August 18th, 1994
Weasley Household, The Burrow – Ottery St. Catchpole, The United Kingdom
Harry Potter
-
It was happening again.

The same dream, the exact same from a couple of weeks ago. The same one that he had on his birthday before he woke up.

He was seeing through somebody else's eyes, the feeling of it slowly becoming familiar to Harry.

An old town, somewhere in England he had to imagine. Decrepit, but not abandoned or desolate in any sense. No, but the house away from the town that was just on the hill? Now that was abandoned in every sense of the word. Nobody went near that place, nobody even dared venture near the old little cemetery and mausoleum. They knew a bad place when they saw one.

However, there was one man who still dared to live on the premises. He wasn't exactly what most would call friendly, if anything, he was a curmudgeonly old git. He kept to himself though, mostly for himself as much as for the rest of the townsfolk. He was a groundskeeper, or a caretaker, something along those lines if the dream was exactly the same as it was the last few times it had appeared.

The flashes of light attracted the man to the old house. That was how it started, how the old man left his kettle on the slow boil he'd left it on to get rid of the squatters or troublemakers inside the old manor. He'd grabbed his old baton and torch as well as the keys to the house, donned his jacket and struggled to get up the hill before inevitably reaching the solitary mansion. The Riddles had been gone for decades; and so, the house was in disrepair. There was nothing to be done, the Riddles had no money when they left and so the place was left to rot.

Probably all for the best, the old man had heard some nasty rumours about the lady of the place. Merope, if he could remember the name? Odd name if ever he'd heard one.

He'd opened the ramshackle lock, managing to extricate the key without breaking it or the lock before he slowly shuffled through the entry. The old place looked worse on the inside than it had done on the outside. The mansion was looking rough, but it didn't look like it was falling apart from disrepair. No, but inside? The old man sighed, the place would be better off if it were bulldozed and it's foundations torn out of the ground. Let the country take the land back.

"You are responsible for the task…"

That voice, that wasn't what he was ready to hear. It was not the voice of teenagers having a couple of fags in some old haunt, maybe some cans of whatever they could get their hands on. No, that was an old, husky and coarse voice. Squatters, it must have been. The man tightened his grip on his baton as he rushed as quickly as he could up the stairs. More voices, must have been at least three of them upstairs. He kept going until he got to the third floor of the mansion.

Two men, ragged and homeless-looking. One of them, chubby and with teeth like a rat instead of a man. The other, his movements erratic and uncontrolled, his tongue shooting in and out with every other word. The hiss of a snake came from somewhere, another issue from the house. Bloody pests were running riot all over the joint. Then he looked down, and the size of the cold-blooded beast made even him want to jump out of his skin. He recoiled, gasping aloud before he heard another voice.

"Nagini tells me, the old muggle caretaker, is standing just outside the door!"

The two men stormed to the door, opening it all the way as the light from the lantern inside the room illuminated the form that was speaking. An odd little creature, covered in black clothes. It's head was misshapen, twice as large as it's body before it's gaunt frame pointed a wooden stick at the elderly groundskeeper.

"AVADA KADAVRA!"
-

Harry jolted upwards, sweat pouring from his head and soaking through his shirt. That same bloody nightmare again? It was like it never stopped, less of a warning and more of a taunting gesture from whoever else was in that vision. Peter Pettigrew, the little rat that had betrayed his parents as well as Sirius and Remus. The little figure that was hidden from view, he couldn't tell who that was. Disfigured, but Harry needed to know he was.

The other man too, the one next to Pettigrew. He seemed to be one of the old loyalists, in hiding with the rest of Voldemort's old guard of followers. It wasn't Lucius Malfoy, as much as Harry had been sure he was one of them. Whoever else was a Death Eater, whoever else had the Dark Mark forged into their skin, Harry needed to know. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, brushing it aside before he reached for his glasses. Getting out of bed, he ran to the shower.

"Bloody hell…" He'd muttered to himself as he threw himself under the scalding water.

He didn't know how much time he'd spent in there, but he got out and felt much better. Towelling off, he'd realised how much he'd really needed to soak in the hot water and just forget about the world for a bit. That, and he could just enjoy the day when he left The Burrow. Ron and the rest of the redheaded Weasley clan had invited him to go to the Quidditch World Cup, and Harry wasn't going to say no to that opportunity. He might not have been able to keep up with every aspect of the game like Ron was, but he had his favourite teams and players. Besides, how many people got to watch Viktor Krum in a World Cup final?

Not many, that's how many.

As soon as he'd left the shower and gone back to the shared room with Ron, he'd gotten changed out of habit. A pair of old Adidas, some black jeans and a shirt, that was enough until they had to leave. Harry swore he could have heard a couple of the Weasleys downstairs. He'd strapped his holster and wand to his wrist before finding his black denim jacket, getting his bag ready for the trip before he heard footsteps coming up to Harry and Ron's room. They'd approached the door and hadn't even had the decency to knock before they had opened the door.

"Hermione?"

"Oh!" Hermione whispered. "You're already awake? Thought you'd be asleep."

"Yeah, bad dream. Is everyone downstairs?" Harry asked. "I think I can hear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"Of course, even Fred and George are down there. Mr. Weasley said we'll be going in around twenty minutes. Do you mind waking up Ron?"

"Yeah, yeah, no worries."

Hermione had smiled, closing the door quietly as Harry stood up from his bed. He wandered over to Ron, slowly lighting the lantern on his desk before he whispered. "Ron, Ron, wake up."

After knowing the youngest Weasley boy for the past four years, there were always two constants with him. One of them, was that Ron Weasley snored. He snored a lot, and he definitely didn't snore quietly. The second, was that he never managed to get up on time. Thankfully, Ron had Harry and Hermione to make sure that he didn't fall into the habit of sleeping through breakfast. Not that Harry imagined that was possible, his best mate could probably smell the fresh sausages in his sleep anyway.

"Ron, Ron, come on. It's the World Cup, remember?"

"Hmmph, five minutes, mum…"

Typical…

"Ron, the Bulgarian manager put Viktor Krum on the bench."

Ron's snore stopped midway, catching in his throat as his eyes opened wearily. He tossed and turned in his bed, facing Harry finally before jumping back. His eyes went from tired and weary, to immediately shocked. "Krum? On the bench?"

Harry smirked. "No, obviously not. Had to get you awake somehow, didn't I?"

"Bloody hell, Harry. You'll scare me if you say things like that. Are you sure he's not on the bench?"

"He's not on the bench, Ron. The Bulgarians aren't that stupid, I hope."

The young wizards quickly finished getting ready, Ron crawling out of bed and getting dressed before grabbing his pack too. The pair went downstairs, joining the rest of the Weasley clan as the breakfast looked almost finished. Harry looked at Ron again, who still looked as if his head was still in his bed. Harry, however, was feeling quite fresh that morning. He'd sat next to Hermione; the young girl had her head in a book as per usual. She'd finished her own breakfast, an empty cereal bowl pushed away from her on the dinner table.

"Have a good sleep, boys?" Mr. Weasley had asked. "Seems like you managed to get downstairs in time to get some breakfast at least."

Ron muttered something along the lines of an affirmative. Harry had already managed to get two eggs and a little bit of bacon on his plate before he nodded. Granted, it was a lie, but nobody needed to worry about it. There was no point in ruining the mood, not when they knew how good the day was gonna be when they got the final. Ginny and the twins, Fred and George, had already finished their breakfast. Bill and Charlie, the two eldest sons were having a chat by the sink, as Mrs. Weasley made sure to do the cleaning up as the two boys scarfed down their breakfast. Harry couldn't believe it, but Ron still looked as rough as he did when he had gotten up.

"You alright, mate?" Harry had asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just knackered, never thought I'd have to wake up this early in my life." Ron managed to mutter. "Never again, mate. Never again."

"Hmm, I can agree with you on that one," Harry said. "Never felt so foul in my life."

As soon as everyone was finished, the Weasley family as well as Harry and Hermione had grabbed their packs and made their way out. Molly Weasley, the matriarch had no interest in the sport, and so it was left to Arthur (or Mr. Weasley as Harry always called him) to take his family out. Ron had gathered with his twin brothers, as Mr. Weasley walked alongside his eldest sons and his daughter. Harry had fallen to the back of the column, with Hermione at his side.

It was a force of habit, that Harry was naturally drifting towards Hermione than he would Ron at times. Hermione was a muggle-born witch, which made little difference to Harry. She hadn't lived in the wizarding world, much like Harry hadn't. However, the two shared the same need to understand it. Harry knew of his lordships, thankfully due to Sirius and Remus. Hermione, sadly had come to know the concept of pureblood supremacy. Even after four years, the two of them still had to learn so much. However, despite the differences in what they knew, the two found similarities in how they were brought up.

"How was your summer, Harry?" Hermione had asked. "I'm surprised you didn't stay at the Burrow with Ron."

"Eh, just needed some time to myself this summer, to be honest," Harry replied. "How was France? You spent like, most of the summer there, didn't you? Find anything for spells over there?"

"Oh no, I did try though. Just spent some time in Nice with mum and dad. They were asking about how my school year was, everything was, well, pretty normal actually. Sometimes it's nice to not have to use magic all the time."

Harry smiled. "I'm sure. Honestly, I've spent so much time in Surrey that just being in Diagon Alley for the summer was a nice enough holiday for me."

Hermione seemed shocked. "You spent the summer at Diagon Alley, where were you staying?"

"Leaky Cauldron, Tom gave me a discounted rate for the room over the summer," Harry replied. "I'm not going back to the Dursleys, not again. They can stuff it. I'll need to go back for the rest of my stuff though."

"Oh, okay. So, what, did you get up to much?"

"Not really, Hermione. I just, had an epiphany, I guess? I spent so much time holding myself back that I thought I'd get myself ahead for once."

"Your letter…"

She had received it, that was good. He hadn't received one in response, but as long as she had seen it, that was all that mattered. He'd put a lot of effort into that letter, a lot of heart too. He was doing something for himself for once, and not for anyone else. If he had to be honest, Hermione was the one who knew everything about him. She had been involved with the fiascos involving the Philosopher's Stone as well as being petrified by the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. She was the one with the time-turner, the one who helped him save Sirius at the end of his third year at Hogwarts.

Hermione hadn't said much; Harry assumed she must have been remembering the letter in her mind. He was exceedingly honest in that letter; in his mind, it was all for the better. If there was one person he could trust with that stuff, it would be her. He hadn't even told Ron about it yet, about leaving his easy classes and choosing the harder ones. Harry knew Ron wasn't stupid, he was good at what he wanted to be good at. He knew that he'd be going down the same road too, and if Harry wanted to help others and to be better in general, he needed to apply himself. Hermione was the one who could help him do that, to push him further.

"Yep, that letter," Harry assured her. "I tell you more later, but I had a lot of time to think over the summer about a lot of things."

"So, you're joining Arithmancy and Runes? If you need my notes for the new year…"

Harry smiled. "I already did a quick run through the third-year material. Runes are good, practical which I liked. Arithmancy, it's…"

"Hard?" Hermione asked. "It's meant to be, but if you're up to the challenge then it can be quite intellectually stimulating."

Harry nodded. "Well, if it's stimulating then perhaps, I'll be at the top of the class by the end of the year. Might even have the confidence to try and beat your grades if I can. You never know."

Hermione squinted, turning to Harry before shaking her head. "In your dreams, Potter."

"Is that a challenge, Granger?"

"It might be, Potter," Hermione smirked. "If you're up for the challenge, but I don't know how you'd manage to cope without my notes."

The two teenagers wandered into the woods with the rest of the Weasley family, walking through the brush of the English forestry. There was another man waiting at a large yew tree, it's branches stretching over the clearing that the group of wizards and witches were going through. At the front of the column, Arthur's arms were outstretched as the man away from him did the same, walking towards the Weasley patriarch.

"Arthur!" the man had called out.

"How are we, Amos?"

Harry continued walking, as the two older men greeted each other as the sun glowed over them. Harry looked at the tree they were standing by, noticing a pair of dangling legs before a figure leapt down from the branches and to the clearing. A young man, probably older than Fred and George but definitely younger than Bill and Charlie. He looked tall, but a lot burlier than Fred and George combined. Harry had turned to Hermione, who was definitely silent as she got a better look at the young man.

The column got back to moving, with Hermione soon joining Ginny in the middle of the pack as Harry remained at the back. He didn't really know Mr. Diggory, but he did know the handsome boy that was definitely his son. Cedric Diggory, the seventh-year who was probably the best Seeker of all the Hogwarts quidditch teams. Hufflepuff was painfully average at the game, but Cedric really was one of the best at the school. Harry ended up walking with them, not that he minded anyway.

"Merlin's beard! You're Harry Potter!" Amos exclaimed, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I must say, I did think you'd be a bit taller!"

"Ah, nice to meet you, Mr. Diggory."

Cedric shook his head. "Don't bother him too much, Dad. How've you been, Harry? Feeling better after everything last year?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Amos smiled; he seemed to be a kindly, if looking a little ruddy and weathered. "Ced's been talking about what happened last year at the quidditch. Told all the family about it, playing with those horrible creatures on the field, but also playing against you! Honestly, it was amazing. I was saying, he'll be telling his kids and grandkids about the day where he beat Harry Potter at quidditch!"

Cedric sighed, miming a quick 'sorry' to Harry before he replied to his dad. "Dad, come on. I didn't beat him. He fell off his broom. I told you it was just an accident."

"Ah, see! Our Cedric, always the modest gentleman. No disrespect, Harry, I'm sure you'll agree that whether you fall off your broom or get punted off by another player, if you stay on, you're a better flier, yes?"

Harry laughed. "I suppose you could say that. Besides, as far as I know, Cedric is the best Seeker at the school. I do try though."

"Now that is some good sportsmanship!" Amos cheered. "You an Irish fan, by any chance, Harry?"

"I was supporting Italy at the start of the tournament, to be honest."

Cedric continued forward, slowly walking next to Harry. "Not a bad side, shame about what happened with Italy. I think Lupo is out for the new season after what happened in the semis. Still, the best team won in the end."

The group moved forward through the forest before they eventually came to a massive overlook, the sight from the cliff went on for miles, green country fields that went on and on and on. At the centre of the overlook, was an old, shoddy and worn boot. Everyone surrounded it, with most of the family getting some sort of hold on the boot. Harry looked at it, suspiciously before he turned to Cedric, who grabbed ahold next to him.

"Why are we touching some manky old boot?" Harry asked.

Cedric was the first to reply. "It's a portkey, it'll be what takes us to the final. Make sure you've got a good grip."

Harry immediately tightened his grip on the boot, before he felt some force grab him by the stomach and throw him up into the air. Wherever he was going, he didn't know it, he just hoped that he made it to the finals in one piece. His hand remained on the boot before he heard somebody say to let go, of which Harry closed his eyes and did so, flying away and into the unknown before he slammed straight down onto another plain of grass.

Harry groaned, picking himself and his pack up from the grassy field, surrounded by Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Weasley clan. He heard the chatter of the older Weasleys and the Diggorys from above, floating in the air before gracefully landing on their feet. Harry picked up Ron from the floor, the redheaded boy shaking as they continued to the top of the nearby hill. Harry could hear the voices, hundreds if not thousands of them. Families, couples, fans of the Irish and the Bulgarian quidditch teams gathered and drank together as a couple of other wizards and witches were zooming over the camps on their brooms.

"Bloody hell, it's massive!" Harry managed to say.

"Too right, mate," Cedric said next to him, patting him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry."