Chapter Twenty-One
YEAR FOUR
It was the summer before Hermione's fourth year at Hogwarts and she was with Ginny at the Burrow. They were laid head to toe on Ginny's small bed, chatting about the holidays and what they were looking forward to most about going back to Hogwarts.
When the redhead skilfully turned the conversation to boys, Hermione started to zone out and gaze around the bedroom. It was tiny, but very cosy, and had an incredible view over the Weasley's wild garden. Whilst Ginny lamented the pink walls she had chosen as a child ("it clashes dreadfully with my hair!"), Hermione felt comforted by its innocence.
Ginny suddenly paused her discussion of who was more dateable, Dean Thomas or Seamus Finnigan, and sat bolt upright. "Something's happening downstairs," she announced.
Hermione couldn't hear anything but nodded anyway; having come from a family of six boys, Ginny had picked up some impressive skills, heightened hearing being one of them.
They both got out of bed, crept down the rickety staircase, and quietly stepped into the kitchen. The two girls beamed as they glimpsed the new arrival and Hermione couldn't help noticing a distinct blush creep into Ginny's cheeks when Harry smiled back at her.
"Tell me what, Arthur?" said Mrs Weasley, in a dangerous sort of voice.
"It's nothing, Molly," mumbled Mr Weasley. "Fred and George just… but I've had words with them."
"What have they done this time? If it's got anything to do with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes –"
Hermione decided this was the point to cut in and save her two friends. "Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" she suggested.
"He knows where he's sleeping," Ron replied. "In my room, he slept there last –"
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione tried again, "we can all go."
"Oh," said Ron, finally cottoning on. "Right."
"Yeah, we'll come too," George chipped in.
"You stay where you are!" snarled Mrs Weasley.
Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen and they, Hermione, and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and headed up the stairs towards Ron's bedroom. It was three floors above Ginny's, right at the top of the house, and yet shouts from the kitchen still echoed up to them.
The only way Hermione could describe Ron's room was, chaotic. Almost every surface was covered in merchandise from his favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, which rendered the entire room orange. It was especially cramped as four extra beds had been squeezed into the already small bedroom; all the Weasleys had returned to the Burrow, ready for the Quidditch World Cup final tomorrow.
Everyone was relieved to finally arrive at the campsite the next day, it had been a stressful morning. Mrs Weasley noticed the twins sneaking their new creation, Ton-Tongue Toffees, out of the house and had severely admonished them.
Luckily, the group still made it to the Portkey on time and were now trudging up a misty field between long rows of tents. They had reached the very edge of a wooded area and, here, was an empty space with a small sign hammered into the ground which read 'Weezly'.
"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr Weasley, happily. "Right, we'll be putting these tents up by hand, no magic allowed! Shouldn't be too difficult... Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"
In the end, Hermione helped Mr Weasley with the poles and pegs and, though he was more of a hindrance than a help because he got thoroughly over-excited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.
Harry gave her a quizzical look as they both wondered how everyone was going to fit. Hermione shrugged and followed a crawling Mr Weasley through one of the tent flaps. She felt her jaw drop and gasped as she walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-roomed flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen.
"It reminds me of the TARDIS," she whispered to Harry.
After a quick tour of the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', Hermione, Harry, and Ron set off across the campsite in search of water. They made their way slowly through the tent rows, staring eagerly around. Wizarding families with small children were everywhere and salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise.
Despite her initial hesitations, Hermione was so pleased that she had agreed to attend the event. Nevertheless, she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed she hadn't spotted Draco anywhere yet. Although he hadn't mentioned anything, she imagined it wasn't something he or his family would miss.
The trio had hardly any time back at the tent after returning with the water before a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods. At once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.
"It's time!" breathed Mr Weasley. "Come on, let's go!"
They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Hermione overheard Mr Weasley behind her telling Harry it could seat one hundred thousand people.
Upon showing their tickets, the group clambered up numerous stairs and eventually found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium. The Weasleys began filling the first two rows of seats whilst Hermione sat between Harry and Ron in the second row.
The atmosphere was incredible. Hermione could barely take everything in as she gazed out over the pitch. Directly opposite their box was an enormous blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it advertising a variety of wizarding products Hermione had never even heard of before.
Realising that Harry was talking to someone, Hermione dragged her eyes away from the sights in front of her and spun around in her seat. There, in the furthest seat to the back, was a tiny house-elf curled up in the chair wearing a tea-towel draped like a toga. They learnt that the little creature was called Winky and hated heights, Hermione felt incredibly sorry for her. Winky eventually hid her face again and they turned back to skim through their programmes.
The box filled gradually around them over the next half an hour. Hermione wasn't paying attention to the new arrivals until she heard: "ah, and here's Lucius!"
Quickly turning again, Hermione saw Draco edging towards the seat behind hers, his parents in tow. With so many others in close proximity, the two had to let their eyes express the excitement at being reunited. She glanced towards Lucius whose own cold eyes were narrowed towards Mr Weasley.
"Good Lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"
Lucius didn't wait for a response; he had already turned to glare at Hermione. She went slightly pink but took comfort in Draco being so close and stared determinedly back at him.
"Slimy gits," Ron muttered, as he, Hermione, and Harry turned to face the pitch again.
Next moment, Ludo Bagman had charged into the box. "Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming.
"Ready when you are, Ludo," replied Fudge.
Whipping out his wand, Ludo directed it at his own throat. He said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
Hermione lay in her bunk that night replaying every incredible moment of the match. She wasn't as enthralled as the others about all the different moves (wonky what?), but even she could appreciate the skill involved and dance-like quality with which the players moved.
She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard Mr Weasley shouting urgently for them all to get up. Hermione and Ginny shared a worried look and got quickly dressed.
Stepping outside, they saw that not far from their tent was a crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upwards. Their heads were hooded, their faces masked, and high above them floated four struggling figures that were being contorted into grotesque shapes. Hermione gasped as she realised they were Muggles.
On the advice of Mr Weasley, she, Harry, and Ron rushed towards the woods and began to regroup when Ron swore behind them.
"Tripped over a tree-root," he said angrily, getting to his feet again.
"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," a voice drawled from the shadows.
Hermione knew who it was immediately and spun around. Draco was standing alone nearby them, leaning casually against a tree. He looked utterly relaxed to anyone who didn't know him as well as she did. Hermione could sense his anxiety by the tightness of his jaw and darkness in his eyes.
"Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"
Draco nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione said defiantly.
"Granger, they're after Muggles," he replied, his eyes imploring her to understand. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around… they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."
"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled.
Draco was really starting to lose his patience. Did these two morons not realise the danger that Hermione was in? He was so close to just pulling her into his arms and carrying her as far away as possible. Becoming desperate, he knew what he had to say next to get them moving. "Have it your own way, Potter," Draco spat. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."
Despite the pain he saw in her eyes, it was worth it to keep her safe.