that!" Hermione snapped in horror, "You know how bad our luck is! You'll jinx us!"

"Boo." the boy said drolly, just as Harry felt a sudden tickling sensation over his body. "Right - is everyone feeling that?" He waited for the other's nods. "That's the flame-freezing starting to work. The fire should start in a minute." Harry started feeling a little nervous at that (unsurprisingly), but the flames were not the huge ones he was expecting; sourceless, they slowly rose just a few inches, covering the stone floor.

"And in a second, the-" began Ron, but it was too late for explanations; the flames shone jade-green, leapt upwards to above Harry's head flaring in ferocity. Harry tried to leap back in shock, but he was frozen still - and in a rush of whistling in his head and blurring images passing before his eyes before he could out what they were, they whistling and rushing ceased, and he stumbled forwards, able to move.

Glad he had no glasses anymore, for otherwise he would surely have lost them during the journey, Harry realised that they had made it to the Portplace of Kopparberg.

"We're here," he gasped out - the stone-covering underfoot was slightly different, the door changed, and the group of Wizards were heading to the door, complaining that brooms just weren't made like they used to be. Ron grabbed the bags, seemingly unaffected - well, he'd probably travelled by Floo more times than either Hermione or Harry - and also started for the exit. Harry grabbed his own luggage, shaking the confusion away, and raced after him. Hermione had already recovered her bearings, and followed after them.

"Right," said Harry as they left the building. "See Krum anywhere?"

"D'ya think that could be him?" Ron asked, staring somewhere to Harry's left. The others looked that way, and Harry's jaw dropped. A long, white, stretched limousine with tinted windows was parked in front of them, on the Muggle road. Hermione didn't look impressed though.

"Oh, honestly!" she snapped. "Sweden is meant to be a country of forests, and lakes, and untouched land! He could have dropped the fancy cars for a few weeks, and hired a bicycle instead."

"Yeah, but we'd never be able to carry the bags on a bike, and besides, not all of Sweden's forests - where would the people live?" Ron pointed out, and earned a glare for his troubles.

Harry rolled his eyes, and made his way over to the car; the driver's door opened as he did so, and the chauffeur stepped out, donned in the typical black uniform and hat. "Potter?" he asked in a Bulgarian accent; it looked as though the Krums had brought their own chauffeur, rather than hiring a Swedish one.

Harry nodded as his friends followed behind him, still bickering, and the chauffeur set to work putting their luggage in the large trunk of the car - after opening the door for them. They slipped in, admiring the interior - white leather, a drinks cabinet, Edwardian-style veneer, and even some cream, silk cushions tossed on the seats.

"No seatbelts," Hermione pointed out. "Terrible for road safety. Wouldn't get away with it in England."

"Actually, I think you would," Harry replied. "Not to mention all the people using their mobile phones while driving, or checking maps, or smoking, or - sorry 'Mione, shutting up now."

"I wonder why Viktor didn't come here himself?" Hermione mused, but Ron snorted.

"Oh, that's easy enough. All the competitors are practising for days before the actual event; making sure they're in top form and all. He's probably too busy training to come meet us."

Harry elbowed him - he seemed a bit too gleeful at making Krum out to be some kind of flying-fanatic who couldn't care less about his guests - but Hermione didn't seem too bothered. "Yes, I should suspect so," she said, looking a lot more reassured. "I mean, this is important, isn't it? Doubtless, he's practising."

It was an hour-long drive to the hotel they were staying at; 'Oasis', which the owner had obviously named in English to make it sound more exotic, though being English, it didn't impress the trio. Oasis was Magical only, much like the Leaky Cauldron - though of course, it was a proper hotel rather than a bar, and doing much more business at this time of year, thanks to the spectators at the Annual Broom Race.

The rooms had already been booked - Krum's parents were in room sixty-three, Viktor himself was in sixty-four with his younger brother (this was the first the trio had heard of his sibling), Harry and Ron were sharing a room in sixty-five, and Hermione was alone in sixty-six. Mr and Mrs Krum were friendly (if a bit upper-class) people, while Nicholas, Viktor's brother, stayed in his room practically the whole time.

"I'm afraid he is sulking, Herm-own-ninny," Viktor explained apologetically. "He did not want to come here, but my parents insisted he accompany us." It turned out that Nicholas did a lot of 'sulking'; though he was only twelve he usually stayed in his room even when he was at home, and had literally no friends.

"Sounds like a nice chap to meet," Ron muttered. "Very sociable."

Harry masked a grin as he unpacked his things, leaving the laptop and rod inside his trunk so that Ron didn't see them. "You brought your Invisibility Cloak?" the red-head asked in surprise, and Harry shrugged.

"Well, you never know," he retorted as he folded it again and slipped it between the bottom drawer and the base of the chest of drawers. "What I'd like to know is, whatever happened to the Marauders' Map?" he wondered.

"Who knows?" Ron sighed. "I mean, Crouch Junior had it last; probably passed it along to all his little Death Eater friends as soon as he got it." he finished, as he moved Harry's Sneakoscope aside to dump some socks.

They spent the rest of the evening finishing homework, and after supper and everyone going to bed, Harry made sure that Ron was asleep, before pulling out his laptop and switching on to the 'Languages' section.

He swiftly found Swedish and inserted as much of it as he could onto the rod, before preparing for the small pain in his head, and 'reading' it. This time, there was practically no pain at all.

Glad that it looked like he was building a resistance to the splitting headaches that he had first received, Harry slipped into the hotel bed, now fluent in Swedish as well as Mermish, Phoex, Telepathy and English - which meant he'd have a much better idea of what people were saying about him.

- - -

Sunday was spent travelling around and checking the sights of the Wizarding section of Kopparberg (except for Nicholas, who refused to leave the hotel). A small bout of shopping was instigated by Hermione and Mrs Krum, while Viktor, Harry and Ron drifted over to a broom shop, where - because of the Race - a large crowd had gathered to buy souvenirs and mementos of the event.

Harry read a few of the signs and labels, remembered he wasn't supposed to understand Swedish, and went back to just admiring the stock. There were several Swedish brooms for sale, ones which weren't available in Britain; they translated to 'Stormhanger', 'Whiplash 1000' and 'Ashwinder'; personally, Harry preferred 'Firebolt'.

"Are you going to riding one of these?" Ron asked the Bulgarian boy, as they admired the craft of the brooms.

"I will be riding a Skyscreamer," Viktor replied in his almost emotionless tone. "It is a Bulgarian design, and the one I use is specially made for me; this may be the first time I will compete, but I will win all the same."

Harry raised an eyebrow - he certainly was confident of a victory.

They were called back from the Wizarding stores a few hours later, back to the hotel. "The race starts at eleven o'clock tomorrow," Mr Krum informed them, "And we'll be walking there, as it isn't far, but we'll have to leave at ten to get there, so I want everyone to have an early night." She said this in such a no-nonsense way that no-one dared to argue with her, and they went to bed without a quarrel.

They got up at about seven o'clock the next day (Swedish time, though to the trio it was as if it were six o'clock; thankfully there wasn't enough of a time-delay for Floo-lag), and were ready to go at nine. Nicholas finally ventured forth from his room, only because his parents demanded he come; he was a scrawny, deathly pale boy, with bags under his pale blue eyes. He didn't say anything to anyone - just scowled at them, obviously angry he'd been pulled out of the room.

As they left the settlement behind and began their walk through the fields to the starting place of the race, Hermione noted the awards. "The prize for the winner nowadays is four-thousand Galleons, a solid gold medal, and a cup shaped like a Swedish Short-Snout," she read from the English leaflet Ron had picked up from the broom shop. "That's about ten-thousand pounds, isn't it?"

"Impressive," applauded Ron. "Mind you, you have to go through that dragon reservation, so I guess it's not all just a straight fly through. Though all you really have to do is follow the markers," he corrected himself, "so it's not as though you have to memorise the layout or anything."

- - -

When they reached the starting place, obvious by the huge amounts of people milling around, market-traders, sponsors, Aurors and normal security, and competitors, it was obvious something was wrong. It was now six minutes past ten, and the race hadn't yet started, much to some of the competitors' obvious disgust.

"What's happening?" Mr Krum demanded, pushing forwards through the crowd to get to the race organiser. He repeated the question in Swedish, which Harry could of course understand. The boy moved forwards so he could hear what was said.

"Terry Jacobs has dragon-pox," came the reply from the organiser, who was looking worryingly pale. "Normally we'd just go ahead without him, but he's from the Stonewall Stormers in America; he's a professional, and he's being sponsored to do this. We have to get a replacement, but we can't find one on such short notice."

Harry remembered the man from the leaflet in Hogsmeade. So Terry Jacobs was the Stormer; the one that was being sponsored to raise money for one of the Magical Hospitals in America. "I wonder what's going on?" Hermione questioned from somewhere behind Harry, only hearing the Swedish.

Moving out of his friends' earshot, Harry quickly converted to speaking Swedish, thinking the English words and then translating them as he went along. His accent wasn't very Swedish, but he easily got his point across.

Unable to control himself, he spoke up, "I can take his place. All I need is a broom."

The organiser and Mr Krum were silent as they turned and surveyed Harry. "Who are you?" the organiser asked, looking as though Harry were the saviour of the world. (Which he actually was.)

"Harry Potter. Is there an age limit?" he asked, mentally kicking himself.

The organiser shook his head, thankful. "We can get you a broom; Jacobs' broom is still here - we keep them here for a week in case someone tries to tamper with them. It's a Nimbus 2001; will that be all right?"

Harry cursed inwardly; he was better with a Firebolt, rather than the now slightly out-of-date Nimbus series. "It'll be fine," he decided. "Er - why are you letting me try it?"

"Because you're the only volunteer," the man barked out, "and if I don't find a solution within a couple of minutes, the crowd's going to kill me." He motioned one of his aides away. "Fetch Jacobs' broom. Now, Mr... Potter? Good. I'm going to go through the rules quickly. Follow the red lights that appear every hundred yards, don't take short-cuts, don't attack any other players or the spectators. You don't have to win, just finish the race, even if you come last - the sponsors will still pay then. Go!"

With that, he grabbed Harry by the shoulders, spun him round, and marched him off to the starting track, where Krum and the others watched him in curiosity. Harry wondered what on Earth he was getting into, and why he'd done that. As he was led away, Hermione and Ron suddenly called his name in surprise; Harry half-turned and shrugged helplessly. "I'll explain later," he mouthed, wishing he had thought things through a little more.

"Er - hi." Harry said to Krum as the other players stared at him in surprise. "I'm taking Terry Jacobs' place."

Krum looked quite interested. "You will be a challenge - your flying past the dragon in the Tournament was excellent." Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off when a Nimbus 2001 was forced into his hand by the aide, and an amplified voice announced a welcome to the Annual Swedish Broom Race of that year, followed by a list of some of the more famous of the hundred and forty-two competitors; Harry picked out the names of players in several British Quidditch teams. The announcer (after the applause and cheers had died down) then apologised that Terry Jacobs wouldn't be flying, due to a bout of Dragon Pox, and that his place would be taken by a 'Mr Potter'.

Harry couldn't help but grin at that; the organiser obviously hadn't recognised him for the pictures of the weedy boy who had been in the papers years ago, and if he'd known that he was the Harry Potter, he'd have been placed in the list of famous contestants. He didn't have long to mull over it - the order came to mount their brooms.

Harry quickly stepped over his broom, and led it carefully into the air. He was between the middle and front rows of the competitors, so he rose a few metres higher than the top-most one, shivering in the freezing air, and strengthened his warming charm, pulling his cloak tighter as well. Ahead of them, Harry could see a faint trail of red lights, each one about a hundred yards from the next. Licking his slightly blue lips as the announcer started the count-down, Harry took a deep breath of the cold air and wondered why he'd got himself into this.

Krum was some way below and slightly to the left of him; as he looked down to see him, Harry realised just how high he was, with a beautiful view of the mountains, a large forest, and each person in the crowd just a blurry blob of hair and flesh-coloured shadow. "Four! Three! Two! One! GO!"

Snapping back to reality as the leading row shot off, followed by the next, Harry cursed himself for not paying attention and gripped his broom, urging it to go as fast as it could.

He too shot forwards - but he was overtaken by several cheering Wizards and Witches on Firebolts and another two brands that he didn't recognise; one of them had writing on it that looked Japanese.

Scowling at their rapidly departing backs, Harry let his tense muscles relax in the hopes of it speeding the broom up, and was hit with a bolt of inspiration. If he could convince his mind that he was a lion, and in so doing, change his body to that of a lion, why shouldn't the same thing work with a broom?

All you had to do with the Animagus transformation was know the basics - that your heart would have to change, even if you didn't know how, that your bones would have to be stronger, even if you didn't know how much - and the magic would change it for you; and Harry knew the basics of a Firebolt.

Even better, just as Animagus transformations couldn't be detected, this type of transformation worked in the same way - unlike most transfigurations, this couldn't be detected either, which meant no Ministry owls bearing letters of expulsion, swooping down to meet him.

As he passed the third red marker, hurtling forwards with the wind whipping against his face, Harry managed to bring himself into the right state of a relaxed mind, and imagined his magic being released out of his hands into the handle he was gripping. 'You're a Firebolt,' he told the wood firmly, 'You're flying through the air like Firebolts do, and up ahead there are four Firebolts - that means you must be one as well, because you're flying with them.'

He released a large amount of magic for this; changing a part of him was hard enough, but changing something that was completely separate - whilst he was hurtling through mid-air - needed a lot more convincing magic.

His arms and then hands started to itch as the magic was released into the broom, and he could feel it starting to change beneath him; the wood turned to a lighter ash, the handle rising slightly and stretching out; the tail began to shift to birch, before stopping - Harry forced some more magic into it, telling it that if its handle was ash, like a Firebolts', then the rest of it must be a Firebolt too. This began to work; the twigs shifted to birch, straightening and changing colour slightly. Harry felt another tingle as the breaking charm the Firebolt incorporated came into existence, and the word 'Firebolt' appeared in golden lettering on the handle.

Harry grinned - and then the speed kicked in, and he hurtled recklessly past the two rows ahead of him, giving a small yelp. He quickly got it back under his control, overtaking a pair of twin Asian women on Dryads, and a man on a Stampede 500, flashing a grin as he easily passed them by.

Now they were reaching the end of the fields and the edges of the forests, and Harry could see the red glow of the markers leading the competitors into a narrow valley which was sheltered by two particularly large mountains or hills - Harry didn't know which, and he cursed himself for not checking the geography of the race-course before.

Letting out a small cry as he was nearly shunted aside by an over-eager opponent, Harry quickly shot forwards and cut in front to block him, sending the man careening to the left and further back. Relaxing further, and taking a deep breath to try and prepare himself, Harry fixed his gaze on the line of red lights, and urged the broom on as fast as possible. He may not have to win - but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try.

- - -

"I can't believe he'd do this!" Hermione fumed, while Ron and the Krums just watched the plates of crystal that displayed each person participating in the race. "Just run off with no plans, not even tell us where he's going, or what he's doing - I mean, what does he think he's doing?!"

Ron waved his hand at her to keep her quiet, not looking up. "That's nice, 'Mione. But look at the lead he's got! He's gone straight to twenty-seventh, and I swear his broom's looking different than from when he began - can't get a good look at it, though..."

Hermione said something that sounded suspiciously like 'hrmph!'.

Viktor Krum had gone behind Harry, at number fifty-six, and was now trying to force his broom to catch up with those who were in the lead, though he wasn't succeeding.

Mr Krum snapped his fingers, and Hermione stopped looking around the crowds of spectators and turned to hear what he had to say. "Harry's coming up to the dragon reserve," he announced, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the viewing crystal. "Here's where it's going to start to get tricky."

- - -

The competitors were far more spaced out now; many were lagging behind, far back at the end - those in the lead were widely spread, great distances between them, and also flying at different heights in the hopes of being able to pass those in front more easily.

Harry was quite high, and he could just see the woman in front of him, quite far in the distance. She'd obviously modified her broom, because it didn't look as though a normal one of them would go that fast.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry managed to get his broom to speed up a little in hopes of catching up with her. The wind was whipping against him as he hurtled brutally through the air, his hair pulled forcefully back in the gale.

He was twenty-seventh, and Harry knew that he was never going to be able to be first - he might not even be able to overtake the woman in front - but he wished he could. That would show Krum, and Malfoy, and anyone who still thought he was mad; that would show Leone that he wasn't so scared of her and her daemon that he couldn't face the world and enjoy himself and compete and win

The screams and cheers of excitement snapped him out of his reverie, and Harry realised that he was clutching his broom so tightly that his nails had bitten into the solid wood, leaving tiny indentations. Relaxing his arm muscles, he realised that he had stopped - he was on the ground, in fact - and he was surrounded by a crowd thick with people of all nationalities. What was happening?

Releasing his hold of magic on the broom so that it reverted to a Nimbus, Harry stared around himself, wide-eyed. Just a second ago he'd been flying into the valley that led to the dragon reserve; and suddenly he was on the ground, though he didn't remember landing. The roar of the throng around him was deafening, and as reality caught up with him, he comprehended that people were reaching out to slap his back, shake his hand...

"What - what's going on?" he gasped out as he saw Ron and Hermione forcing their way through the crowd.

"Come off it, mate, you can't have expected anything else!" Ron yelled above the congratulations and cheers. "You came first! You won!"

Harry gave a start, spinning around to look at all sides of him. "But - but I was up in the air," he stuttered, trying to explain, "I can't have won - it hasn't ended yet..."

His shocked face turned to a frown as a thought struck him, and he pulled his sleeve up to check his watch. It said that the time was twenty minutes to five; but when Harry had last checked his watch whilst flying, it had been ten minutes past eleven, and not long could have passed after that, surely...

He was startled back to reality by brilliant flashes of light. The reporters and photographers had finally made it through the gathering, cursing as people jogged their notepads or camera, and shouting out questions to him, asking him to smile for the camera - This isn't right, Harry couldn't help but think, still disorientated, I can't be here.

He grabbed Ron by the shoulder and Hermione by the arm, and started forcing his way through the crowd. "Sorry, excuse me," he yelled, the words slipping out of his mouth in Swedish. "Come on," he hissed at his friends, who were dragged along beside him, puzzled by his behaviour. "Where's Mr and Mrs Krum?"

"With Victor and Nicholas - look, over there - Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, and then thought better of it. "I'll tell you later, when we're alone," he decided aloud. "Hermione, why are you trying to stop?"

"Will you just hold on?" the girl hissed, shaking his hand free of her. "You've still got to collect your prizes!"

"What?" Harry burst out, astounded that she could think of such a thing at a time like this, but it was too late. A hand grasped his shoulder from behind, and pulled him around.

"The winner, Harry Potter!" bellowed the organiser, as he flung a scarlet ribbon around Harry's neck. It tugged him forwards slightly, and looking down, Harry discovered that hanging from it at chest height was a thick, golden disc, with the number '1' raised from its surface.

Before he could stutter a reply - this was getting far too confusing for him - a giant cup was forced into his arms, silver and shaped like a dragon; a Swedish Short-Snout, he recalled from Hermione's lecture that morning.

It was tremendously heavy, thanks to the golden Galleons overflowing from its top, and the organiser had to help him hold it up as the cameras clicked madly, and the crowd applauded him...

Giving in and grinning, Harry accepted that whatever had happened, these people thought he had won, and he wasn't going to let a little fact like that it was probably a dream stop him from enjoying it.

"Let's go, before they mob you," a voice shouted in his ear, and Harry felt something cold pressed against his wrist. Ron and Hermione reached out to grab hold of the object, and a second later, Harry felt the familiar, churning sensation that came with the use of a Portkey.

- - -

As the hallway of the Oasis hotel came into view, Harry nearly dropped the cup, now much heavier thanks to the lack of the organiser holding it up with him. He strained to lift it, for a second, but Ron came to his aid and Harry was free to look around. They were in the hallway outside their hotel rooms; him, Ron, Hermione and Mr Krum, who must have made the Portkey to get them away before they were mobbed.

A few seconds later, as Harry regained his bearing, a second Portkey brought Mrs Krum and her sons nearby.

Nicholas unlocked and entered his room upon arrival, without a word or glance at anyone, slamming the door behind him. Victor looked slightly disappointed, but also very interested at something, and he stepped forwards to shake Harry hand ferociously. "That was amazing flying, Harry," he said in his thick accent, and Harry wondered what flying he was talking about. "That loop was incredible - and the turns - I could never compare. You could say, the best man won." Clapping him on the shoulder, Victor gave him a nod, and left for his own room.

Harry stood and stared.

Regaining his tongue, he managed to force out some words. "What happened? I mean - did I really win?"

"First place!" Ron crowed, as Hermione tried to look disapproving of his taking part, and failed miserably. "But those stunts you did, mate - I mean, I've never seen anything like them. The way you flew, it was -"

"Mr Krum, could I spend the rest of the day with Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked quickly. "I really need to talk to them, it's pretty important."

The man looked surprised, but nodded. "Of course, you're free to do as you wish," he smiled, "It is your holiday after all." He turned to unlock his door, and his wife also followed at him, smiling a congratulations at Harry. As the door shut behind them, Harry sighed his relief.

"We need to talk," he said, before Ron or Hermione could ask him anything. "'Mione, do you have the key?"

Hermione nodded, and pulled out the key to her own room, before unlocking the door. Harry and Ron dragged the silver monstrosity inside her room, and slowly lowered it onto the floor.

"Did you know, that has all the prize money in it?" Hermione said informatively, as she shut and locked the door behind them. "It actually has a sort of restricted Never-Fill charm on it, so all the ten-thousand Galleons can fit inside. It's had a lightening charm on it, but they keep it quite heavy so that it looks better in the newspaper photos; you know, the whole 'winning so much money you strain under the weight of it, thing'."

Harry had thrown himself onto one of the twin beds in silence, and waited for her to finish speaking, before he started his own talk. "Something weird happened out there."

"You're telling us," Ron muttered, obviously thinking of Harry's strange behaviour.

Harry glared at him. "I'm being serious," he snapped, "so please take me seriously!" He sat up, and scowled at the wall opposite. "I was about half an hour into the race, just going into the valley before the reserve; and suddenly I was in the crowd, and everyone was saying I won. I wish I had more details, but I don't."

He looked around to see his friends' puzzled looks. "It's like I blanked out, or something," he explained. "Like going to sleep; I don't know how it happened, but I don't remember anything between the valley and - winning."

Ron seemed disbelieving, but Hermione looked thoughtful. "Actually, you did seem strange after the valley - we were watching you in a viewing crystal; it's like a mirror, except made of solid crystal, and you can see certain things with that they're attuned to - and just after you reached the valley, you seemed to... I don't know... you didn't zone out, it's like you became more alert, instead."

Ron snapped his fingers. "Now you mention it, I noticed that too! I mean, before, it was like you'd reached your top speed, and you were just flying pretty normally - but during and after the valley, your flying style seemed to just improve. It didn't change completely; it was just... you were still flying your normal way, just... better."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked, intrigued. Ron held up his hands.

"It's hard to explain. It's like - well, I'll give you an example. When you reached the dragon reservation, you were seventeenth - you'd overtaken nine people, even though before it had seemed that you couldn't go any faster. When you reached a dragon - well, actually none tried to attack you, for some reason, but the way you flew around them when they tried to snap up the guy right behind you, it was amazing!

"You did this kind of loop-the-loop over one of them's tail, and this really cool twist under right under another's snout; and all the time, it was like you were focused on something, but not the flying - like there was nothing to it, and you were more interested in something else."

Harry shook his head in annoyance. "I don't remember! I don't remember anything about it..."

Hermione sighed, frustrated. "What a pain... still, I don't think you should worry too much about it, Harry."

Ron stared at her. "Not worry about it? He's lost hours of an important event from his memory, and you say don't worry about it!?"

Hermione grinned slyly. "Well, I think you should have learned from since we were eleven, that these mysteries we also seem to get ourselves into always get resolved by the end of the school year. I don't see why this should be any different. The only time we'll have to worry is when we find the answer, and if we don't like it.

"For now, the only thing we should be worrying about, is what the papers are going to say when they do a little research into the winner, and discover that he's from Britain - and he's that particular Harry Potter."

Harry groaned at this, and Ron laughed. "Good point, 'Mione. Harry, I think you'd better write to Sirius; if he finds out from a tabloid that you volunteered to fly through a dragon reserve, who knows what he'll do."

"Don't remind me," Harry grumbled, as he pulled himself up. "You know, I don't feel tired at all; and I should, having apparently been performing stunts for the past few hours. Weird, isn't it? Anyway, Ron, you're helping me to carry the Cup to our room."

Hermione shook her head. "What are you going to do with it?"

Ron and Harry lifted the Cup together, and Harry shrugged. "Well, the Cup and medal are to keep; but for the money, I think Fred and George might need a bit of help in raising the cash to buy their store."

- - -

The next morning, Harry woke early, and set out into the Wizarding section of Kopparberg. He'd already sent the letter to Sirius off with Hedwig - he didn't trust an owl from the Post Office to take a letter to a wanted 'criminal', just in case someone managed to track it.

Instead, the visit was simply to buy any presents he hadn't already bought (he found a beautiful necklace for Ginny, and a wand-holster for Ron, who had been admiring Harry's). As he stopped for a late breakfast at a café, he was almost recognised by some women who had been watching the race the previous day; he managed to escape before they could ascertain his identity, though.

Wishing he had remained at the hotel, with his laptop, Harry rounded a corner, only to notice a certain magpie perched atop one of the roofs. Managing to hide a smile, Harry followed Ajax as the bird fluttered along, leading him down a small alley, dark enough that no-one would see them.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, though relieved to see a friendly face, even if it wasn't human.

The bird ruffled his feathers and performed what was obviously a shrug. "If you really though I was just going to wait with that cat at the Weasley's house, you were sorely mistaken." he croaked, hopping closer. "I managed to get Levina to make me a Portkey to Sweden, and then followed our link from there. Anyway, I was looking at the front pages of the newspapers today, and guess what I saw?"

Harry groaned, and Ajax gave a harsh laugh. "Well, I'm sure you know, then. They've figured out who you are, and if it weren't that you're wearing Muggle clothes today, they'd have swarmed over you." He squinted at Harry. "Plus, your hair was pretty windswept yesterday. Amazing what a good hairbrush can do, huh?"

"Whatever," Harry muttered. "So, I don't have long until they recognise me, then. I mean, there aren't that many Wizarding places in Sweden with black-haired, green-eyed British boys. Great."

"Well, speaking fluent Swedish might throw them off the trail for a bit," Ajax hinted, before turning his head to preen himself. "Do you think you could get me some flea powder?"

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "You have fleas?"

"You never know. Anyway, I heard you did some pretty amazing flying, yesterday -"

"That's it!" Harry almost yelled, leaping up from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Ajax, maybe you'll know. Look, when I was flying yesterday, I came up to the valley -"

"And lost a few hours worth of memories, right?"

Harry stopped. "How did you know?"

"For crying out loud, I'm your Familiar, aren't I?" Ajax snorted, stopping his preening. "I've already told you - I know everything you know. Maybe not the specifics, but I know the basic 'flying, then snap out of it on the ground a few hours later' thing. Okay?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "but do you know anything about it? I mean, why it happened, or what happened, or who did it?"

Ajax hesitated. "I know a little." he admitted. "Why it happened? I know, but I'm not saying. What happened? I know the basics, but nothing particularly detailed. And what I do know, I'm not saying. Who did it? You."

"The worst part of it's that you're still being more informative than Levina," Harry growled. "What do you mean, I did it? Did I wish upon a shooting star or something?"

"Thanks for the sarcasm," Ajax said, a bit hypocritically. "No, you just - well, I already told you; I can't say why. All you need to know is that you did it. Just hold on a little longer, why don't you? Everything's going to be explained in due time - or that's Levina said, anyway." he added.

Harry flung his hands into the air in frustration. "Great. My own Familiar's keeping secrets from me, and my tutor is talking more to a bird than to me. Wonderful. Brilliant. Just perfect. How come you get to know what happened, but I don't? It was me that it happened to, wasn't it?"

Ajax gave a small sigh. "Look, even I don't know much; only the bare bones, and not even a complete skeleton at that. But I promise you, you'll understand it soon, as will I. The only reason I've got a few hints of the truth is because I'll know a little more to protect you, but not enough to feel a need to tell you anything, and because apparently you're not ready to handle the truth."

Harry glared. "I'm ready to handle anything, and I don't need protection."

"Yeah, you sure protected yourself against the daemon really well - twice."

"I mean I don't need protection from a bird!" Harry argued, angrily. "Fine, then. Fine. I guess I've just got to accept that you're not going to tell me anything -"

"You'll know sometime by the end of next year," Ajax promised, "You'll know everything. That's what Levina says, and I think you can trust her."

Harry's scowl fell a little. "Fine," he repeated, a bit more quietly. "Until then, I suppose I just train?"

Ajax bobbed his head like a human would nod. "Sorry," he apologised, and Harry sighed.

"It's not your fault," he acknowledged. "Anyway, I'd better go - I'm staying at the Oasis hotel, room sixty-five. Just tap on the window, and Ron should open it for you."

Ajax nodded again, spread his midnight wings, and swept off, beating his wings to gain speed and altitude.

Harry sighed again, and made to leave the alley, heading back to the hotel where he wouldn't be recognised by the shoppers on the street.

- - -

Harry spent the rest of the day working on his website, and then spending a couple of hours downloading and 'reading' information about Sweden and its history, and chatting to Sleepless; Rhiannon wasn't online, though.

Ron and Hermione had gone with Victor to town, as they wouldn't be recognised; Harry's friend understood his annoyance with the press though, and reassured him it was fine for him to stay. While Harry called room service for his lunch, Mr and Mrs Krum were out enjoying a fancy meal at some expensive restaurant in the main, Muggle part of Kopparberg, and Nicholas was also having a meal sent up from the kitchens.

The Swedish Broom Race had flung another puzzle his way; and the strange thing was that he was actually beginning to enjoy the mysteries coming up around him. Either that, or his brain was being fried from overuse of the rods, Harry decided as he stroked Ajax's feathers and finished logged off. Either way, he had the rest of the holiday to look forward to.