Question: Would you rather this story end here and the sequel pick up from the train to Hogwarts? Or have it continue until the year is over with the sequel starting with The Order of the Phoenix. Let me know by comments!
Also, I want to thank everyone who has followed and kudos favorited and commented. Can we just agree that 2020 was a dumpster fire of year? Hopefully, 2021 will lead to more frequent updates, especially now that I have a working laptop (mine broke back in May, and writing and editing on a tablet is not easy). I'm writing two other stories, so updates should be every 3 weeks. one week for each story to get a chapter. Feel free to check them out as well.
All my love,
Ember
Sleep didn't come easy to Hermione. She spent the remainder of the night lost in the memory of the conversation outside the tent. Did Fred like her too? And how did she go from the smartest witch of her age to the love-sick girl? She wasn't sure which part was more confusing. Before she knew it, sunlight peeked through the tent doors, and Mr. Weasley was ushering them back to the portkey point where they took an old tire back to Stoatshead Hill and began the walk towards Ottery St. Catchpole.
"Mr. Weasley," Hermione asked, "when we get back, can I walk into town and use the telephone box and call my parents?"
"Not by yourself, Hermione. Have one of the boys walk with you. From now on, if we have to leave the property, it's in pairs," said Mr. Weasley. "Understand?"
"I'll walk her," Ron said.
"I might send Bill or Charlie with you as well," Mr. Weasley added, "just in case."
Hermione nodded. As they turned the corner and the burrow came into view, a cry echoed through the lane. Mrs. Weasley, who had looked to have been waiting for them in the yard, came running, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and blotchy, a copy of the Daily Prophet cinched in her hand. She flung herself into Mr. Weasley's arms, sobbing. As the paper fell to the ground, the headline was clear for all to see: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black and white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
"Thank goodness you're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered, looking at all of them with bright puffy red eyes, "you're all alive...oh my babies..." She lunged at her children, pulling them into a hug, her small arms somehow stretching around all 7 of her children. "We've all be shouting about OWLs and jobs," she wailed, "It's all I've thought about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and we had been fighting over nonsense!"
"Come on, now, dear, we're all okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, "Why don't we go and have some tea?" He began leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says. . . ."
When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.
"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders . . . culprits not apprehended . . . lax security . . . Dark wizards running unchecked . . . national disgrace . . . Who wrote this? Ah . . . of course . . . Rita Skeeter."
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans —"
"Do us a favor, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."
"I'm mentioned," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.
"Where?" spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"
"Not by name," said Mr. Weasley. "Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.' Oh really," said Mr. Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods . . . well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."
He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."
"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person." He bustled out of the kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley looked most upset.
"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"
"I've got to go, Molly," said Mr. Weasley. "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off. . . ."
"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?"
"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "No . . . no, there hasn't been any post at all."
Hermione looked at Harry, a question in her eyes. He looked at her and Ron before asking, "Is it ok if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"
"Yeah...I will too," said Ron at once, "Hermione?"
"Yes," she added quickly. She glanced at Fred and smiled before marching up out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"What's going on, Harry?" said Ron, the moment they had closed the door.
"I need to tell you guys something, I wanted to tell you when I first got her, but I haven't been able to get you two alone."
"Well, whose fault is that?" Ron muttered, glancing at Hermione.
"Oh, come off it, Ron," Hermione frowned. "I'm not having this stupid fight with you anymore. Harry, what's wrong?"
"On Saturday, when I woke up, my scar was hurting again."
Hermione and Ron's reactions were almost too predictable. Hermione gasped and began making suggestions at once, mentioning several reference books and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.
"How is it possible? He couldn't be there, right? I mean- last time your scar hurt was because You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts, right?"
"He couldn't have been there," said Harry, "But I was dreaming about him. Well, him and Pettigrew and they were talking about killing someone but-"
"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."
"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it? . . . My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."
"Don't — say — his — name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.
"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. "At the end of last year?"
Hermione's fear vanished as she let out a derisive snort. "Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"
"You weren't there," said Harry. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance — a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again . . . greater and more terrible than ever before . . . and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him . . . and that night Wormtail escaped."
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.
"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"
"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."
"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"
"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.
"But we don't know where Sirius is . . . he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably. "Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days."
"Yeah, I know," said Harry, but there was a leaden feeling in his stomach as he looked out of the window at the Hedwig-free sky.
"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry," said Ron. "Come on — three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play. . . . You can try out the Wronski Feint. . . ."
"Is Quidditch a good idea right now?" asked Hermione, "We haven't slept and were all stressed and worried."
"Quidditch is always a good idea," Ron scoffed.
"I'll grab my Firebolt," said Harry. "Hermione, why don't you go let Fred and George know what we're doing? You can be the referee?"
"Why would i-" she began before she saw the smirking smile on Harry's face. "I'll go let them know to meet you by the broom shed."
Hermione raced down the stairs to Fred and George's room. "Hey," she poked her head in; both boys were lying face down on their beds. "Harry and Ron want to get a quidditch game going. They want to do three on three."
"You gonna play Granger?" George mumbled. "I'd pay good money to see you fly a broom."
"Not on your life," she said. "I'll watch with Ginny, maybe read a book."
"You know Granger," Fred said, sitting up, "I think I'm going to make it my life's mission to get you on a broom."
"You two coming or what? We still need to get Bill and Charlie on board."
"Nap or Quidditch?" George said, his face still buried in his blankets.
"Always Quidditch," Fred laughed.
"Good point."
Hermione sat below in the garden laughing with Ginny as the boy flew overhead, the darkness of the last 24 hours fading away. Hogwarts was only two weeks away, and she wondered just what new adventures this year would bring.
Bolded sections from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 10: Mayhem at the Ministry