Chapter 2
Pansy Parkinson barely registered the loud POP that echoed throughout her room. The urge to sleep for the rest of the day was far too strong, as her dreams were filled with familiar bright green eyes and unruly dark hair. She did, however, register the prodding of a long and bony finger at her side that raised her from her heavy sleep. As she groggily opened her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of a small, wrinkled, and leathery face. The sight of two brown eyes the size of small crystal balls only inches from her face shocked Pansy enough to almost jump out of her violet satin sheets and off the side of her four poster bed.
"Miss Pansy, Master Frederik requests your presence in his study," came a high-pitched voice.
"Ugh, Tippy back up, you frightened me. What time is it?" Pansy said while rubbing her grey eyes.
"It is eight in the morning, Miss Pansy. I am sorry for scaring Miss Pansy. I will punish myself," Tippy said before walking to the wall.
Pansy scrambled out of bed and grabbed the house-elf's head before it could hit the wall.
"No, no, no. You don't need to do that, Tippy, just don't stand right next to my bed again."
"Thank you, Miss Pansy," Tippy said with tears beginning to gather in her large eyes.
"It's fine, Tippy. Please go back to my father and tell him I will be with him after I shower and dress."
"No. I am sorry, Miss Pansy, but Master Frederik was most adamant you meet with him right away."
"Of course," Pansy said with a loud sigh, "Thank you, Tippy."
Pansy walked to her father's office, her slippers slapping against the mahogany floor and creating a light echo in the stone corridor. While not as large and imposing as Malfoy Manor, the Parkinson Chateau in Lorraine was grand enough to display the Parkinson family's status as one of the "Sacred Twenty-Eight." Unlike most of the other twenty-seven families that sought to isolate themselves from muggles, the Parkinson family peacefully coincided with the muggle populace of Lorraine. Such coexistence caused other pure-blood families to question the Parkinson's pure-blood pride, which was exhibited by the many banners of the Parkinson crest, two crossed willow wands encircled by a silver diadem, that dotted the chateau.
Pansy came to the large and imposing mahogany doors to her father's study and lightly knocked.
"Come in Pansy," a deep monotone voice rang out from behind the doors.
Pansy entered the study slowly, not knowing why her father had called her to meet with him. In all her thirteen years, Pansy noticed that her father's fifteen by fifteen-meter study had never changed. As always, her father sat at his ornately carved bocote desk in front of a violet and navy rose window. A silver candle-lit chandelier hung from the high ceiling, lighting what the window could not. On the right wall was the Parkinson family tapestry that dated back to the 1600's.
"There you are, Pansy. Sit down, please," Frederik Parkinson, a lean man in his forties with jet-black hair, said in his regular monotone business voice.
"What is the reason for this meeting, father," Pansy asked in her own monotone voice.
"You have received an invitation," Frederik said, "from the Malfoys."
"An invitation? Where to?"
"The Quidditch World Cup."
"The Quidditch World Cup?" Pansy asked, attempting to steel her features from showing the wide smile that threatened to split her face at the thought of going to the Quidditch World Cup.
"Can you contain your enthusiasm or do I have to cast a silencing charm on you?" Frederik said with a grin on his face.
"Very funny father," Pansy said with an annoyed tone.
"Pansy, this is very important. I know that you are excited at the prospect of going to the Quidditch World Cup, but this is an invitation from the Malfoys. There is an ulterior motive," Frederik warned with a serious tone in his voice.
"You and mother have taught me how to maneuver pure-blood politics. I know not to take anything at face value, especially with a family like the Malfoys," Pansy voiced with a hint of pride.
"Yes we did, and you have learned a lot," Frederik said with pride also in his voice, "this presents an opportunity to show me what you have learned and apply it to the family creed…"
"The safety of the Parkinson line above all else. I know it, father, you practically ingrained it into me," Pansy said dramatically.
Frederik stared at Pansy with a raised eyebrow before saying, "Take a look at the family tapestry and tell me how many burn marks there are."
Pansy looked to her right and answered, "three."
"Three burn marks over the course of over three hundred years. Do you know what most pure-bloods do when they see that," Frederik said matter-of-factly, "They congratulate me because they think those men and woman deviated from pure-blood ideals. Our family really could not care less about pure-blood ideals. The only way to get disowned from this family is to act against our creed. The Parkinsons have always been survivors, and if anyone's actions threaten this family, they are no longer part of it."
"I know all of this, father. Why are you telling me this?" Pansy questioned.
" I am telling you this because you need to know the importance of keeping this family safe if you are going to lead it someday. As I said before, this is an opportunity to show me that you can keep the family safe. Now, with all of your studies almost finished, tell me why you think the Malfoys have sent this invitation, and what you can do while keeping the family safe," Frederik said as he rested his elbows on his desk and looked at Pansy expectedly.
Pansy composed herself before beginning in her monotone business voice, "The Malfoys are an old pure-blood family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and are very influential. Lucius Malfoy is on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, is close to Cornelius Fudge, and has a seat on the Wizengamot. He is also driven by power. Draco Malfoy is in my year and also in Slytherin. With all due respect, our family is not as influential as the Malfoys, but we do have a seat on the Wizengamot and a large fortune in Gringotts. Due to my proximity to Draco and our family's influence, this could be a move by Lucius Malfoy to test Draco's compatibility with me for a possible marriage contract. Also, because of the Malfoy family's money and stability, it could be beneficial to act compatibly with Draco. They would expect me to jump at the chance."
"That is possible. What would you do?" Frederik interrupted.
After moments of contemplation, Pansy replied, "Play the part of their expectations."
Harry felt as though he just fell asleep when he woke up to being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley.
"It's time to wake up, Harry, dear," she whispered before moving away to do the same with Ron.
Harry rubbed his weary eyes, felt around for his glasses, and put them on. He sat up and watched Mrs. Weasley attempt to wake up Ron only for him to grumble from his face down position. Harry grinned at the antics of his best friend before he looked out the window to see that it was still dark out. The tangle of sheets at the foot of the mattress began to move and reveal the red hair and freckled faces of Fred and George.
"'S' time already?" George grumbled while stretching.
"What time is it?" Harry asked.
"It is five thirty, Harry, dear. So wake up Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley said.
The four of them dressed in silence, too tired to talk before they headed downstairs to the kitchen. In the kitchen sat Mr. Weasley checking a sheaf of tickets and wearing an old golfing sweater and baggy jeans that were being held up by a leather belt.
"Where's Bill, Charlie, and Percy," Fred yawned.
"They are Apparating, so they are having a bit of a lie in," Mrs. Weasley said as she began pouring porridge into the bowls laid out on the table.
"Lucky them," George said, "Percy's been Apparating downstairs every morning just to prove he can, git."
There were footsteps coming down the stairs and Hermione and Ginny came into the kitchen, both drowsy and rubbing their eyes.
"Why do we have to be up so early," Ginny asked as she plopped down onto a chair.
"We have a bit of a walk ahead of us," Mr. Weasley said.
"We are walking to the Quidditch World Cup?" Harry asked.
"Walk? Oh no, that's miles away. We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it is difficult for a bunch of wizards to be in one place without attracting muggle attention. We have to be careful about how we travel," Mr. Weasley said.
Minutes later, the five Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione set out after Mrs. Weasley confiscated many of Fred and George's well-hidden inventions. The moon was still out and there was a cold chill in the air as the group began their walk.
The seven of them trudged their way towards the village of Ottery St. Catchpole under the faint light of the moon. Only the shifting of pebbles under their footsteps broke the silence of the early morning. The dark sky slowly lightened as the group made their way through the village, the ink-black darkness becoming a dark blue. The climb up Stoatshead Hill was the most difficult part of the trek, as each one in the group stumbled in hidden rabbit holes or tufts of grass. By the end of the climb, Harry had a sharp pain in his chest and his hands and feet were freezing.
"Well, we're here," Mr. Weasley said while lightly panting, "now we just need to find the portkey."
They spread out, searching for the portkey. Only a couple of minutes had passed without any of them finding it before a loud, booming voice rang out.
"Over here, Arthur. We've got it."
"Amos," Mr. Weasley yelled back, smiling as he walked over to the man who had shouted.
The rest followed and came upon the sight of Mr. Weasley shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a short brown beard who was holding a muddy old boot.
"Kids, this is Amos Diggory," Mr. Weasley said, "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I believe you know his son, Cedric?"
Cedric Diggory was a handsome boy of around seventeen. He was going into his seventh year of Hogwarts and was captain and seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team.
"Are all these yours, Arthur," Mr. Diggory asked as he gestured to the rest of the group.
"Only the redheads," Arthur replied, "This is Hermione, Ron's friend, and Harry, another friend…"
"Merlin's beard," Mr. Diggory exhaled, "You're Harry Potter?"
"Er, yeah, pleased to meet you, sir," Harry said quietly, uncomfortable with the way Mr. Diggory was staring at him.
"Do you know whether we are waiting for anyone else, Amos," Mr. Weasley asked.
"No, the Lovegoods are already there, and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," Mr. Diggory said.
"Well, it's about time. We'd better get ready," Mr. Weasley said.
Mr. Weasley looked around and saw Harry and Hermione's confused faces.
"All you need to do is touch the portkey, a finger will do," he said.
The nine of them gathered around the old boot, which was rather difficult due to their bulky packs.
"One," Mr. Diggory said as he kept his eyes on his watch, "two, three…"
All of a sudden, Harry felt as if a hook had set behind his navel and began pulling. His feet began to leave the ground and he felt Ron and Hermione's shoulders bumping into his. All of them began speeding forward, and Harry felt as if a monsoons wind was blowing straight at him. Harry's finger stuck to the boot as though it was glued to it and then his feet slammed onto the ground, causing him to collapse onto his side. Everyone other than Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric were in the same position as Harry. Mr. Diggory held out his hand to Harry and he gratefully grabbed it.
"There you are Mr. Potter," Mr. Diggory said as he hefted Harry onto his feet, "Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup. You know, Cedric has told me that you are quite the seeker. Who knows, you could be playing for the Cup one day. Nonetheless, I expect great things from you."