A/N: For those of you who’ve read Scrap Parchment, you may be a bit let down. I like experimenting and therefore wrote this story in an entirely different style that focuses a lot less on imagery and emotion and a lot more on action/ humor and just silliness.

 I’m a little nervous about uploading this fic onto Portkey. It’s my first fan fic, you see, and I don’t particularly think it’s that good. Any feedback is good feedback, however, and I know whatever horrible things you have to say about it will only help me as an Author.

Please try not to be too harsh!

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Prologue- A Series of Unexpected Events

Summer passed slowly and life at number four, Privet Drive was much the same as it always was for a certain fifteen-year-old boy by the name of Harry Potter. When he wasn’t being treated as the Dursleys’ personal house-elf, he was being treated as if he didn’t exist at all. The ‘didn’t exist at all’ part of his life with his only living relatives didn’t bother him much though. In fact, he quite liked it, and ever since a certain wizard known lovingly to his friends as ‘Mad-Eye Moody,’ had very nicely threatened Uncle Vernon that he better be kind to Harry, “or else,” Uncle Vernon had done everything in his power to avoid his nephew. (This being because Uncle Vernon, being a somewhat educated fellow, was not about to find out just what the “or else” was, especially when the man it came from was covered in scars from head to foot, and had one eye that was as large as a tennis ball which spun around in every direction as he spoke to you.)

It meant that he didn’t have to put up with the venomous glares being emitted from Aunt Petunia’s horse-like face. It meant that Uncle Vernon wasn’t searching for reasons to yell at him in such a way that his round, pompous head turned as red as dragon’s blood, and his hoarse, demeaning voice reached new limits of intolerable irritation. Furthermore, his cousin Dudley, the overly large, blonde haired walrus that he was, also ignored his existence. Thus, he was not searching for chances to punch Harry in the arm, kick Harry in the shins, or, even worse; whack Harry in the back with his Smeltings stick. Uncle Vernon rather liked it when Dudley gave Harry a good whacking. He said it gave them both ‘a good lesson in character building.’

Being invisible, even in the Dursley household, did have its downsides. All of the peace and quiet that Harry, under any other circumstances, would normally have enjoyed left him with a lot of time for thinking. Thinking was not something Harry was very keen on at the moment; it almost always resulted in him thinking of his recently deceased godfather, Sirius Black.

Just weeks ago Sirius had fallen during a battle at the Ministry of Magic with some of the darkest of wizards, the Death Eaters. Harry couldn’t help but blame himself for his godfather’s death. If he had not foolishly believed the vision Lord Voldemort had put into his head, he would not have gone to the Ministry. Sirius, in turn, would not have followed him.

And so, a few weeks into his summer holiday, that is how Harry Potter could be found: lying on his bed in the smallest bedroom of four, Privet Drive, staring blankly at the misshaped patterns on the white popcorned ceiling, thinking once again of that miserable day in the Ministry of Magic when his godfather had fallen.

He’d lost track of just how long he had been wallowing in his own misery when said misery was interrupted by a slight tapping on his bedroom window. Harry looked up to see that a brown owl was perched on the windowsill outside, a letter strapped to its leg.

After opening the window and giving the owl a small treat he’d pulled from his desk, Harry gently pulled the letter from its leg, and looked at the writing addressed to him in scarlet ink. He hardly had any time to open it before a second brown owl flew through the opened window and landed on his desk, another letter in tow. He reached for the letter. After giving the second owl a treat the two flew away in unison. Harry stared at the second letter, this one stamped with the familiar seal of Hogwarts.

“Probably my O.W.L. results,” he said to himself. Harry knew the results would determine whether or not he could continue the courses which would allow him to become an Auror. “Don’t know if I’m ready to see those yet.”

Harry’s confidence level was low when it came to how well he’d done on those tests. The number of distractions in his previous school year had left him little time to study. He tossed the letter onto his bed untouched, and turned his attention back to the other. Removing a piece of parchment from its envelope, he unfolded it and read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

We humbly request your attendance this year at Britain’s very own Quintillus Quipnick’s Quixotic Quidditch Camp…

Harry blinked. Quidditch camp? How on earth had he never heard of Quidditch camp?

Upon hearing of your excellent flying abilities and nearly undefeated record as Seeker for the Gryffindor house team at Hogwarts school, we feel you are a prime candidate for our ‘Advanced Training Program’ where we will teach you what it takes to become a world renowned Quidditch player!

Training lessons include: “Advanced Flying Tactics”, “Perfecting the Porskoff Ploy”, and “Seeking With the Stars”. A complete list of lessons and material requirements is enclosed herein.

The duration of camp is from July 15^th – August 31^st, and will include three separate trips to Diagon Alley. Should you choose to join us we ask that you arrive at the Leaky Cauldron with all of your belongings by 9:00 a.m. the morning of July 15^th. Please respond by Owl Post within one week of receiving this letter.

Looking forward to your reply,

Q. Quipnick, proprietor

Quidditch Camp?

Advanced Training Program?

How?

Who?

When?

What?

Harry reviewed the letter again. It was almost too good to be true. A month and a half of non-stop Quidditch? He could hardly believe it! His friends aside, of all the things he loved about Hogwarts he loved Quidditch the most. Never had he taken to anything so effortlessly as he had flying. Feeling the wind in his hair as he dashed through the sky made him feel freer than he ever had.

 His joy was short lived; as he reviewed the required materials list, he noticed that it required a standard racing broom. It was then that he had remembered the ban placed on him by one Deloris Umbridge of the Ministry of Magic. 

It was a slap in the face.

He wasn’t going to go to any Advanced Training Program and he certainly wasn’t going to any Quidditch camp. How could he? He’d been banned from Quidditch for life! Harry crumpled the letter in his hand and fell backwards onto his bed. His broomstick was locked up at Hogwarts and his hopes flew off to join it in the musty cupboard.

That’s when he saw the seal of the untouched letter, the one he had so thoughtlessly tossed onto his bed, staring back at him from atop his pillow.

Could it be? Could someone at Hogwarts have known? He snatched the letter up and with reinforced enthusiasm pulled it out of its envelope.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Congratulations on your recently being accepted to the Advanced Training Program at the Quintillus Quipnick’s Quixotic Quidditch Camp. In light of recent events, your lifetime ban from Quidditch has been overturned. You should be receiving an official apology from the Ministry of Magic and a letter of full pardon very shortly.

As if on cue, another owl flew into his already opened window with a letter strapped to its leg. Harry took the letter and fed the owl a treat before returning to the one in his hand.

Quite conveniently, an Order member will be attending the camp as well. Expect them to arrive on July 15^th at approximately 8:00 a.m.

 Your racing broom, Hogwarts letter and O.W.L. results will be sent to you at the camp. Please remember that you will still be responsible for all of your summer homework.

Harry cringed inwardly, remembering the six-rolls-of-parchment History of Magic essay he had yet to begin.

Your broomstick will be awaiting you at the Leaky Cauldron the morning of the 15^th.

Summer holidays are supposed to be fun. Let’s hope you don’t grow up any faster than you need to.

Upon returning to school, we will schedule arrangements for you to continue your remedial potions.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster

Heaven on earth would have been a joke compared to the state of bliss he was in at the moment. Harry couldn’t think. He didn’t even know how he was breathing. There was only one thing to do…

“YYYYEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!”

“QUIET DOWN BOY!”

“Sorry, Uncle.”

Harry sat down at his desk and began to write a letter about the afternoon’s events to his best friend, Ron Weasley. As he did all thoughts of Sirius Black and the Ministry of Magic were pushed far from his mind.

Dear Ron,

You’re not going to believe what I’ll be doing this summer…

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July 15^th couldn’t have come sooner for Harry, who was so preoccupied with studying the various Quidditch books and magazines his friends had given him over the years that he hadn’t even had a chance to read his own mail. In fact, there was a small stack of it packed neatly in a brown bag for him to read on his way to the Leaky Cauldron.

By 7:30 that morning, he had already showered, dressed, and packed. He stood in his Gryffindor Quidditch Robes, crimson and gold, ready and waiting by the front door of his aunt and uncle’s home. His large Hogwarts trunk was packed as well. He would have to do his homework at camp, and would not be returning to the Dursleys’ between then and Hogwarts. Aside from the fact that he didn’t want to return to the Dursley residence, it was much more convenient for him to simply remain at the Leaky Cauldron the night of August 31^st and then head to Kings Cross that following morning.

The Dursley family, packed into the kitchen, were engulfed in a breakfast discussion concerning Aunt Marge’s upcoming visit. (Aunt Marge was a mean, corpulent woman with mean, corpulent dogs who liked to take chunks out of Harry’s legs any chance that they could.)  It was for this reason alone that Uncle Vernon had allowed Harry to go to his “blasted freak camp” without any argument. Uncle Vernon loved his sister dearly. He couldn’t deal with another situation where she would be upset, disfigured, or blown up in any way. As far as Vernon Dursley was concerned, the farther away Harry was, the better.

Ron had written to Harry back a few days ago, expressing nothing but how utterly jealous he was. (“Have enough fun for both of us, and don’t forget anything that happens!”) Harry didn’t think he’d have any trouble doing that. However, he couldn’t help but feel bad for Ron. Ron’s family wasn’t exactly the wealthiest of the wizarding lot, and even if he had received such an offer there’s no way the Weasleys would’ve been able to afford it. Harry would have gladly paid Ron’s fare, but he was sure his best friend would have nothing to do with that; Ron had always been rather sensitive about his family’s financial state.

At precisely 8:00 a.m. the doorbell rang. Harry opened the door and was met by the yellow eyes and gray hair of one of his very own Hogwarts teachers.

“M-Madam Hooch?” Harry managed to say. The fierce looking witch made her way into the house. Madam Hooch taught Harry how to ride a broom during his first year at Hogwarts. That’s what she did, flying lessons. It made sense to Harry that she would be attending the camp, but he hadn’t known that she was a member of the Order.

“Whom were you expecting,” she asked in an unwavering tone. “Quintillus Quipnick himself?” She wasn’t wearing her normal wizarding robes, but a loose fitting pear of jeans and a light coloured shirt. She looked out of character to Harry, but he was impressed by how well she dressed herself in muggle attire.

Leaving no time for explanation, Madam Hooch grabbed Harry’s large trunk and carried it out the door. Harry picked up Hedwig’s cage and the small bag containing his letters and a copy of ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’, and followed her outside. A regular muggle taxi was awaiting them in the driveway. It struck Harry as odd that they would be travelling by taxi, instead of some other magical means, but he chose not to comment. The Order of the Phoenix must’ve had their reasons for using muggle transportation.

Madam Hooch and the driver, with a rather annoyed looking expression on his face, struggled to fit his large chest into the trunk of the taxi. Upon completion, the driver closed the trunk door, mumbled something about the amount of weirdoes he’d been driving around lately, and got into the driver’s seat. Madam Hooch held the back door open and motioned for Harry to get in. He climbed into the back seat with Hedwig’s cage in one hand and his bag of mail in the other. Madam Hooch followed. She closed the door, gave the driver an address in London, and they were off.

“I didn’t know you were in the Order,” Harry whispered as they drove on. He could see the driver eye him in the rear view mirror eye him suspiciously.

“Well, you’re young, Mr. Potter,” Madam Hooch said, staring straight ahead. “I’m confident there are a lot of things you don’t know.” Her tone was one of a person who didn’t think they should be discussing such things at the moment. Harry took the hint and watched as Privet Drive faded away behind him.

They drove the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron in silence. Harry wondered just how close of an eye Madam Hooch would be keeping on him, and silently hoped it wouldn’t be too close. He began thinking of all of the wonderful things he would be doing over the summer and hoped she wouldn’t be so concerned with his well being that she’d ruin all of his fun. Hopefully Professor Dumbledore had instructed her to let him have some fun. In fact, he was so entranced by all of the wonderful things he’d be doing over the upcoming weeks he didn’t even realise it when they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Madam Hooch had to shake his arm and point at the Leaky Cauldron’s entrance for him to realise that they were at their destination.

Harry and Madam Hooch each got out of the taxi in turn. Once she and Harry removed his trunk from the cab, Madam Hooch fumbled with some muggle money, passed it to the driver, grabbed Harry’s trunk, and went inside. Harry followed her eagerly. He was amazed at what he saw when he walked into the normally dark little pub.

The place was packed. There were children in Quidditch robes everywhere. He couldn’t even begin to count them all. Robes of all colours, all sizes. From the blinding orange of the Chudley Cannons to the striking yellow and bold black of the Wimbourne Wasps, there were robes representing every team imaginable. It was pandemonium.

“You stay close to me for now Harry, no good to get separated,” he heard Madam Hooch say. He nodded his consent and continued to stare around the children in the room.

“Harry! Madam Hooch!” he heard a familiar voice call. Harry spun around to find himself face to face with the one, the only…

“Cho?”

Cho Chang was smiling back at him, adorned in her Ravenclaw Quidditch robes.

“I’m so glad there’s someone here I know!” she beamed, looking back at the crowd. “Half of the people here don’t even speak English!” Harry took a moment to look around and noticed that a lot of the people were indeed huddled into groups, speaking several different languages. At the head of each group was a person speaking in their native tongue. Apparently, Harry believed, giving instructions to the young students.

“Have you seen anyone else from Hogwarts?” Harry asked Cho, still looking around at the crowd. He didn’t realise how many people were going to be there, and was beginning to feel a bit out of place.

“Not yet, but I’ve only just arrived myself,” she replied. Harry began to wish he were back in the presence of his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Just the thought of them reminded him that he had an unread letter from Hermione in his bag. He’d have to respond to her just as soon as things had settled down a bit.

Harry, Cho, and Madam Hooch stood amongst the crowd for what felt like ages. There wasn’t much room for moving about, what with all the commotion. Madam Hooch didn’t look like she wanted Harry to take two steps away from her anyway. They did, however, meet up with a couple of other Hogwarts students: Katie Bell of the Gryffindor team, and Montague, Captain of the Slytherin team. As soon as they’d sighted them, both students rushed up to Madam Hooch and clung to her arms as if she were some sort of life-saving apparatus. (“We thought we were going to get lost in the crowd!”)

Quite unfortunately, a fourth person from Hogwarts showed up. That third person happened to be Draco Malfoy. Draco was a fine haired boy with a pointy face. He was also the thing that Harry hated the most at Hogwarts. He and Harry had found each other in several heated confrontations over the years. Needless to say, Harry was not very happy about spending his month and a half of bliss with a hated enemy.

“Just ignore him,” Katie told Harry, raising her voice to match the crowds. “He’s just jealous of you anyway.” Draco looked an awful lot like he was about to say something snide to Harry when he was interrupted by a loud voice shouting over the crowd.

“Attention, please, may I have your attention!” shouted a voice from the front of the room.

The noise of the crowd died down almost instantly. Everyone turned to the front of the room. Standing there was an extremely tall man clad in purple wizarding robes and a tall purple hat. He had a long pointed nose and small blue eyes. He was looking down at all of them with a broad smile on his face.

“As I hope you have guessed by now, my name is Quintillus Quipnick,” he said. While he spoke the many group leaders around the room began hurriedly translating Mr. Quipnick’s words in various languages.

“In just a few moments time my assistants will begin handing out Portkeys. If you will be so kind as to gather into groups of say, nine or ten, the Portkeys will transport you to the campground.” The interpreters continued to translate furiously.

“Your belongings will all be brought directly to your cabins. I must ask that you all remain calm and orderly. We wouldn’t want anyone to be left behind. Also, upon arrival to the campground, you will be given your lesson schedules, cabin assignments, and will also be notified of your assigned group leader. Please see your group leader with any issues you may have.”

The interpreters continued to speak rapidly about them. A moment later Harry was handed something that looked like an oversized walking cane. The person who had given him the item had also relieved him of both Hedwig’s cage (Hedwig hooted her disapproval quite loudly at this) and his bag.

“Please find someone with a Portkey and make sure you’ve got a hold of it,” said Mr. Quipnick. Several people around him grabbed the stick, including Cho. In the midst of all the pushing and shoving that erupted, Harry found Cho rubbing up against him. He suddenly found himself rather uncomfortable with the situation and hoped that the Portkey transported them to their destination quickly.

His prayers were soon answered. Before he knew it, a swirl of colour and a howl of wind had enveloped his body and began to sweep him away.