He shivered, pulling the blankets closer as best he could. In spite of the heat emanating from the fire, the house was drafty, and he was far too susceptible as he was. He tried to shift around in the chair, he was uncomfortable, and far too tired from the long journey. The blanket wasn't giving him the warmth he sought, and with a wave of his hand, he gestured towards the fire. He felt his chair scotch forward, and he felt himself relax somewhat as the heat of the flames washed over him. That was much better. He shifted again, and fought off a yawn, it wouldn't do to show weakness, not when he was in the presence of others. It was far too early, and he knew that soon, he would need to rest, but that would have to wait. There was more that needed to be done, plans that needed to be finalized and events that needed to be put into place.
"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."
He snarled at the voice, and not for the first time, cursed that of all the pitiful creatures to come to his aid it had to be him. The man had his uses to be sure, but he was little more than a fool. But, he would do as he had always done, and make do with the best he had. He just reminded himself that soon, he would not need anyone to help him ever again. Soon, he would be free again.
"Later," He sneered, and he gazed around. He didn't see his companion anywhere, she wasn't curled near the fire as she ought to have been, "Where, is Nagini?"
"I-I don't know, My Lord." His companion whimpered, "I believe…that she set out to explore the house."
He hummed, "You will need to milk her before we retire, Wormtail," he said, "I will need feeding in the night, the journey tired me greatly,"
"My Lord," Wormtail simpered, "May I ask how long we are to stay here?"
"A week," He said, "Perhaps longer. This house is moderately comfortable and we cannot proceed with the plan yet, not until the World Cup is finished, it would be foolish to act too soon."
"The-the World Cup, My Lord?" Wormtail asked in a quivering voice, "Forgive me, My Lord, but I do not understand, why would we wait until the World Cup is over?"
He snarled, as white hot fury washed over him. How dare the simpering fool question him,
"Because, you simpleton, at this very moment wizards are pouring in from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry will be on duty, looking out for any sign of unusual activity, and furthermore, the Cup is the perfect place to send out our call, I already have someone loyal prepared to send out the sign."
"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail asked hesitantly. He paused, was there perhaps a note of trepidation in his follower's voice,
"Certainly, I am determined," He hissed, and Wormtail flinched, and he could see the small man muster what little courage he had in him,
"It-it could be done, without the boy, My Lord," Wormtail whispered,
He turned his full attention to the small man, "Without Harry Potter? I see…Do I detect a hint of loyalty to your former friends, Wormtail? Are you perhaps seeking to protect the boy that caused me my ruin?"
"My Lord," Wormtail hastened, "I do not speak out of concern for the boy, he means nothing to me, have I not proven myself your most loyal of followers these past months? It-it is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard, any other, it could be done so much more quickly! Harry Potter, he is protected your Lordship, and I do not just mean Dumbledore, there are others-"
"There is none who can stand in the way of Lord Voldemort!" He snapped, and were it not for his need for the man, Voldemort would have killed the sad little man where he stood, "It is of no concern how protected he is, the plan will work, and Harry Potter will be brought to me. It must be him. I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you and I will not be doing so again. This matter is closed, I will use Harry Potter, and no other. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, you do not wish to see me returned sooner, you simply wish to be out of my company. You are regretting your decision to come to me,"
"That is not true My Lord," Wormtail wailed, "I came to you, me! No one else! I came to you when no others did,"
"Simply because you had nowhere else to go!" Voldemort hissed,
"But I have proven my use to you, My Lord, did I not prove myself further when I brought to you Bertha Jorkins?"
"A happy accident, no doubt," Voldemort sneered, "But I cannot deny her use. Without her, I never would have been able to put together my plan," He heard something from the hall, "Be silent now, I believe I hear Nagini." He watched as Wormtail recoiled in fear as he scampered away from the chair. Voldemort felt something heavy slither up his his chair, and felt the cool head of his companion approach his ear.
She hissed in his ear, saying words that only he could hear. His eyes widened in amusement, and he grabbed Wormtail's attention,
"Nagini brings me interesting new, Wormtail," Voldemort said, "According to Nagini, the old Muggle caretaker is standing just outside this very room, listening to everything we say," He heard as Voldemort strode quickly to the door to the room, and flung it aside, "No need to be rude Wormatil, where are your manners, invite him in…" He heard Wormtail drag the Muggle inside, "You heard everything, Muggle?" Voldemort asked,
"What's that you're calling me?" Demanded the Muggle, and Voldemort almost commended him for his sense of bravery in the presence of Lord Voldemort, "You heard everything, Muggle?" said the cold voice.
"What's that you're calling me?" said the Muggle defiantly,
"I am calling you a Muggle," Voldemort said coolly. "It means that you are not a wizard."
"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said the Muggle, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You're planning murder, or-or something. And I'll tell you this too," he added, seemingly coming to a sudden inspiration, "My wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back-"
"You have no wife," said Voldemort, very quietly. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows…he always knows…"
"Is that right?" said the Muggle roughly. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"
Voldemort chuckled, "But I am not a man, Muggle," He said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the fire, "I am much, much more than a man. However…why not? I will face you…Wormtail, come turn my chair around." Wormtail let out a whimper. "You heard me, Wormtail!" Slowly, Wormtail turned the chair around, and Lord Voldemort came face to face with the defiant Muggle. The moment the Muggle saw him, the walking stick he was holding dropped to the floor in a clatter, and the man let out a scream of terror. Voldemort raised his wand, cackling in delight at the horror on the Muggle's face,
"Avada Kedavra!" He roared, and the room became bathed in green light.
BREAK
Harry jerked awake, his breathing coming in short gasps. He reached a shaking hand up to his forward and wiped away sweat from his forehead, and then he pressed his hand to the scar on the right side of his forehead. The flesh was burning as though touched with a fiery poker, and he reached out with a fumbling hand and grasped for his glasses, and thrust them onto his face and his blurry bedroom came into focus.
Unlike the twelve years years before, the bedroom was not in Number Four Privet Drive. For one, the room was considerably larger. There was a large desk in one corner, with a number of large texts, bits pf parchment, and empty ink wells strew across its surface. In another corner, was a large truck, with flowing robes spilling out from the inside. Propped up against the wall beside the trunk, was a beautiful broomstick; a gift from his godfather. By the wall nearest his bed, was an enormous dresser and a large mirror. On the nightstand beside his bed, were two photographs. The first was of a man and a woman, Harry's parents, they were smiling up at the frame and laughing. The second photograph, was of Harry and Sirius, taken by Remus Lupin, on the front steps of the modest home Dumbledore had provided.
Harry scrambled out of bed, and walked over to his dresser and peered at his expression in the mirror. A skinny-looking boy of fourteen stared back at him. He was healthier than he had been previously, over a month of proper and consistent nourishment and exercise was finally starting to take effect, as Harry had put on some healthy weight, making him look a far sight better than the twiggy-looking boy he had been. His hair, as always, shaggy and unkept, was sticking up at odd angles from his sleep. His green eyes were staring back at him, his eyes jumping to the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He ran his fingers over the skin, the burning had stopped, but there was still a lingering tingling sensation.
He took a deep, shaking breath, and closed his eyes. He was cold, and feeling slightly feverish. His shirt was sticking to his back and he tried to remember the details of the strange dream. Had it been real? It seemed real. And he couldn't believe that he was imaginative enough to conjure the dream from nothing, and his scar had only ever burned like that once before, and that had been when Voldemort had been nearby. But that was impossible, Sirius had assured him that the house was protected, and there was no way Voldemort or Wormtail could know where they were.
He needed fresh air, so he strode over to the window and thrust it open. A cool summer breeze washed over his face, and he stared out into the darkness, just making out the shapes of the dark trees of the forest behind the house. Sirius' new home was a small cottage on the edge of the Forest of Dean, near Monmouth. It was a modest two-story building, made of old brickwork, that had been beautifully restored. Apparently it had once belonged to some old wizard by the name Antioch, before it had been abandoned. It was warm, and comfortable, and truly felt like home.
The summer had truly been the best he'd ever experienced. He and Sirius had fallen into routine easily enough. They were taking things comfortably slow, as Sirius was still in the process of recovering, but Harry enjoyed the simplicity of simply being able to sleep in, do his homework at the dinner table, take his Firebolt for a spin, and just lazing around on the couch. Life with Sirius was a comfortable one, and for the first time, Harry was somewhat not looking forward to going back to Hogwarts. As much as he loved the school, and for as much as it had been his home for three years, life with Sirius was happy. He enjoyed hearing stories about his parents as children, enjoyed hearing about the kinds of trouble Sirius and his father had gotten into. It was incredible, between Sirius, and the book of stories from Madam Bone, that Harry had finally finished, Harry finally felt as though he knew his parents. Harry didn't quite know how to describe the feeling, but it was relieving to hear about the times his father had gotten into trouble, or about how much of a temper his mother had. Since entering the Wizarding World, Harry had only ever heard good things about his parents, with the exception of Snape but Harry didn't count him. To hear stories that humanized them, that made his parents out to be more than just two-dimensional paragons of good who had sacrificed themselves, was a strange comfort to Harry. But he was all the more bitter to the fact that he never had a chance to experience them first hand.
Harry's mind went back to what he'd seen. It had to have been a dream. There was no way he could have seen something happening so far away. And why had he been seeing things from Voldemort's point of view? Harry couldn't possess people, or see through someone else's eyes. Shaking his head, Harry tried to drive the image of the old Muggle falling to the floor from his mind. It had been a nightmare, and nothing more.
His head turned, and he looked towards the door to the hall leading to Sirius. He had half a mind to wake his godfather and talk to him. He knew the man would want to know, but Harry wasn't going to wake him up, not for a simple nightmare. Sirius had a difficult enough time sleeping, and he didn't need Harry waking him up for something as silly as a nightmare. His godfather tried to hide it, but Harry knew that Sirius was doing his best to hide his lingering effects from his imprisonment in Azkaban from Harry. In the first few weeks they had lived together, Harry would be jolted awake in the middle of the night by the screams of Sirius, caught in the middle of a terrible nightmare. Sirius had since taken precautions to make sure Harry didn't hear the man's night-terrors, but Harry was certain they still continued. He could see it in the dark circles under Sirius' eyes.
No, he wouldn't bother Sirius with this, not yet at least. If something similar happened again, Harry would say something. Knowing there would be no going back to sleep for some time, Harry walked over to his desk and sat down. There were several letters stacked on top of the nearest book, and Harry pulled the letters towards him. They were messages from his friends. Ron had written him weekly, asking about Sirius' place, and sharing his happiness that Harry finally had a home of his own. Around Harry's birthday, Ron had sent the greatest gift of all, apparently his father had managed to secure tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. It was happening the following week, and England had managed to secure the prestige of hosting the event. As a birthday gift to Harry, Sirius had informed him that they too would be going to the event. Apparently Minister Fudge, in an effort to make himself look better to the press, had offered Sirius seats in the top box with him for the event. Of course, Sirius had accepted, and so it was decided that Harry would spend the next few days at the Weasley's and meet up with Sirius at the campsite for the event.
Harry was certain that he only agreed to mollify Mrs. Weasley. Harry knew that the woman was only trying to look out for Harry, which he appreciated immensely, but she had taken to writing Harry more frequently than either Ron or Hermione. Apparently she was still leery about Sirius' innocence, and she constantly inquired about Harry's wellbeing, but he was growing a little tired of the constant mother-henning.
Hermione had written as well, and apparently the Weasley's had extended an offer to take her to the World Cup too, because she was planning to arrive to the Weasley's home around the same time as Harry.
Harry was beyond excited. There was a lot Harry loved about the magical world, but without question Quidditch was his favorite. To have the opportunity to watch professional quidditch players was something that had been leaving Harry in a bit of dazed sort of happiness for weeks. The sun was growing larger, and the first rays of light began to peek through the trees. Running his hand through his hair, he sighed, before changing out of his pajamas and heading downstairs to make some breakfast.
Sirius wasn't awake yet when Harry arrived in the dark kitchen. Turning the lights on, Harry pulled out some eggs and bacon and began frying up some breakfast as he got started on tea for Sirius and coffee for himself. Unlike with the Dursley's, Harry knew that there was no expectation for Harry to cook every meal, but it was something he enjoyed doing for Sirius. His godfather had given him a home, and it was the least Harry could do to make sure that at least the man got his morning cup of tea.
Harry had just been turning over the bacon to get the perfect crisp, when Sirius stumbled blearily into the kitchen.
"Morning, kid," He said, his voice still gruff with sleep, as he deposited himself in the nearest seat. For a few weeks, Sirius had tried to fight Harry on his insistence to make breakfast every morning, but Harry was nothing if not stubborn, and eventually Sirius recognized that he was fighting a losing battle, and gave in.
"Morning, Sirius," Harry said, doing his best to keep his voice bright. He was determined not to let his dream's effect on him become clear.
"Someone's chipper," Sirius said, "Didn't realize you were that excited to ditch me,"
Harry whirled around, a protest hot on his lips, but seeing the smirk on Sirius's face, he knew the man was just teasing him. Reaching over, Harry grabbed a nearby dish towel and chucked it at the man. Sirius let out an indignant squawk and tumbled out of his chair. Smirking in triumph, Harry turned his attention back to their breakfast.
"What time are they coming for you again?" Sirius asked,
"Five O'Clcok," Harry said, as he brought the plates over and began to dig into his eggs,
"Six then," Sirius said, and Harry looked up at him in confusion, and Sirius chuckled, "Magic has made us lazy," he explained, "When you can arrive somewhere instantaneously, time starts to lose some meaning. Most witches and wizards never arrive on time for anything."
"Well that's just stupid," Harry said, and Sirius just shrugged,
"Magic makes you stupid," Sirius said back with a smarmy grin as he took a bite of bacon. "So, Six then, got your things packed yet?"
Harry grimaced, and Sirius gave him a slightly stern look, "After breakfast, get upstairs and pack up your things. We might have to wait for them, but that's no reason to make them wait for you,"
Harry nodded, "I will," he said, "Did you get a campsite then?"
"Yup," Sirius said as he took a sip of tea, "Got the lot right next to Arthur's so we can all be together. You lot will probably have to get there earlier, so I'll meet you in the afternoon,"
"You just want to sleep in," Harry smirked, and Sirius just gave him a wink around the rim of his mug.
"Any luck on the job hunt?" Harry asked, and Sirius shrugged,
"I talked briefly with Madam Bones about joining the magical law-enforcement squad, but I don't think that's something I want, not right now. I had an interesting talk with the head of the department for the regulation of human transfiguration. She was very interested in having me in as a regulator for Animagus transformations," Harry thought he knew the real reason Sirius didn't want to do anything with the magical law-enforcement squad or the DMLE. He didn't need to say anything to Harry for Harry to understand. Sirius was scared, the job was dangerous, and he'd be putting his life on the line. Harry didn't think Sirius was scared of dying, but Harry knew that his godfather was terrified of leaving Harry alone. The majority of Sirius' night-terrors had involved Harry in some way. Sirius would scream out for him, scream that he was sorry for leaving Harry, or that he was terrified of leaving Harry alone. The thought touched Harry as much as it pained him.
For purely selfish reasons, Harry agreed with the man. He had only just gotten Sirius, and he did not want the man putting himself in unnecessary danger.
"That would be a good fit," Harry said encouragingly, and he genuinely believed it too. Having been one of three students to learn how to become Animagus illegally, Sirius would be a tremendous asset to up and coming witches and wizards who desired to learn how to transform.
"I was thinking the same thing," Sirius said, "And Emmaline Vance, the department head, is an old friend, we went to school together. She was part of…well we fought together in the last war, it would be nice working with a friend again." Sirius said, and Harry was curious what she had been a part of with Sirius, but he let the matter drop.
"Send her a letter, talk to her a bit more about it," Harry said encouragingly, "I think you'd be good at it, and it'd be good for you to get out of the house again,"
Sirius gave Harry a smile, and they finished their meal in silence. After breakfast, Harry went upstairs and began packing a small bag with enough clothing for a few days. He also used a shrinking charm on his broom, and packed it into his bag, knowing that Ron and the twins would likely want to play some pick-up games of quidditch. Sirius had let Harry in on a little loophole in the underage magic restriction. Apparently, the Ministry couldn't detect the caster of a spell when it was cast near an underage witch or wizard, they could only tell that magic had been cast. In Muggle-born homes, it was usually obvious that the Muggle-born had been the one to cast the spell, but when there was more than one magical in the house, the Ministry had no way of knowing who cast the spell. Sirius, therefor, had a pretty open policy when it came to Harry using magic outside of school. Harry thought the rule was pretty unfair, but he wasn't exactly going to argue with it, he'd made some exceptional progress with his defensive spells lessons over the summer, and would need to stock up on more books before he left for school.
True to Sirius' words, five o'clock came and went, and there was no sign of the Weasley's. At six o'clock on the dot, the fireplace in the living room, erupted in green flames, as a balding, older, red-headed man stepped out onto the carpet,"
"Watch the ash, Arthur," Sirius called out from the kitchen,
"Sorry Sirius," Mr. Weasley called out cheerily, and he extended an arm out to Harry,
"Harry, good to see you, you're looking well,"
"Thanks, Mr. Weasley," Harry said as he shook Mr. Weasley's hand. Sirius strode out of the kitchen and shook Mr. Weasley's hand as well,
"See you're all packed up," Mr. Weasley said, gazing down at the bag over Harry's shoulder, "Good man, all set then?"
"Yep," Harry said happily, before turning around and giving Sirius a tight hug,
"See you in a few days, kid," Sirius said, "Be good, and have fun you hear?" Harry nodded, and after lingering for a moment, he released his godfather, he grabbed a fistful of floo powder, and tossed it into the flames.
"The Burrow," Harry said clearly, before stepping into the flames. Harry had the familiar sensation of being spun around, and he saw the flash of hundreds of fireplaces dance in and out of focus, before he came to a sudden stop. He stumbled slightly, but caught himself and clambered out of the fireplace, only to be pulled into a tight, bone-breaking hug, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.
"Oh Harry," She said, "It's so good to see you," She pulled away, and scrutinized him carefully, before nodding her approval, "Looks like you're being fed properly at any rate,"
"Good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley," He said, smiling at her. Glancing over her shoulder, he caught sight of his best friend Ron.
"Hey Harry, Sirius been treating you well?"
"Brilliant," Harry beamed as he extricated himself from Mrs. Weasley, he waved to Fred and George, who were lounging at the kitchen table with two other men. Both were mistakenly Weasley's, and Harry knew immediately that they had to be Ron's two older brothers Bill and Charlie.
"Nice to finally meet ya Harry?" Said the nearest one with a wide smile, he was the shorter and stockier of the two, with a sun-weathered face, and the remnants of a light burn on his neck. As Harry shook the man's hand, and felt the large callouses on his palms, Harry assumed him to be Charlie, which was confirmed a moment later,
"Charlie," He confirmed, with a smile, "Thanks for helping get Norberta to us by the way, never had a Ridgeback in the preserve before,"
"Norberta?" Harry asked, and Charlie's smile widened,
"Right, Hagrid thought she was a he, you remember Norbert?" He asked, and Harry did in fact remember. Norbert had been the dragon Hagrid had hatched from an egg he'd gotten from a disguised Voldemort. The little dragon had bitten Ron so badly he'd needed to go to the Hospital Wing.
"Norbert's a girl?" Harry asked, and Charlie nodded excitedly, there was a flash of green behind them, and Harry craned his next to see Mr. Weasley pulling himself free of the flames, and Harry turned his attention back to Charlie,
"Yup," he said happily, "Figured it out about a year ago. She's too violent and ferocious to be male, and then there's the anatomy," He shrugged, and Harry decided not to press, he wasn't all that concerned with the anatomy of dragons and certainly didn't want to think too much about it.
Bill got to his feet and strode over to shake Harry's hand as well. Where Charlie looked more similar to the twins, Bill looked far more like Ron. He was tall and lanky. His skin was tanned, and his long hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. Dangling from one ear, was an earring that Harry was certain was a dragon fang.
"Good to meet ya, Harry," Bill said brightly,
"You too," Harry said,
"Come on, Harry," Ron said, "We'll drop your things off in my room. Hermione's already up there with Ginny," Striding from the room, Harry and Ron made their way up the stairs. As they climbed, Harry toyed with the idea of talking to the pair of them about the dream he'd had. While he didn't want to bother Sirius with it, he thought Ron and Hermione might understand, but he was also pretty sure what they would say if Harry told them he was dreaming about Voldemort. They'd demand that he'd talk to Dumbledore about it, but speaking to Albus Dumbledore was the last thing that Harry wanted to do at the moment. Harry and Sirius had had a lot of talks over the summer about the headmaster. Eventually, Harry had come to understand the man and his intentions, that he'd only been trying to look out for Harry and protect him. That it wasn't a weakness of Harry's character that caused him concern, but that anyone in his position would be at risk of being altered by fame. But all that aside, Harry wasn't sure if he could ever forgive the man for his lapse of judgement. Harry was certain he would have been happier living in an orphanage than living with the Dursleys. So while Harry didn't hate the man, he wouldn't go out of his way to interact with him if Harry could help him. So Harry decided that he would wait, and like with Sirius, if something else happened, he would talk to Ron and Hermione about it.
Ron opened the door to his bedroom, and Harry only caught a brief glimpse of the familiar room he had shared with Ron the summer before his second-year, before a mass of very bushy hair overcome his vision, as Hermione pulled him into a very tight hug.
"Harry!" She squealed, "How're you doing? How's Sirius, you look like you're doing a lot better, have you been doing your homework? I understand that you're excited for Sirius but I hope you haven't been-"
"Give him a chance to breath, Hermione," Ginny laughed from her place on Ron's bed. Hermione flushed, and backed away, "Hey, Harry, How're you doing?" Ginny asked,
"Well," He said, "You?"
She shrugged, "Can't complain, excited for the match though,"
"Same," Harry said with a grin. Then, he realized that there was someone he hadn't seen yet, "Where's Percy?" He asked,
Ron and Ginny rolled their eyes simultaneously, "Locked in his room," Ginny said,
"Doing, 'important research for the Ministry,'" Ron said, "Which means writing reports on cauldron bottoms for the Department of International Cooperation."
"He got the job at the ministry then?" Harry asked, Percy Weasley had spoken at length the previous year about his dreams of working for the Ministry. After Sirius had been declared innocent, he'd boasted at length, about how his ideas to revolutionize the DMLE would change the way the Ministry approached law enforcement.
"Unfortunately," Ron grumbled as he sat down on his bed, "He was annoying before, but since starting work, he's become absolutely unbearable."
"Speaking of the Ministry," Harry said, setting his bag down in a corner and taking a seat against the far wall, "I think Sirius found a job,"
"Oh excellent," Hermione clapped excitedly, "Doing what?"
"Department for the Regulation of Human Transfiguration," Harry explained, "Apparently he has an old friend who's head of the department,"
"Emmaline Vance," Ron said with a nod, "Dad's mentioned her a few times. Said she's good people, one of Dumbledore's." Ron flinched as soon as the words left his mouth. And he and Hermione shot a concerned look in his direction, as though worried Harry might lash out at the mere mention of the man's name,
"Relax, you two," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Sirius and I talked, I'm over it, well most of it anyway," Ron nodded, but he and Hermione seemed rather unconvinced,
"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, "What's going on with Harry and Dumbledore," Thankfully, Harry was saved from having to come up with an excuse when Mrs. Weasley called up from downstairs,
"Ginny, Hermione, come down and help me with the dinner, Ron take Harry and help your brothers set the table."
Hauling himself from the floor, Harry joined Ron as they descended the staircase. Unbidden, a smile burdened his lips, his summer had been going excellently so far, and things were only looking up.
BREAK
Mrs. Weasley woke Harry and Ron early in the morning the day of the match. The sun hadn't even come close to touching the sky, and Harry shivered in the early morning cold. After some grumbling about the early hour, Mr. Weasley explained that the reason for their early departure, was because they were taking a portkey-a magical item that would teleport them to the campsite-and the portkey nearest to them was scheduled to leave at dawn. They had to hike for miles, and it took them nearly an hour to arrive at the top of a distant hilltop. Sitting at the top of the mountain, was a mangy old boot.
"Arthur!" Called a man next to the boot, "Over here,"
"Ah-ha," Said Mr. Weasley "Amos!" He called back, before doubling his pace over to the man. As they grew closer, Harry got a better look at the two individuals next to the boot. The man who had called was around Mr. Weasley's age, with a ruddy-complexion, and a scrabbly beard. Beside him, was someone Harry recognized all too well,
"Morning Harry, Fred, George," Yawned Cedric Diggory, "Doing well?" Cedric was the Hufflepuff quidditch team captain and seeker. He was a tall, good-looking boy, with brown hair and a square chin. In spite of himself, Harry felt a small burst of annoyance burble into his chest. Cedric was the only seeker Harry had ever played against, that had caught the snitch before Harry, and that had only been because dementors had rushed the field and attacked Harry. Still, the boy had been nothing but pleasant to Harry, and had even come to the Hospital Wing after the match to apologize for what had happened. So Harry swallowed his pride, and gave the older boy a grin, and shook his hand,
"Going well," Harry said, with only a slightly forced smile, "Yourself?"
"Doing great," Cedric laughed, "Been looking forward to this for weeks!"
Fred and George never responded to Cedric's initial greeting, choosing instead to take turns glaring at him. Neither had ever quite forgiven Cedric for what happened the year before.
"Don't be rude Ced," Amos Diggory said genially, sloping Cedric on the back, "Introduce us!"
"Oh right," Cedric said, "Harry, this is my dad, Amos. Dad, this Harry Potter,"
"Merlin's beard," Amos said, his eyes doing the familiar dance up to Harry's forehead. Harry bit back a flinch at the movement, if there was one thing he truly despised, it was people trying to get a look at his scar,
"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said, extending a hand to the man, who gripped it tightly,
"Pleasure to meet you,!" Amos said animatedly, waving Harry's hand vigorously, "Ced's talked all about you of course, told us all about playing against you last year. I said to him, I said, 'Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren about' I mean no offense meant of course but beating Harry Potter, of all people," Harry couldn't quite keep the disgruntled look off his face, and he could practically hear Fred and George gnashing their teeth behind him.
"Dad," Cedric chided, looking incredibly uncomfortable, "I told you, it wasn't like that. Harry never even got a fair shot at the snitch, all the dementors came after him,"
"Yes, yes, of course," Amos said, waving Cedirc's comment aside, "Always the modest gentlemen my Ced, but you'd agree wouldn't you Harry, best man won and all that right? Best man stayed on his broom after all, and the one to stay on his broom is clearly the better flier, eh?"
Harry decided he didn't much like Amos Diggory. And judging from the apologetic look on Cedric's face, at that moment he didn't much care for the comments either,
"Better get moving, Amos," Mr. Weasley said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation, "We're not waiting for anyone else are we?"
"No sir," Amos said, turning his attention off of Harry, "Lovegood's have been there a week, and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets, merlin, not many of us in the area are there?"
"Not that I'm aware of," Mr. Weasley said, checking his watch, "Right, we're a minute off, come on then everyone, grab some of the boot." Confused but curious, Harry did as told, and grabbed onto the toe of the boot between Ron and Hermione. The seconds ticked away, and when Harry was about to ask if something had gone wrong, he felt a very tight pull around his navel, as he felt himself jerked upwards. His feet left solid ground, as he started spinning, smacking into Ron and Hermione, who was screaming. He would have been worried about accidentally letting go, had his finger not bee magically glued to the boot.
With a thud, Harry's feet slammed onto solid ground, and his finger disconnected from the boot. He stumbled, and fell to the ground, feeling incredibly nauseous. Ron, who was staggering, tripped over Harry and fell to the ground beside him in a groan.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," Came a voice from over Harry's shoulder. Disentangling himself from Ron, Harry pushed himself to his feet, before grabbing Ron by the hand, and hauling him to his feet too.
"Why," Harry asked, his voice coming out in a slight pant, "Is all magical travel the most absurd nonsense on the planet?"
"No idea," Ron groaned, his hands on his knees.
Looking around, Harry saw that they'd landed on a large hill, overlooking a rather dingy looking moor. Standing a few feet away, was a pair of exhausted looking wizards. One had reached down and picked up the boot, and the other was holding a large watch and scroll of parchment. They had attempted to dress like Muggles, but like most magicals, had failed spectacularly. One was wearing a brilliant-looking tweed suit over horrendous, bright yellow galoshes, while the other was wearing a kilt and poncho.
"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley greeted, as the kilted wizard tossed the boot into a box of old watches, footballs, and a newspaper.
"Morning…Arthur," Yawned the wizard Basil, "Not on duty then? Lucky sod, been here all night, you'd best get out of the way though, got a big party coming in from the Black Forest in fifteen minutes. Gimme a moment, I'll find your site, let's see here…" He took a moment to consult the large parchment in his hand, "Ah, here we are, bout a ten minute walk that way," He said with a point over to the east, "First field. Talk to site manager Roberts. Diggory…" He consulted the parchment again, "Field two, look for Mr. Payne."
"Thanks, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, as he began walking in the direction of the field, beckoning for the rest to follow him. They walked for about ten minutes, before they descended upon an old cabin, with an elderly man standing at the entrance. They bade the Diggory's goodbye, and marched up to the cabin. Even at the distance they were at, Harry knew that the older man had to be the only real Muggle for miles.
After a brief interaction, which ended when a ministry official appeared out of thin air to modify the poor Muggle's memory, they were descending the hill to their campsite. They trudged through the mist and mud of the early morning, and started coming upon the first signs of the World Cup. Tents of various shapes and sizes, and magic, steadily appeared. As they trudged through the moor, Harry was beginning to understand why the poor Muggle kept needing to have his memory modified. They came up on one tent, which was more like a miniature manor, complete with large ornate peacocks strutting about the main entrance.
"Always the same," Mr. Weasley said fondly, as they strode past a three story tent with turrets and a moat, "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, this must be us," They'd reached the end of the field, sitting just on the edge of a large forest. Stamped in the ground was a small sign that read, "WEEZLY" and Harry could see, a few feet away, Harry saw another sign that read "BLACK"
"When's Sirius coming, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, as he pulled his backpack off his shoulders.
"Probably this afternoon, knowing him he'll sleep through the morning I'm sure," Harry said with a small chortle.
"Not a problem," Mr. Weasley said brightly, as he gazed around the spot, "Marvelous, couldn't have picked a better spot, the pitch is just on the other side of this wood here," It took the better part of the morning before they had what they needed for the campsite. Mr. Weasley had insisted on following the anti-Muggle security protocols and wouldn't used magic to set up camp. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem, but Mr. Weasley was very enamored with any and all things Muggle, spent most of the morning giggling over a hammer. After finally getting the tents set up, which to Harry's astonishment, were magically enchanted to be much larger on the inside, Harry and his friends were sent to fetch water for the tea.
The camp had finally woken up while Harry and the others had been setting up the camp. It was the largest conglomeration of witches and wizard Harry had ever seen. Moreover, it was clear that the vast majority of the magicals in the field were of international origin. All around him, Harry heard so many languages and so many accents that it was almost overwhelming. But international wizards weren't the only ones in the field. Harry ran into several classmates as well. While traveling through the Ireland supporters, they ran into Seamus Finnegan and his mother, alone with Seamus' best friend Dean Thomas. They also ran into Harry's former quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, who hurriedly introduced Harry to his parents. They didn't talk to her, but they did catch a glimpse at Tracey Davis, who waved enthusiastically at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
It took them nearly an hour to find the water spout and get back to the tent. After helping Mr. Weasley finally start the fire, they got going on breakfast. Bill, Charlie, and Percy Weasley all arrived a little after noon, shortly after they settled in on the ground for a late breakfast. Sirius had arrived only a few minutes later, decked out in Irish paraphernalia, and looking far more like a walking shamrock, than a man.
"What are you wearing?" Harry laughed, as Sirius strode over, an enormous grin on his face,
"Don't like it?" Sirius asked, giving a minor twirl, "Personally, I think I look rather dashing,"
Ginny and Hermione broke out into giggles. Mr. Weasley looked up from his sausages, and a broad grin spread across his face,
"And here is!" He said happily, getting to his feet, "The man of the hour! Ludo Bagman!"
"Ahoy there!" Someone called out, and Harry followed Mr. Weasley's gaze, and saw the single most noticeable man he'd seen all day. During their walk to the water spout, Harry had seen a number of witches and wizards wearing some truly ridiculous ensembles, but Ludo Bagman was the most noticeable of the lot. He was wearing bright yellow robes, with horizontal black stripes, making him look like an overly pompous bumblebee. In his right breast was a large picture of an angry wasp. He had a broad belly, and the powerful build of a man who had once been in tremendous shape, but had lost himself to time. He had a boyish face, that was only offset by his crooked nose. Sirius leaned over to him and whispered that the man had once been the beater for the English National Team in a century, which explained the broken nose.
Walking forward with a considerable bounce in his step, he gripped Mr. Weasley's hand tightly,
"What a day, eh, Arthur? Couldn't ask for better weather, these all yours then?" Bagman asked,
"Just the redheads," Said Mr. Weasley, "My sons Bill, Charlie, Percy-" Mr. Weasley was cut off as Percy jumped forward to introduce himself, "Yes, he just started working at the Ministry, and that's Fred-wait-no-that's Fred and that's George, Ron, and Ginny. That's Ms. Hermione Granger, a friend of the family, and I'm sure you know Harry Potter and Sirius Black,"
"Are you really?" Bagman asked, looking over to Harry and Sirius, his eyes flashing briefly to the scar on Harry's head, but Bagman seemed to ignore the look of annoyance that danced over Harry's expression, and bounced over to shake Sirius' hand, then Harry's.
"Terrible business that, Black, terrible business, but so glad you could join us for the match! Fancy a flutter on the match?" He asked Sirius, jiggling his pockets slightly which sounded as though it were full of gold coins,
"Ten galleons on Ireland to win," Sirius said, reaching into his pocket and handing over the gold. Bagman's eyes widened for a moment, before he threw his head back in a loud roar of a laugh.
"That's a good man!" He boomed, slapping Sirius on the back, as he deposited the gold in his pocket, and pulled out a scroll of parchment, with a wave of his wand, Harry saw something appear on the parchment.
"Any other takers then?" He asked, gazing around the group happily. In spite of the protests of Mr. Weasley, Fred and George put down all of their savings on Ireland to win, but for Krum, the seeker for the Bulgarian team, to catch the snitch. Apparently Victor Krum was the greatest seeker in the world.
Bagman dropped himself down onto the ground beside Harry and Sirius, and Percy thrust a cup of tea into his hands,
"So, Ludo, any sign of Bertha Jorkins yet?" Asked Mr. Weasley. Harry, who had been in the midst of taking a sip of tea, choked. Coughing hard, Sirius clapped him hard on the back, and cast him a concerned look, but Harry paid his godfather no mind. He knew that name! He'd heard Wormtail and Voldemort mention her during his dream. His heart began hammering in his chest, as dread began to wash over him. He'd been able to successfully push the dream from his thoughts for the past several days, but he was getting worried that his dream had not been a nightmare at all.
"Not a dicky bird," Bagman said, "But I'm not worried about her, poor old Bertha," He chuckled, "Lost, you mark my words, clever little thing, but the memory of a fruit-fly and absolutely no sense of direction. Mark my words, she ended up in Australia when she was supposed to be in Albania. She'll turn back up in October, still thinking it's July."
"But you don't think it's time to send someone out to look for her?" Mr. Weasley asked cautiously,
"Not you too Arthur," Bagman groaned, "Barty Crouch has been giving me enough trouble about sending someone after her. But we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh!" He gasped, his round eyes widening, "Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Barty! Good to see you!"
Harry felt Sirius stiffen next to him, and Harry looked as a man appeared out of thin air by their fireside. Barty Crouch was an older man, and looked every bit the stiff, and uptight wizard someone like Percy Weasley would idolize. He had a weathered face, and beady eyes, with a thick, toothbrush mustache vouchering his upper lip. Unlike Bagman, Crouch was apparently taking the anti-Muggle security protocols as seriously as possible. He was dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit. Harry was certain that not even Vernon Dursley would have been able to figure out he was a wizard.
"Pull up a bit of grass Barty," Bagman said, padding the grass beside him,
"No thank you, Ludo," Crouch said impatiently, "I've been looking everywhere for you. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."
"Oh so that's what he was after," Bagman said in dawning comprehension, "Couldn't understand a thing the poor man was saying, accent's a bit thick,"
"Mr. Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh," said Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise.
"Yes, thank you, Weatherby" Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.
"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."
Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh. "I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"
"I doubt it," said Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."
"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" said Bagman. "Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve, but that was before carpets were banned, of course."
"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman breezily.
"Fairly," said Mr. Crouch dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."
"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" said Mr. Weasley.
Ludo Bagman looked shocked. "Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun. Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"
Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details-"
"Oh details!" said Bagman, "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts-"
"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby." He pushed his un-drunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.
"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me. I'm commentating!" He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.
"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" said Fred at once. "What were they talking about?"
"You'll find out soon enough," said , smiling.
"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."
"Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred.
Harry turned a look at Sirius, who was still glaring at the spot Crouch had just left, "I haven't heard anything," He said softly, finally taking his eyes away and looking at Harry, "I'll see what I can find out though, yeah?" He said with a wink.
BREAK
The day seemed to drag on for forever, but eventually, night started to fall, and the entire campground seemed as though it were literally buzzing in anticipation. Green and Red lamps were lit along a pathway into the forest, and sales vendors began appearing and disappearing every few feet, trying to sell their wares. Despite Ron's initial protests, Harry bought himself, Ron and Hermione a pair of Omnioculars each, which were magically enchanted binoculars that could slow down the play of the match as well as give live play-by-play of the event.
Finally, the stadium came into view. It put the Hogwarts pitch to shame, both in terms of scale and majesty. Mr. Weasley informed him that the stadium could fit over one-hundred thousand people, na dHarry couldn't fathom trying to play with that many eyes on him. They were led by an official looking Ministry witch up a large set of ornate steps. The steps were covered in an ornate purple carpet, with gold inlays with the symbol of the Ministry in the corner. Even as the rest of the crowds disappeared into different entrances, Harry and his party kept climbing, all the way up until Harry was certain they were even with the clouds. Pushing through the curtains to the op Box, Harry was greeted with the most magnificent pitch he'd ever seen. The field was a beautiful, rich green, and the three goal posts shined in the lights of the stadium. Hanging from a large scoreboard across the pitch, was a scoreboard which currently read that the score was tied at zero a piece.
Tearing his eyes away from the pitch, he gazed around the box, and started, when saw what he thought was a familiar set of batlike ears,
"Dobby?" Harry asked, incredulously. He couldn't believe that Dobby of all things would be in the Top Box. The elf jumped at the sound of Harry's voice, and turned, and when Harry caught sight of the elf's face, Harry realized that it was not, in fact, Dobby. Though most of its face was covered by its hands, Harry could tell that the elf was different,
"Did sir just call me Dobby?" The elf asked, and her voice was even squeakier and a higher pitch than Dobby's. Ron and Hermione, who had walked in ahead of Harry, craned their necks to look, and Sirius was giving him a curious look,
"Sorry," Harry told the elf quickly, "I just thought you were someone I new,"
"But Winky knows Dobby too!" The house-elf, Winky, squeaked, "Yous is Harry potter," She said in awe, as she looked at him, "Dobby be talking of yous all the times sir."
"How's he doing? How's freedom treating him?" Harry asked, as he got into his seat beside Sirius.
Winky flinched, "Not so well, sirs. Forgive Winky, sir, but she is thinking Harry Potter be making a mistake when he is freeing Dobby, sir. Freedom be going to Dobby's head, he be asking for payment," She shook her head in shame, "Paying is not befitting a House-elf,"
"Well," Harry said uncertainly. He was of the opinion that Dobby should be getting paid for his work, but clearly Winky disagreed, "I guess as long as he's having fun, it doesn't matter,"
"But House-elves isn't to be having fun, sir." Winky said aghast, "They do as told, Winky doesn't like being so high, sir, but Master Crouch wishes for Winky to be savings his seat for him, so here Winky sits. Winky is a good elf, Harry Potter, sir, Winky does as she is told,"
Harry just nodded at the creature, and was reminded once more that the magical world was not all it always seemed. It was so easy for him to forget that House-elves lived a life of complete servitude, and with the reality spitting in his face, he was feeling deeply uncomfortable, thankfully, he was saved when a friendly hand clapped him on the shoulder,
"Well look what the Minotaur dragged in," Harry whirled around in his seat, and beamed when he saw Professor Jackson grinning down at him,
"Professor," Harry said excitedly, "What are you doing here?"
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, where Harry saw Camila and Anna speaking with a pair of bearded gentlemen. Anna caught his staring, and arched an eyebrow at him, and Harry quickly averted his gaze. He also noticed a pair of burley looking wizards hovering very closely to Camila, Harry could just make out a pair of pins in the shape of the American flag on the lapels of their jackets.
"Camila's and Anna are here on business, and they dragged me along." Professor Jackson said with a shrug,
"That's certainly an interesting way of putting it," Anna said, gliding over to Professor Jackson's side, "You make it sound as though you don't wish to be with us," She had a dangerous edge to her voice, but Professor Jackson just rolled his eyes,
"She's just annoyed because she had to spend all day in the tent," He said, smirking at the red-eyed woman, who just intensified her glare,
"Percy!" Boomed a loud voice from the entrance, a flash of annoyance danced crossed Professor Jackson's and Anna's faces, before Professor Jackson's face morphed into a smile, and he turned around.
"Cornelius!" He said brightly, striding over to the Minister for Magic. Percy jumped to his feet, but stopped when Anna shot him an annoyed look, and Percy sank back into his seat.
"I didn't know you were coming," Fudge said happily, wringing Professor Jackson's hand,
"Ah, well, Anna and Camila were coming and invited me along," Professor Jackson said dismissively. Fudge's eyes darted over to Anna, his eyes widening slightly,
"A-ah, M-ms. Agapov," Fudge stammered, "What a pleasure-been too long,"
"Fudge," Anna said curtly, but luckily Fudge was rescued when Camila, and the two wizards she'd been talking to, strode over,
"Minister," She said cordially,
"Ah, Madam President, good to see you again," Fudge greeted officially, gripping her hand. Harry and Hermione shared a confused and stunned look,
"She's the president?" Hermione hissed accusatorially to Harry,
"I had no idea," Harry whispered back, "I just knew that she worked for the American government!"
"And Minister," Fudge said to the man beside Camila, who said something so unintelligible that Harry couldn't understand him. Apparently, neither could Fudge, who looked helplessly at Professor Jackson, but Camila spoke up,
"He extends his greetings, Minister," She said, "And thanks you for the considerations you've taken to ensure his party has felt comfortable."
"Ah," Fudge said with a nod, "That makes more sense, thank you, Madam President, I normally have someone with me to help with this, but there's been no sign of Barty Crouch all afternoon. Ah," He said as he caught sight of Winky, "There's his house-elf, good, at least that means, that he'll be here soon enough," His gaze then met Harry's, and he smiled happily, "Harry!" He greeted, walking over and embracing Harry like an old friend, "Good to see you lad, good to see you. You already know Madam President and Ms. Agapov here, allow me to introduce you to the Bulgarian Prime Minister," He added, gesturing to the older wizard, who was speaking in some confusion with Camila, who was explaining something to him. Harry caught her saying his name, and Bulgarian Minister's eyes went wide as he babbled in what Harry assumed was Bulgarian.
"There we go," Fudge said with a sigh, then in an undertone to Harry added, "been an absolute nightmare with them, not a word of English between the lot of them, and Merlin knows I don't speak a word of Bulgarian. And Lucius! Excellent!"
Harry's stomach clenched at the man who just entered the Box, as Lucius Malfoy, his son Draco, and an older witch that Harry assumed was Draco's mother, stepped up to Fudge, pushing past Camila, Anna, Percy, and the Bulgarian Minister importantly.
There was a tense moment, as Harry and Lucius stared each other down, but after extending greetings with the Minister, the Malfoy's departed to three seats at the far end of the box. Before anything else could occur, Ludo Bagman bounced into the Box,
"Everyone ready?" He asked excitedly, "Minister?"
"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge said comfortably, as he strode away from Harry. Professor Jackson, with Camila and Anna flanking him, took the seats on Harry's other side. The two burly wizards with the American flag pins, took up a protective stance a few paces behind Camila's chair.
Bagman whipped out his wand, and pointed it at his throat,
"Sonorus," when he spoke next, his voice echoed loudly over the din of the stadium, magically enhanced as though he were speaking through a megaphone,
"Ladies, and gentlemen…Welcome, to the final match of the four hundred and twenty-second, Quidditch World Cup." The stadium erupted into cheers, "And now…without further ado…allow me to introduce, the Bulgarian Team Mascots!" There was a blur of movement from the side of the Bulgarian supporters, as a group of women glided out onto the field. There had to be at least a hundred of them, and they were easily the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen in his entire life,
Professor Jackson groaned and swore under his breath, "Why would they bring Veela?" He asked, his head looking at the ceiling,
Harry had no idea what a Veela was, but he got his answer soon enough, they Veela slowly began to dance, and an ethereal music descended upon the arena. The moon and lights of the stadium dancing off their pale skin, as their silver-blonde hair danced in an unseen wind. Harry felt a familiar feeling wash over him, and his mind started to go blank. It was as though all of worries and concerns were flowing out of him, and his vision became slightly hazy. He was suddenly overcome with the compulsion to tear up the hat he was wearing in support of Ireland. He wouldn't be supporting them, he'd be supporting the Bulgarians, of course he would, but even as the thoughts occurred to him, he fought the idea. He recognized the feeling, it was the same type of feeling he got when Anna had interrogated him in his second-year. In some respects, it was similar to the effects of a dementor, only instead of being forced to listen to his mother die, Harry was being forced to think about the Bulgarians. Using the same techniques he'd learned to combat the effects of the dementors, Harry shook his head, and his thoughts began to clear.
As his vision cleared, he saw that half of the stadium was on their feet, and many of the men around him, were on their feet, or doing the most ridiculous things. Ron was tearing up a large shamrock in his hands, but Mr. Weasley pulled it free of his grip, and pinched him hard on the leg. Turning in his seat, he saw Professor Jackson, watching in a sort of exasperated amusement at the field. Meeting his eyes, the man looked somewhat surprised, but nevertheless pleased, at seeing Harry had thrown off the effects,
"Look at you, Potter," he said with a smile, "There aren't many who can throw off the effects of a Veela," Anna wasn't looking at him, too busy as she was, glaring at the field, and Camila was giving him a very pleased smile.
"What are Veela, Professor?" Harry asked. Professor Jackson shrugged,
"Magically beautiful women," He explained simply, "Some say they're descendants of sirens, others say they're the children of Aphrodite or Venus," He snorted, and rolled his eyes, "They aren't, mind you, but I kind of get it. Not much is known about them, other than they have an inherent sort of magic built into them, that allows them to influence others. Kind of like a built-in compulsion charm."
Anna made a derisive sound in the back of her throat, but Professor Jackson ignored her. The Veela stopped their dancing, and the music faded away, and there was a disappointed roar from the crowd.
"And now!" Bagman announced over the hisses and boos, "The Mascots for the Irish National Team!"
A moment later, and a hundred small green and gold flashes began zooming around the arena, the green and gold flashes condensed until they took the shape of an enormous comet that looked like pot of gold, which zoomed around the arena, much to the joy of the Irish supporters. The comet made a single lap around the arena, before it came to a stop in the middle of the pitch. Two large rainbows shot out of the pot, each one reaching one set of the goalposts. The pot of gold rose high into the sky, and started to glow brightly, like a star. The Pot then exploded in light as fireworks erupted over the stadium. The fireworks danced and streaked across the sky, before coming together into the form of an enormous shamrock. The Shamrock shook, and large specks of gold began falling from the sky.
Harry covered his head as something pelted him, reaching down, he picked up a large Galleon. The Shamrock started to zoom across the arena, and as it did, Harry realized that the large firework was actually made up of hundreds of small little bearded men.
"Leprechauns," Professor Jackson laughed, as he clapped, "Don't think I've seen one in years,"
"Not since that mess I pulled you out of back in '84," Anna said with a smirk,
"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
Anna laughed, "Never, любимый." She said fondly, her eyes gleaming happily at Professor Jackson.
Not for the first time, Harry wondered, exactly what the relationship was between his Professor and the vampire.
The shamrock dissolved, and the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match, as Bagman's voice boomed across the field,
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome, the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!"
"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following a small but stocky scarlet clad player with his Omnioculars. Harry quickly focused his own. Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. "And now, please greet, the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. Seven green blurs swept onto the field, they conducted a lap of honor around the field, to the joy of the Irish supporters.
"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with one of the bushiest mustaches Harry had ever seen, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry looked through his Omnioculars, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open; four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and-Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight-the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.
"Let the match…begin!"
AN: AND WE'RE BACK! Sorry to everyone who was waiting patiently on this, but I now have an official update schedule and this got dumped to the bottom of the pile because I uploaded so much so quickly. Quick housecleaning, so because book four is unnecessarily long, the fourth year will be split into multiple parts. For those not familiar with my update schedule, there will be five weeks of one update a week at midnight on Wednesday American CST. After that, this story will go to the bottom of my priority pile as I write for my other stories.
As always folks, thanks for all the love and support you've shown this story and to me. Shoutout to Double0Sxvxn for being an awesome Beta and dealing with my bullshit and as always if you enjoyed this but haven't checked out my other work, give them a try you never know you might find something else you like. I'm also on discord now, where I and a bunch of other writers hang out, chat and brainstorm ideas, you just have to copy the link that's in my profile bio if you want to come and hang out with us. Stay safe, stay healthy and have an awesome week
All My Love,
LilDB