Chapter Text
Harry heads downstairs, towards the kitchen, having been called down for breakfast. After last night’s nightmare, being back in the Dursley household was a dream come true. Arriving at the kitchen, he finds Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia already there setting up for breakfast. Dudley was already sitting at the dining table whining about his diet.
Shortly after the grapefruit quarters were served, the rattle from the letterbox signaled the post had arrived. Like a dog called by a whistle, Harry rushes to the front door in the hopes it might be addressed to him. To his delight, he notices, among various misplaced stamps, his name on the centre of the envelope. Tearing it open in his excitement, he finds a letter inviting him to the Quidditch World Cup and a suggestion to stay at the Burrow until school starts back up.
“Is that the post?” Uncle Vernon queries from the other room. Harry snaps back into his reality and feels the urge to hide the letter for a moment before he decides he’s better off asking permission. Slowly, he makes his way back into the kitchen, heart beating like a drum in his ears.
“Uncle Vernon?” he asks timidly, “May I go with the Weasleys for the rest of summer?”
Upon hearing Harry’s request, Aunt Petunia stops cutting up grapefruit and turns to see the nervous boy. He stands, practically shaking in his slippers, as Vernon looks at the letter clutched in his hands. Vernon is torn, on one hand if he lets the boy go, he might have fun; however, it meant that he would be out of their hair two weeks earlier than they had hoped.
Staring at the multiple stamps spotted around the envelope, Vernon’s stomach twists. Those freakish friends of his were going to cause an upstir in their neighbourhood. It pushed him to want to let him go; it would mean having a normal family again after another torturous summer. However, the idea of the boy having fun makes him want to keep the freak locked up for a while longer; with this in mind, Vernon is about to forbid Harry from leaving when a question interrupts his train of thought. “Who are the Weasleys?” he growls in a suspicious tone.
Harry ponders for a moment, tiptoeing around him, “I’ve told you about them before. They’re my friend, Ron’s family.” Looking up from the conversation, Harry sees Petunia’s gone back to sharing out the grapefruit to a very miserable-looking Dudley, about to cause a scene at the breakfast table.
“With the red-headed children, I know the one.” He snatches the letter out of Harry’s hand and skims the neat handwriting written in a bold sort of ink as though taken from a pot. “Quidditch,” he mutters the word on the page in disgust, “what’s Quidditch?”
Harry clears his throat awkwardly, “it’s a sport, played with a broomstick.”
Having heard enough, Vernon slaps the letter onto the table and gets up, “alright, alright!” he retaliates in an outrage. As though the word ‘broomstick’ was too much to bear, he storms over to where Aunt Petunia still has half a grapefruit to slice up. Without thinking about the consequences, he takes the fruit and looks back at the idle boy standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room and launches it at his head. Ducking with reflexes born from years of dealing with Vernon, Harry backs up whilst bringing up his godfather, the infamous Sirius Black.
“Excuse me, I’ve got to finish writing to Sirius, he hasn't heard from me in a few days and he must be getting worried.”
Vernon, terrified of the criminal, lets him go without another word. Harry rushes off upstairs, leaving the rest of the family to deal with the mess of the grapefruit over the walls.
Reaching his room, Harry notices on his bed, yet another letter addressed to him. He recognises Ron’s scruffy handwriting almost immediately, he must’ve been excited when he wrote it because it’s more illegible than usual. Smiling at Ron’s impatience, he decides there’s no way he could possibly let his best friend down. Not when he and his family had gone to such trouble to make Harry feel included. With that in mind, Harry writes a reply to Ron’s letter, accepting the invitation as fast as he could then hands it to Pig, who practically flings himself out of the window to get back to the Burrow.
Having gotten that out of the way, Harry sits back at his desk and finishes the letter he’d started for Sirius, telling him where he’d be for the next few weeks before school starts up again. Once he’s signed it off and sealed it, he hands it to Hedwig and lets her out, watching by the window as she fades into the light blue sky.
Grabbing his trunk from his wardrobe, Harry joyfully starts to pack his meager belongings; he gathers up the homework and writing utensils scattered across his desk and safely tucks them away. Taking a final look around to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, he grabs his trunk and Hedwig's cage before heading back down to the hallway, ardently waiting for the Weasleys to arrive.
He wasn’t waiting long. Within a few hours, chaos ensues in the Dursley household. Although, it wasn’t that obvious where it was coming from at first. Harry follows the noise into the living room, where multiple voices are calling out from some muffled place in the wall. It seems to attract the rest of the Dursley family too, because Vernon, like a bear rudely awoken from hibernation, trudges into the room to roar at the ruckus. Harry stares blankly at the bordered up fireplace, knowing his uncle isn’t going to be happy about the decorum they’re about to ruin.
“What the bloody hell is going on here!” he yells at his nephew, who starts pointing at the fireplace.
“It’s the Weasleys, Uncle Vernon. They’re in the fireplace,” Harry replies softly.
Like a steam train, Vernon’s ears begin pouring with clouds of white. He glares at Harry, wishing he was never born, and if looks could kill, he’d no longer be standing. “How did they get there!”
“The floo powder they used to get here,” he answers calmly, hoping to keep his life.
“Harry? Is that you?” Mr Weasley calls out from the wall, “I think there’s been a mistake.”
“Yes Mr Weasly, sorry, the fireplace is boarded up,” Harry apologises wholeheartedly. He glances sheepishly to Uncle Vernon who seems as though he’s about to explode.
“Oh, right, well, sorry about this next part!” Mr Weasley’s muffled voice calls out, before a large blast reverberates around the room and dust explodes outwards, temporarily disrupting their vision of the fireplace. As the dust settles, figures start to pour out the now unblocked fireplace. Mr and Mrs Weasley, followed by Fred and George, all tumble out. Ron and Ginny arrive promptly afterwards and join their family in the Muggle home. Mr Weasley valiantly tries to start a conversation with the Dursleys despite the rocky start; unsurprisingly, he doesn't succeed in his quest. Whilst the others crumble into awkward silence, Fred and George head out of the living room in order to collect Harry’s trunk and cage. The two of them arrive back with Harry’s belongings, nodding smoothly to his awful Muggle family.
Fred, in a moment of mischief, notices Dudley and gets a cheeky glint in his eyes. He fumbles around in his pockets for a second before bringing out a bag of giant toffees in brightly coloured wrappers, ‘accidentally’ dropping one on the floor when he knew the unsuspecting boy was watching. Fred, George, Ron, Ginny and Mrs Weasley head back through the fireplace whilst Mr Weasley and Harry stay behind for a moment longer, long enough to see Dudley pick the toffee up off the ground and eat it. Almost immediately, his tongue starts growing until he can no longer speak and is left squealing in alarm. His mother looks over in worry only to start screaming alongside her son, who now sported a bright purple tongue that has expanded several feet in length. Vernon, blaming magic and the wizards who wreaked havoc on his home, starts to attack Mr Weasley. Petunia starts to yank on the supposedly foreign object in her beloved son's mouth without much luck.
“Harry, you better head back now. I can sort this out,” Arthur insists as Harry stands there, feeling at fault for all of this, and embarrassed to have these people as his family. “It’s a simple spell to fix it, really. Let me sort this out,” he says, creeping over to the distraught parents, who will have none of what this man is saying.
In the corner of his eye, Vernon sees Arthur crouching down beside him, and in his anger, throws a glass ornament at him that near-misses his head. Arthur looks back to Harry, “go now, Harry. I’ll be right there.”
Torn between Mr Weasley’s words and wanting to be there to be the good representative of his family, he listens to Arthur and goes to the fireplace now covered in grey soot and splinters. He takes some floo powder, declaring where he wishes to go, and watches as the scene becomes a hazy bright green. The next thing he knows, he’s in the Burrow, away from his dangerous family.
When Harry stumbles out of the fireplace at the Burrow, Ron is there to catch his friend. “You alright, Harry?” he asks as he finds his balance and stands up for himself.
Harry nods doubtfully and looks back to the fireplace in the hopes Arthur might be right behind him. “Your dad stayed behind to fix Dudley’s tongue.” He hears chuckles from behind him and turns to see the twins listening in on the conversation.
“C’mon, you know he deserved it,” George insists with a wide grin.
“Who deserved what?” Mrs Weasley echoes as she walks into the kitchen to greet her new guest.
“Nothing Mum!” the Weasley children exclaim in unison, recognising the potential trouble the twins would get into if Molly found out.
Knowing her children, Molly doesn’t believe them entirely but lets it go in favour of greeting Harry properly. “Oh look at you, dear, we need to get some meat on you. How has your summer been?”
He smiles politely, “better, now.”
“That’s wonderful dear, have you met Bill and Charlie yet?” she inquires.
Harry glances unsurely at Ron who smiles. “They’re always busy now. Bill’s a curse-breaker and Charlie’s always away in Romania studying dragons. They’re barely ever home.” He takes Harry and guides him to the next room, where Harry’s face rushes red at the sight of the two god-like men standing in the living room. Bill, the oldest, has long silky hair tied back into an attractive man bun, a single dragon’s tooth dangling from his right ear and a blindingly handsome smile that causes Harry to question everything he had ever learnt about himself. Whereas with Charlie, anyone who looked at him could tell he worked with dragons, having built up an impressive set of muscles, that Harry was both envious of and attracted to, with medium-length, wavy hair, the kind that begged for someone to run their fingers through, and sparkling eyes that shone with kindness.
The two older brothers turn at the movement to find Ron and his best friend standing there. The silence runs stiff as the brothers realise Harry isn’t going to speak first, and Charlie looks over to Bill with a soft smile. He turns back to the brown haired boy with a semblance of charisma dancing around him. “You must be Harry,” Charlie says sweetly, walking over to greet him, “I’m Charlie, and this is Bill.”
With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, Harry attempts to clear his throat to greet the two most attractive wizard men he’d ever met in his life. It would’ve been nice for Ron to give him a fair warning. He looks over to Ron, who’s oblivious to anything he’s feeling right now, and realises he probably never would’ve seen this coming. Taking in a deep breath, he forces a small smile onto his face and attempts to look into Charlie’s dazzling brown eyes. “It’s good to meet you,” he manages to blurt out through his panic.
“Ron’s told us all about you,” Bill admits as he joins in on the conversation, “in fact, he never shuts up.”
Harry’s face grows even hotter and he looks down as Ron finally voices in. “Oi! I do not, you’re barely ever around to hear me anyway! I’ve seen Harry more than I’ve seen you this year,” he accuses, and as a small argument is about to break out, another arises from the other room.
Mr Weasley’s stern tone bellows from the fireplace as he steps out to confront the troublesome twins. Instantly distracted by the mention of his family, Harry tunes out of the previous conversation and begins creeping to the next room to see Fred and George with sheepish grins on their faces. “You two!” Arthur calls out, “what have I told you about giving magic sweets to Muggles?”
Fred and George look at each other before George decides to answer. “I know you told us not to, Dad. But Dudley deserved it - he’s a git. Isn’t that right, Harry?” George turns to Harry, who’s just about entered the other room now out of pure curiosity.
Feeling the need to defend his best friend’s brothers, Harry nods insistently. “It’s true, Mr Weasley.”
Arthur looks to the three of them in a conflicted manner, “now don’t you drag Harry into this. Just wait until your mother hears about what you’ve done.”
“Hears about what?” Mrs Weasley calls as she walks into the room from the kitchen. The rest of them look at her in a star-stricken manner, and Mr Weasley clears his throat as though nothing was wrong.
“Nothing, dear. Oh, would you look at the time. Who’s hungry?” he changes the subject swiftly and climbs out of the fireplace, dusting his clothes free of ash and soot.
After lunch, Ron suggests they head up to his room. On the way, Ron explains the twins' latest business venture, ‘Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’. “They are trying to open up their own joke shop, Mum’s having none of it, wants them to work for the Ministry.”
“Oh cool! Are they gonna sell those toffee things Fred gave Dudley?”
“Dunno yet, they’re constantly whispering to each other then denying it all these days.” Ron shrugged, whilst absentmindedly opening his door. Ron’s room was hardly changed, the same bright orange moving posters of various members from the Chudley Cannons flying around, clothes scattered the floor, his bed was unmade, his school work dotted around in the weirdest places, Pig - Ron’s new owl courtesy of Sirius - was excitedly hopping around his perch, but best of all, to Harry it was home away from home.
“Harry!” Hermione shrieks in elation at seeing one of her best friends after so long. Throwing herself at him knowing he will always catch her, she wraps her arms around him and squeezes, tucking her head against his shoulder; simply basking in his presence once more.
“Hermione!” came Harry's muffled yet ecstatic voice, her bushy hair already somehow in his mouth and blocking his sight.
“Let him up ‘Mione, he needs to breathe at some point,” Ron chuckles in good nature.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ve just missed you so much Harry! Oh! How was your summer? I went to Portugal with my parents before coming here. I got loads of new books about so many interesting topics!” Hermione gushes intensely, hardly breathing between each sentence, it seemed like she simply couldn’t wait a second longer to tell Harry about her summer.
They pull away from the hug, allowing Harry to catch Hermione’s eyes and smile. No matter what he’d been through that summer, Hermione always had a way of making it all better. “It was good,” he replies joyously.
“And it’s about to get so much better,” Ron adds ecstatically, “the Quidditch World Cup is just a day away now!”
“Where’s Crookshanks?” Harry asks as he looks at Pig once again, reminded of his own pet.
Hermione waves him away casually, “oh, in the garden I expect. It’s the first time he’s seen gnomes before and he hasn’t been able to stop chasing them since.”
As they’re catching up, Mrs Weasley voices from downstairs. “Ron! Harry! Hermione! You’ve all got letters from Hogwarts to open!” she calls, alerting the three of them who share confused expressions.
“That’s odd,” Hermione announces, “we’ve already received our letters for Hogwarts this year.”
Ron shrugs as they make their way downstairs, “maybe they forgot to mention something.”
As they make it to the bottom of the stairs, Molly is already there waiting, handing out the unopened letters to each child. Ginny, Fred and George are down there too, with their letters. Harry looks around at everyone before ripping open his own and reading the letter in beautifully-written cursive handwriting.
Dear Mr Potter,
This year we are pleased to announce that Hogwarts will be introducing Inter-House systems. This involves all four houses sharing spaces where students will be able to partake in discussions and shared-activities to encourage school unity.
The same rules as house common rooms will be enforced within the Inter-House common rooms via the portraits located within. Any rule breaking will lead to repercussions. Students must be respectful within the common rooms.
We look forward to seeing you again this year at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
“Inter-what now?” Fred remarks as everyone finishes reading their letters.
“Inter-House systems,” Hermione informs him, “I expect it means we’ll be seeing a lot more of the other houses this year.”
Ron looks to Harry with a raised eyebrow, “oh, Malfoy’s gonna love this,” he mentions sarcastically, to which Harry can’t help but smile a little.
After dinner, Harry, Ron and Hermione went back up to Ron’s room to talk about the letters they’d been sent. Emotions on the subject were mixed, Hermione was thrilled about the prospect of intellectual discussions and other students willing to contribute to that. Harry found himself to be utterly indifferent, Ron on the other hand was absolutely miserable with the idea.
“Why do we have to be stuck with Slytherins all year! It’s bad enough we have to share so many classes with the slimy snakes!”
“Oh, Ron, do stop that! We’re fourth years now, no longer first years; this is positively childish.”
“He does have a point, though,” Harry points out submissively, “even if we were happy about this. Imagine what the Slytherins must be thinking right now.”
Ron sniggers, “just imagine the look on their faces right now.”
Out of their silence, the three of them burst into fits of laughter at the idea of Draco’s reaction to this. Once they had calmed down, Hermione continued on the conversation.
“I must admit I am excited about getting to know the Ravenclaws better, outside of classes that is. Just think about all the discussions about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes! Oh! All the equations we could figure out, and the debates!” Hermione gushes enthusiastically.
“Of course that’s the first place your head goes,” Ron jokes. “You and all your new-found smart friends are gonna be a worser force than You-Know-Who, raising the grade curve.”
“Worser isn’t a word Ron, it’s just worse.” Hermione says in an exasperated tone, rolling her eyes up towards the heavens as if to ask for patience.
“Oh whatever, you know what I meant.”
“We should get some sleep,” Hermione declares as she gets up, “we have a long day tomorrow and you’re both awful in the morning when you haven’t slept long enough.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry agrees, following her lead. The three of them get ready for bed and settle down, exhilarated for tomorrow’s events.
“Harry. Harry, wake up. Harry, get up!” Hermione whispers with a high level of urgency.
“Hermione? Wha?” Harry questions with the daze of a man woken up against his will.
“You need to wake up now, we have to leave soon.” Hermione explains whilst shaking Ron, “Oh wake up!” she snaps hitting him on the shoulder.
“Blimey Hermione, what time is it?” Ron blurts out through words slurring together. He rubs his eyes as he sits up in bed and stares through blurred vision. It takes a moment for him to remember where he was, and what was going on. But when Harry climbed out of bed, he followed his lead and began getting ready in a zombie-like fashion. By the time he’d forced some breakfast down him, he was semi-conscious.
The two boys found themselves slacking on the trek to the portkey. Ron’s father, along with Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, were all up ahead, eager to start the day. Harry and Ron, on the other hand, trod along to the pace of a slug’s, grumbling about sleep deprivation and low energy. It was far too early in the morning to behave anyway else. That was, until an attractive boy Harry’s age showed up out of nowhere. Harry’s head raised like a meerkat from a burrow as he heard a low, soft tone greeting the rest of the group. He soon caught up with everyone else and smiled shyly to the blond-haired boy who looked as though he’d been birthed by the gods.
Harry watches as he greets Fred and George first, or rather, attempts to. George gives him a simple nod and walks away whilst Fred slaps his shoulder pretty forcefully in a sort of sympathetic, reserved greeting. He found it odd to see the twins act so unfriendly to someone.
“It’s Harry isn’t it?” the hot guy asks as he walks over to them.
“Um, yeah, hi.” Harry stammers, blushing furiously.
“I’m Cedric, we play Quidditch together?”
“We know who you are.” Ron interjects.
“And you must be Ron,” Cedric smiles politely, “I know your brothers quite well.”
Ron stares back, “yeah, I know.”
“Are you excited for the game?” he queries, sensing Ron’s hostility and slowly backing off.
Harry turns in confusion to Ron who’s now looking away at something else. He takes that as a sign he’s not going to answer, and chooses to address Cedric on his behalf. “Yeah, he’s been looking forward to it for ages. I didn’t even know I was going ‘til yesterday.”
“Oh, have you ever been to a World Cup before?” Cedric questions, a charming gleam in his eye that leaves Harry feeling as though he’s floating.
He shakes his head softly, “no, this is my first one.”
“I can show you around if you like? It can be quite scary at first if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Harry’s cheeks rush red and he smiles, “I’d love that.” He turns to Ron to see a sour expression on his face and hesitates, “would you excuse us for a minute?” Pulling Ron aside, Harry furrows his brows at him. “What’s wrong? Why do you look so mad?”
“Because you’re gonna leave me for Cedric, this was supposed to be our day out. And he used to hang out loads with George before -”
“Before what?”
“Nothing. Just watch your back around him, alright?”
“...Alright.”
“Did you know, my son is the only person to beat that Potter boy in a match? I am ever so proud of him, he gets it from me you know.” Amos brags to Arthur.
“Dad, that’s not fair, there were dementors at the match, that was the only reason I caught it.” Cedric modestly corrects him.
“That’s no excuse, they didn’t affect you that much, Ced. Shows your skill.” Amos tilts his nose up, reminding the golden trio of Malfoy when he’s bragging about his father's achievements and claiming them as his own.
Ron rolls his eyes and continues walking, the rest of the group following his lead, keeping conversation. Or rather, listening to Amos chew their ears off about his golden boy. “You know he was born with a halo over his head? It’s a really rare medical condition but from the moment I saw it, I knew he was meant for great things.”
“Dad, that was the placenta,” Cedric sighs. Hermione and Ginny were walking a little further back from Ron and Harry, but the boys could still hear their giggles.
“I bet it was wrapped around his throat,” Ron jokes as they track through the uneven ground, “some babies manage to strangle themselves in the womb.”
Harry glances back at the uncomfortable expression on Cedric’s face and feels an ounce of pity for him. Further back, George and Fred were talking quietly between themselves, Fred had a troubled look on his face.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Gred? He did break your heart.” Fred asks his twin, worried for him.
“I’m fine, Forge. I don’t blame him, it was my fault for getting attached, wasn’t meant to.” George mutters sullenly.
However, Harry couldn’t focus on the matter any longer as Mr Weasley announced that they had arrived.
“It’s a boot?” Harry questions quietly to Ron.
“Yeah mate, that’s the portkey.”
“What’s a portkey?”
“A portkey is another way of magical transport, Harry, it is an advanced charm that is placed upon an inanimate object.” Hermione interjects, happy as always to share her knowledge and safe in the comfort that Harry is always willing to listen.
“Well, grab on then,” Mr Weasley insists as everyone crowds around the old boot on the top of the hill. All at once, everyone began reaching for the boot, and Harry almost got lost in the idea of what a portkey actually was to realise he hadn’t grabbed it yet. Within a few minutes and after Mr Weasley checked his watch once more, they were off, it felt as if they were being yanked through a metal straw from their navel whilst being chopped into pieces in a blender. The trip felt simultaneously three hours and two seconds. It was, Harry decided within a few seconds, all around the worst form of magical transport he has tried. And just when he thought it was over, he heard Mr Weasley yelling at everyone to, “let go!”
He takes a look at the green grass looming far beneath him like the bottom of the ocean and thinks to himself he has to be joking. But when Ginny, Fred and George drop off like they were jumping into a swimming pool, he begins to second guess how serious this man was being. After the second time yelling at him, Cedric decides to take it into his own hands and grabs Harry’s arm, gently pulling him off of the boot. He grabs him as they both fall through the air and land softly on the earth beneath them. Harry decides his face is very house-proud, because lately it’s always resembling his Gryffindor colours. Cedric helps him up, gently pulling him by the hands.
“You alright, Harry?” he asks gently.
“Yeah, thanks.” Harry mutters softly. He lets go of Cedric the moment Mr Weasley and Amos land like gazelles gliding through a meadow.
“C’mon Harry, it’s this way.” Ron pulls him along, coming up from nowhere. Ron pulls him along in a seemingly desperate attempt at removing him from Cedric’s presence. Once he has deemed them far enough away, he starts talking a mile a minute about the two teams playing, telling Harry an almost endless amount of information about the players. With Ron talking to him, the walk to where the Weasley and Co were headed to the tent felt like mere minutes.
Mr Weasley is quick to put them to work trying to set up the tent and after a while, between the seven of them, they manage it. Once the tent is up, Harry wonders how everyone is supposed to fit only to walk in. The tent is clearly magical with being bigger on the inside, there are seven rooms fitted with beds; a kitchen area, with a full size dining table; and a living room surrounding a wood burner, complete with arm chairs and a sofa.
“Woah!” Harry gasps in awe. Even after all these years surrounded by magic, it never fails to surprise and astonish him.
Once they have settled in, Mr Weasley sends Ron and Harry to fetch water for dinner. Grabbing the bucket, they head out. Walking together, they spot tents of all sizes and shapes covering nearly every available patch of grass. It becomes quite easy to see who is rooting for which team, with the Irish supporters covered from head to toe in green, and the Bulgarian supporters in red and black. Merchants were selling over-priced merch to the excited fans. Rosettes in green and yellow or red and black, charmed to say the names of the players; scarfs and hats in the team’s colours. One stand offered face paint and another sold omnioculars, of which Harry brought one for each of the trio. Partying and cheering could be heard from all corners. Some were even going into the stadium to try and catch a glimpse at the players training. The two recognised a few people from Hogwarts, Seamus and Dean, Cho Chang, Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan, and Blaire Grey.
Arriving back, they see that Bill, Charlie and Percy had arrived and Mr Weasley was trying to start a fire with Muggle matches, much to the amusement of the other children. Ron hands the bucket of water to his dad.
After they had eaten, the group make their way to the stadium. They all clamber their way up the stairs as though hiking up Mount Everest, as far as their legs will carry them and still, when they look up, there’s a ways to go. At one point, as they’re climbing, Harry looks down and notices a small elven creature, instantly assuming it might be his old friend. “Dobby?” he queries out of curiosity, wondering what had happened to his friend ever since his second year at Hogwarts. Much to his surprise, they turn around only to look completely different to how he remembered.
“Did sir just call me Dobby?” the small creature asks in a high, pinchy tone.
“Oh, yes, sorry. I thought you were someone else,” Harry apologises as Ron and Hermione look to see the house elf stood at a height far below them. Neither of them had seen a house elf until now, and it was quite a shock.
“You must be Harry Potter,” she says with wonderment in her eyes, “Dobby has told me much about you. My name is Winky.”
“Has he? How is he?”
Winky looks down as though bearing the shame Dobby had gathered for himself, “Winky is afraid to tell you Dobby has made a bad name for himself.”
“What? How do you mean, Winky?” Harry requests, turning to look to his friends who were each now as curious as he was. They’d heard Harry speaking of Dobby after his encounter with Tom Riddle.
“Dobby wishes to be paid for his work,” she admits as though telling someone a dirty secret, “Winky insisted he settled down and found a nice family to work for, but he didn’t listen.”
Harry blinks. “Well, why shouldn’t he get paid for his work?”
Winky looks up sharply, “It’s not right! Not right! Not right! NOT RIGHT!” getting more and more worked up as she spoke; before long she was on the verge of tears and yelling.
“I’m sorry!” Harry cries back desperately trying to get her to stop crying, “I didn’t mean to offend you, really! I just don’t know too much about house-elves and the only one I’ve ever met is Dobby.”
Calming down the longer Harry spoke. Winky was eventually able to stop crying all together and able to say, “Winky understands, Harry Potter, Sir is forgiven.”
“May I ask what you are doing here?” Hermione politely inquires.
“Saving Master a seat, as ordered.”
“Right, well, I guess we should keep going?” Ron questions, looking at his friends before turning around and continuing to follow the rest of his family. Hermione and Harry nod at Winky before trailing along after Ron.
Before long, they had reached the top box and walked in, only for Ron and Harry to groan at the sight of Draco Malfoy.
“Arthur.” Mr Malfoy sniffs with distaste, “Gotten lost? This is the top box, you see.”
“Lucius.” Mr Weasley nods with barely concealed hatred, “Not at all. We are also sitting here.” With that, Arthur shoulders past Lucius and sits down. Most of his children follow along with him.
However, Ron, Harry and Hermione were stuck interacting with Draco, “Weasel, Potter, Granger. What a surprise to see you here, I didn’t think you could afford it Weasel,” he snarls in disdain.
“Sod off Malfoy. None of us want to deal with you and your greasy hair.” Ron sneers, the effect was negated by his red-flushed face.
“Honestly Malfoy, don’t you have anything better to do?” Hermione sighs with annoyance.
“Leave Ron alone, Malfoy.” Harry defends.
Malfoy throws a disparaging smile at the trio, “not that I even wanted to talk to you idiots.” With that, he storms off to his seat.
Hermione and Ron shake their heads and follow the rest of the Weasleys in sitting down. Harry makes a move to do the same but is stopped by a voice calling his name. Turning, he spots the Minister of Magic with some Bulgarian dignitaries.
“Harry! My dear boy, come, come, there are some people I wish for you to meet.” Cornelius Fudge speaks whilst waving him over.
“Minister.” Harry says politely. Reluctantly walking over to him, Harry notices the people he wants him to meet are the Bulgarian dignitaries who stare down at him as though he were a ketchup stain on a table.
“Harry, these are the big personalities of the Bulgarian Quidditch team,” he tells him with great pride, “I wanted to introduce them to Hogwart’s youngest elected seeker!”
Awkwardly, Harry glances from Fudge to the group who look like they want to be anywhere else than talking to the Minister. “Oh, it’s good to meet you,” he says kindly, to which they all look around and speak Bulgarian to each other in a confused tone. Harry turns back to the Minister feeling rather foolish.
Fudge’s mouth drops in bafflement, “one moment, my boy. I think-”
“Harry! There you are!” Fred calls, sounding relieved to see him.
Harry whips his head back to see the twins on their way up to rescue him from his fate. He lets out a breath of relief.
“Sorry everyone,” George apologises, “but we need Harry back.” With that they both grab an arm and gently steer him back to where the family was sat.
After Fred and George rescued him, the three of them were weiglayed on their way back to the seats by Ludo Bagman, who had already gotten a galleon from Mr Weasley for a bet on the game’s outcome. The twins, who were never one to turn down a bet, put all their savings (thirty-seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, and three Knuts) on Ireland to win, but the Bulgarian seeker, Viktor Krum, will catch the snitch. A few rows back, Winky is sitting on a seat, trembling in obvious fear.
Sitting down next to Ron and Hermione, Hermione hands him his pair of Omnioculars. Ron grumbles, still upset over the fact that Harry spent so much and slightly jealous over how much Harry had. Harry once again told him that it is his Christmas present for the next ten years to placate him. Harry then tells Hermione about Winky to which she complains about and calls her master cruel.
Without warning, the Bulgarian mascots, beautiful Veela; boundlessly alluring women, dance onto the pitch, drawing the gaze of every man and woman attracted to them; their charm so magically powerful that anyone who wanted them tried to throw themselves onto the pitch. Anyone who wasn't affected by their powers had the difficult task of holding the others back from plummeting to their deaths. Ron was held back by Mr Weasley, and Hermione gripped onto Harry’s arm when it looked like he wanted to join Ron in trying to swan dive from the Top Box.
The Irish mascots, Leprechauns, are next. Flying in on brooms, they shower the stands with gold coins, and setting off stunning firework displays of the team logo, the players themselves and their names, as well as the Irish flag. Ron, among many others, grabs fistfuls of coins and gives them to Harry to pay him back for the omnioculars. They circle around a couple more times throwing even more gold coins and setting off even more fireworks before departing the pitch.
The match begins with a horn sounding, both teams fly out and circle, waving to the fans as the commentator announces who is who. After Bagman has announced each member of the teams, he then introduces the referee, “And finally, all the way from Egypt, our referee, the acclaimed Hassan Mostafa!”. The referee then proceeded to get on his broom, kick open the crate as four balls went rocketing up into the sky, the Quaffle, two Bludgers and the Golden Snitch. He shoots off after the balls whilst giving a sharp blast from his whistle, starting the match. The players were off, soaring at a speed that Harry had never seen. Bagman had trouble saying anything other than their names with how quick the Quaffle was being passed back and forth.
Soon, Ireland was in the lead. The match, ten minutes in, was getting faster and more brutal, with the Bulgarian beaters stopping the Irish Chasers from using their tight knit plays. At this point, Bulgaria was finally able to score. Both Seekers go after the Snitch, diving straight down after it, just before he hits the ground Krum pulls sharply up, the Irish Seeker wasn't so lucky, hitting the ground with a thud that reverberated around the stadium. Bagman yelled about the Mediwitch running onto the pitch to examine the downed player.
After the time out, the players continue with skill Harry had never seen before. Fifteen minutes later saw Ireland in the lead with 130 - 10. The referee, attracted to the dancing Veela, was kicked in the shins by a Mediwitch. Embarrassed, he tried to kick the Veela from the pitch; this didn't go over well with the Bulgarians as they started to argue with him. As time went on both sides started playing more viciously, desperately trying to win. Bulgaria gets their third foul, and the Leprechauns form a giant hand and flip off the Veela. This royally pisses them off and so they launch themselves across the pitch at the Leprechauns and begin to throw fireballs at them. In their anger, they morphed, with their faces lengthening into sharp, cruel-looking bird heads with long scaly wings bursting from their backs. Ministry members run onto the field and start blasting the Veela trying to separate both groups of mascots. The Irish Seeker suddenly dives, having spotted the Snitch. Krum immediately follows, despite his nose pouring with blood. Both Seekers get closer and closer to the ground, the crowd is going crazy. Once again, the Irish Seeker fails to pull out of the dive and hits the ground. Krum catches the Snitch. Bulgaria now has 160 points. Ireland now has 170.
“Krum has caught the Snitch! Ireland have won!” Bagman bellows sounding shocked at the turn of events. Fred and George start cheering wildly, they have won their bet with Bagman.
Slowly, the stadium emptied. Ireland's fans were celebrating the win, partying in their section of the grounds. Mr Weasley and his little group head back to their tent for their own celebration. The sun has already fallen behind the trees once they reach the ground. Captivated by the brilliant night sky, Harry stops for a moment to see the stars. Without the light pollution out in the country, he could almost see the Milky Way. Ron and Hermione stop with him, and although Ron is unphased, Hermione smiles.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she smiles in wonder.
Fred, George and Ginny catch up with the trio as they continue walking, laughing about Bulgaria’s loss, but all in all, enjoying the moment. Most of the crowds are already up ahead, on their way home to get some rest after an eventful day out. But their euphoria slowly eases their guards down, for as they pour through the wide open fields, ear piercing screams begin to fill the atmosphere. Row by row, as though a domino effect, people begin taking off in sprints, thudding through the grassland like a stampede of wildebeest. In horror, more people take off, being too far back to understand the problem but running anyway for fear of being trampled. Mr Weasley catches up with the group and orders Fred and George to take Ginny and run. And before they know it, Harry, Ron and Hermione are bolting after them, struggling to keep up.
On their way towards safety, they pass Draco leaning against a tree turning a rosette slowly in his hands, almost inspecting it with a casual air around him. Looking up he spots the trio and smirks at them, “It’s the Death Eaters, the mob.” he drawls slowly, “if you want your precious mudblood to survive tonight, I would get out of here, it would be a shame to see her hung like the pathetic Muggles. Wouldn’t want scarhead here to cry over his girlfriend’s dead body.” With that he goes back to twisting the rosette, unbothered by the violence and chaos surrounding them. Ron doesn’t need to be told twice so grabs the other two and starts to run again.
As they’re running, Harry looks down and realises he’s dropped his wand. Out of fear of losing it, he stops and tries to find it, losing his friends in his effort. He drops to the ground and starts patting the grass, unable to see in the darkness. When he glances up again, he hears Hermione yelling his name, and Ron running after her. The two drop down on the ground.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asks, looking around now realising that the grounds were pretty much empty now.
“My wand, I think I dropped it,” he explains as Ron joins him in searching for it, using his wand as a torch. As they’re searching, a rustling in a nearby bush stops the three of them. They turn to see Winky moving with great difficulty, as though fighting a force that’s restricting her.
“There is bad wizards about,” she claims in a nervous voice. It alarms Hermione enough to stop the search.
“We can’t stay here,” she informs Harry in a panic, “we’ll go looking for it when it’s safe.” As she goes to stand up, the three of them are stopped in their tracks at the sound of a thunderous cry to the heavens of a spell they didn’t know.
“MORSMORDRE!” a man yells, casting a vast green luminescent light all the way up into the sky as though creating a new constellation. He acted as a god to the Earth’s skyline, erasing the clearless, starry night sky and leaving it with a danger sign for all those born from ‘unclean’ blood.
Harry, Ron and Hermione stare at it breathlessly. A huge dark mark, giant eagle eyes watching everyone lurking in the darkness, scuttling away from its gaze like insects. Bright enough to light the grounds and guide their way, and yet they still couldn’t see who’d cast the spell.
“Who’s there!” Harry calls out bravely, wishing to face whatever Death Eater might be standing out there, trying to scare innocent witches and wizards.
“Harry, stop. We need to go,” Hermione urges him, standing up once again and tugging on his arm with the same persistence of a toddler begging for ice cream.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Harry asks, unsure of the urgent fear running through his friend’s veins.
“It’s the dark mark, we need to go!” she hisses to him, causing him to jolt up to his feet, taking Ron with him. On the run again, a series of popping noises surround them in a circle, and the dark mark brightening up the sky is enough to see that there are around twenty wizards surrounding them, each with their wand out, ready to attack.
“Stop!” Harry cries in an attempt to spare themselves. When he realises they’re not going to listen, he calls to his friends instead, “duck!” As the wizards, in unison, produce the spell ‘stupefy’.
The sheer force of twenty spells ripples Harry’s hair like a gust of wind. They brace themselves for another blow before a familiar voice shouts, “STOP! That’s my son!” The air stands still in that moment as the trio look back up to find Mr Weasley racing over to the surrounding wizards and tearing through them to get to the children. “Ron, Harry, Hermione,” he utters in a calmer tone, “are you alright?”
“We’re fine dad.” Ron reassures his father. Despite his efforts, Arthur’s eyes are still wild and filled with fear for his family’s safety.
“What’s happened?” Hermione bravely asks. Although, there’s a small voice in her head telling her she already knows. That constant reminder of her bloodline and her family pokes at her head once more, the idea that simply because of her parentage, she wasn’t as good as those who were born pureblood. Draco’s voice echoes through her head, what he’d said about the Death Eaters targeting the Muggles.
“Who conjured the mark!” Crouch demands impatiently. Hermione automatically points to where they heard the booming voice from.
“The culprit might have apparated away immediately after.” Amos suggests sounding frustrated at wasting time dealing with children. Breaking off, a few wizards go to investigate where Hermione was pointing to, only to return carrying an unconscious Winky. Crouch flinched as if struck by an invisible hand; how had his elf gotten there?
“It’s carrying a wand.” Amos notes, sounding disgusted with the idea that a mere House Elf might have the idea to wield a wand. All eyes turn to Crouch as though already accusing him of something. He notices the looks immediately and begins directing his anger towards his disobedient House Elf.
“Someone revive her!” he barks. Amos springs into action, swiftly casting the spell. Watching impatiently as she comes round, he jumps straight into interrogating her. “Did you conjure the mark!”
“No, Master! Winky would never! Winky doesn’t know how!” the poor creature wails, begging with her watery eyes for her beloved master to believe her. Delirious from only just gaining back consciousness, she looks around at the change of settings and realises what must have happened.
“Wait, that’s my wand! Winky, how did you get my wand?” Harry asks, startled at seeing it clutched in her small fist. Relief swamps over him at the idea that he wouldn’t have to get a new wand after all.
“You must have conjured the mark you little brat!” Amos screams at Harry, spit flying everywhere in his rage. “I knew you were a no-goo-”
“Amos! Enough! Must I remind you that this is Harry Potter you’re accusing! It is safe to say he is the least likely culprit!” Arthur interrupts sternly, face red with rage at the idea of his colleague insulting one of his sons. Amos backs down, embarrassed and disappointed at losing his cool at the chosen one.
“Winky found it in the grass, after the bad man dropped it,” Winky quietly explains whilst trying to hand it back to the wand’s rightful owner. Before Harry has the chance to grab it, one of the ministry wizards takes it and casts ‘prior incanto’ on it.
“The wand was used to cast the spell,” she rumbles, tossing the wand to Harry.
“This means clothes, you disobedient elf!” Crouch roars, forcefully throwing his hat at the elf.
“Master! Please! Winky is sorry! Winky didn’t mean to!” wails Winky, distraught at the idea of becoming a free elf.
“I am no longer your master!” Crouch bellows with rage on his tongue. He glares at Winky who’s holding his hat in her hands as though it’s a sleeping bag.
“Now, is this really necessary Crouch? The elf was only trying to get to safety,” one of the more reasonable Ministry employees argues. Crouch just glares harder at Winky.
“Get out of my sight,” he growls in an undertone threatening enough for Winky to know that any more efforts to persuade him might lead to something worse than being abandoned. Instead, she begins to cry involuntarily, the very thought of being left without a family to serve being too much of a nightmare to her. She pops away presumably to wherever Dobby is staying currently, still gripping Crouch’s hat almost like a lifeline.
Harry, Hermione and Ron stare into the empty space Winky was just a moment ago. All three are horrified by the way Crouch reacted, and can no longer look him in the eye when he glares at them. Mr Weasley decides the best course of action is to remove the children from the situation and take them back to the tent so they can get some rest.
“Alright, let’s get back to the tent now. That’s enough excitement for today,” Mr Weasley mentions, ushering them back to their campsite. Uncomfortably, the three of them follow him back in stiff silence, glancing back to the wizards every now and then to get a sense of the reality of the situation.
Back in their rooms, as Harry is laying in bed watching the ceiling. He calls out to Ron in a bed a few feet away from his. “What do you think will happen to Winky now?” he ponders with regret decorating his tone. Partly, it almost felt like his fault Winky had been discontinued from her work. Afterall, it was his wand she had been holding at the time. If he hadn't dropped it, maybe she would still be working for a family.
Ron rests his arms behind his head nonchalantly and shrugs, “I shouldn’t worry about it, mate. There’s not much we can do about it now.” In an offhand comment, Ron asks Harry, “you know it wasn’t your fault, mate?”
“Yeah, I know Ron, doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty though.” Harry sighs. He drifts off into a heavy sleep, as though his heart felt burdened enough to seep into his unconscious.
When they awake again, noises of pots and pans are already clattering in the next room. Harry sits up and climbs out of bed, reaching for his glasses.
“Boys!” Arthur yells from the kitchen, “we’ve got to go! Portkey!” At that, they scramble out of bed in a rush to get dressed. Falling out of the tent, the carnage from last night is more obvious and startling in the daylight. A sombre mood settles over the group like a wet blanket as they quickly make the trek back to their portkey.
Arriving, they find a mouldy boot waiting for them. Reluctantly, Harry grabs on, dreading the next couple of minutes. Once again, they’re all spun off their feet and into the air like the blades of a helicopter. Harry finds that shutting his eyes helps calm his dizziness and by the time he’s opened them again, they’re already back at the Burrow, safe and sound. He hopes that this will be the last time he ever has to take a portkey somewhere.
Molly is waiting for them when they get back. Wringing her hands around her apron, pacing in front of the door she spots them coming up the drive and runs to meet them.
“I read what happened!” she screeches in panic. “Oh you poor things! Is everyone okay? What happened? Oh I knew you shouldn't have left!” She rushes towards her children and pulls them into her arms. “I told you it would be dangerous!” she reminds Arthur as he walks in after the kids, sighing as though he knew this would be coming.
“They’re all fine, Molly,” he insists as she makes her way round each and every one of the children to check up on them. They all smile at her and say they’re doing fine, yet she still acts as though the world has come crashing down.
“That’s the last time you go out on a trip without me,” she voices to her husband, “clearly it all goes up in flames when I’m not there.” Arthur just smiles and kisses her as all the kids file out of the kitchen and back up to their own rooms.
Harry looks to see if Hedwig has arrived back with a response from Sirius, but to no avail - he still hadn’t written back yet. Instead, he follows Hermione and Ron back up to Ron’s room, wishing to tell them what was on his mind. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he mentions earnestly in a low voice that commanded the attention of his friends. They turn to him with concern, “on Saturday morning, I woke up to my scar hurting again,” he expresses.
Hermione gasps, already knowing what follows after pain to Harry’s scar. She begins pacing, ranting about reporting it to Dumbledore, seeking pain relief from Madam Pomfrey, telling the Ministry. Harry glances to Ron who looks dumbfounded, “but, he wasn’t there, was he? You-Know-Who?” he asks.
“I’m sure he wasn’t. But I dreamt of him and Wormtail. I don’t remember all of it, but I know they were plotting to kill someone,” he informs them gravely.
“Kill someone!” Hermione widens her eyes, “do you know who?”
“Another wizard,” he answers, shuddering at the memory of his dream.
Ron shakes his head, trying to comfort his friends, “it was only a dream, Harry. Dreams don’t usually come true.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, attempting to convince himself, “you’re right. But...if it was just a dream, why did Death Eaters show up three days later? It seems like more than a coincidence, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but-”
“And remember what Professor Trelawney said last year?” he recalls, to which Hermione snorts.
“Oh Harry, you’re not really listening to what that fraud says, are you?” she cracks up in humour.
“You weren’t there, this time was different, like she’d been possessed or something.”
“Oh, come off it Harry. Why don’t we all go outside and have a game of Quidditch?” Ron suggests, wishing to forget about Voldemort again. For the first time in a long time, they’d been able to just enjoy themselves and watch the World Cup, then You-Know-Who and to ruin it again. It was infuriating not being able to just relax for once.
Hermione sighs at Ron for being so unsympathetic, but Harry agrees to a game and goes and grabs his broomstick.
The next day Harry was walking past the fireplace when it lit up green and Amos’ head appeared, yelling for Arthur.
“I’m here, I’m here. What is it Amos?” Mr Weasley pants, slightly out of breath.
“It’s Mad-Eye, he’s booby-trapped his bins again, was ranting and raving about people trying to kidnap him. Muggles set them off last night and when some employees went to sort them out, he didn't answer the door.”
“That’s not unusual though - this is Mad-Eye we’re on about.” Arthur responds dismissively.
“I know, it’s not. However, no-one could see him when they peered through the windows.” Amos stressed.
“Oh, that is a cause for concern,” Arthur remarks.
“The Ministry is wanting to keep this under wraps; if Rita gets her hands on this information, it spells trouble, he’s got a job prospect. Dumbledore’s doing him a favour in my opinion, I think, the man’s lost it completely, so we shouldn’t let him near ‘em.” Amos rants.
Arthur nods his head in thought, “you might be right about that one…”
“Not much we can do about it, though. This is Dumbledore we’re talking about.”
“Well, you know what they say. Dumbledore always has a reason for everything he does. So if he trusts him, so do I,” Arthur mentions in confidence. An afterthought of his wondered if maybe Dumbledore was getting old too, but he waved it away with a smile. Harry wondered who they were on about but didn’t have the opportunity to find out.
“Anyway, must dash, the wife is calling for lunch. Just thought I would update you, Arthur.”
“Alright, Amos, thank you for informing me.” With that Amos’ head disappeared from the flames. Arthur got up and wandered off.