Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

“Hope this clears up!” Ron’s smile slipped slightly as he looked out of the window, which was now opaque with hammering rain.

His wish did not come true, and it rained even harder in the afternoon!

At 4:30 in the afternoon, Evan, Hermione, and Colin originally planned to go to the first training session after the reorganization of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but they did not go out after seeing the weather. Harry, Ron, and Ginny left the castle with their broomsticks, looking worried.

By the time they arrived at the Quidditch pitch for practice, they were soaked through within minutes, their feet slipping and sliding on the sodden grass.

The sky was a deep, thundery gray and it was a relief to gain the warmth and light of the changing rooms, even if they knew the respite was only temporary.

Harry found Fred and George debating whether to use one of their own Skiving Snackboxes to get out of flying.

“Well, I bet she’d know what we’d done,” Fred said out of the corner of his mouth. “If only I hadn’t offered to sell her some Puking Pastilles yesterday.”

“We could try the Fever Fudge,” George muttered, “no one’s seen that yet except Evan…”

“Does it work?” inquired Ron hopefully, as the hammering of rain on the roof intensified and wind howled around the building.

“Well, yeah,” said Fred, “your temperature will go right up, like boiling water, scarily hot…”

“But you get these massive pus-filled boils too,” said George, “and we haven’t worked out how to get rid of them yet.”

“I can’t see any boils,” said Ron, staring at the twins.

“No, well, you wouldn’t,” said Fred darkly, “they’re not in a place we generally display to the public.”

“— but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the —”

“You know, not every broomstick has an invisible seat like the Starcatcher.”

“All right, everyone, listen up,” said Angelina loudly, emerging from the Captain’s office. “I know it’s not ideal weather, but there’s a good chance we’ll be playing Slytherin in conditions like this so it’s a good idea to work out how we’re going to cope with them. Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?”

“Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!”

“I think we all ought to try that,” said Angelina. “If we could just keep the rain off our faces it would really help visibility — all together, come on — Impervius! Okay. Let’s go!”

“You know, Evan knows an enhanced version of the Impervius Charm, which can make the rain bounce away from the body, as if there is an extra magic barrier, and you will not get wet at all,” said Fred. “I’ve only seen him use it once.”

“I’ll definitely ask him how he does it tonight,” George said.

A few minutes later, everyone was ready.

They all stowed their wands back in the inside pockets of their robes, shouldered their brooms, and followed Angelina out of the changing rooms.

They squelched through the deepening mud to the middle of the pitch; visibility was still very poor even with the Impervius Charm; light was fading fast and curtains of rain were sweeping the grounds.

“All right, on my whistle,” shouted Angelina.

Harry kicked off from the ground, spraying mud in all directions, and shot upward, the wind pulling him slightly off course.

He had no idea how he was going to see the Snitch in this weather; he was having enough difficulty seeing the one Bludger with which they were practicing; a minute into the practice it almost unseated him and he had to use the Sloth Grip Roll to avoid it.

Unfortunately Angelina did not see this; in fact, she did not appear to be able to see anything; none of them had a clue what the others were doing.

The wind was getting stronger and stronger, and Harry could even hear the patter of rain hitting the lake in the distance.

Angelina let them practice for nearly two hours before giving up. If it weren’t for Evan’s group activity tonight, she might have let everyone continue training until nine o’clock in the evening.

She led her sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice had not been a waste of time, though without any real conviction in her voice.

Fred and George were looking particularly annoyed; both were bandy-legged and winced with every movement. Harry could hear them complaining in low voices as he toweled his hair dry.

“Hey, I think a few of mine have ruptured,” said Fred in a hollow voice.

“Mine haven’t,” said George, wincing. “They’re throbbing like mad … feel bigger if anything…”

“OUCH!” said Harry.

He pressed the towel to his face, his eyes screwed tight with pain. The scar on his forehead had seared again, more painfully than in months.

“What’s up?” said several voices.

Harry emerged from behind his towel; the changing room was blurred because he was not wearing his glasses; but he could still tell that everyone’s face was turned toward him.

“Nothing,” he muttered, “I — poked myself in the eye, that’s all…”

But he gave Ron a significant look, covering his scar with the towel.

“Alright, let’s quickly go to the Great Hall and see what’s left.”

“I need to go back and change into dry clothes.”

“I need to find Evan to learn the enhanced version of the Impervius Charm, I’ll go now, I heard this rain will last for a week.”

The two of them hung back as the rest of the team filed back outside, muffled in their cloaks, their hats pulled low over their ears.

“What happened?” said Ron, the moment that Alicia had disappeared through the door. “Was it your scar?”

Harry nodded, his breathing gradually calming down.

“But …” Looking scared, Ron strode across to the window and stared out into the rain to make sure no one was around. He lowered his voice and said, “He — he can’t be near us now, can he? You didn’t touch anything, and Umbridge isn’t here. Did you and Evan check last time?”

“He’s probably not her, it’s just a coincidence.” Harry muttered, sinking onto a bench and rubbing his forehead, “He’s probably miles away, in that place Sirius mentioned … Norway, with those vampires. It hurt because … he’s … angry.”

Harry had not meant to say that at all, and heard the words as though a stranger had spoken them.

Yet he knew at once that they were true. He did not know how he knew it, but he did; Voldemort, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, was in a towering temper.

Along with the gloomy weather, the atmosphere in the changing room suddenly became gloomy with Harry’s words.

“Angry?! Did you see him?!” said Ron, looking horrified. “Did you … get a vision, or something?”

Harry sat quite still, staring at his feet, allowing his mind and his memory to relax in the aftermath of the pain.

A confused tangle of shapes, a howling rush of voices flashed in front of him so fast that he had no time to see clearly.

“It’s those vampires. Something went wrong there. Something Dumbledore did to ruin his plan?”

Again, he felt surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and yet quite certain that they were true.

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