Chapter 24: World Cup
Neville watched closely as the green flames rose in his grandmother's fireplace. Within moments, figures could be discerned spinning like tops before they were expectorated out of his hearth and onto the floor. Ron was one of the few among the Weasleys who managed to keep enough of his balance that he didn't topple over completely; with a tousled grin, he let out a growl of friendly excitement as he staggered into his best mate's bear hug. He was quickly followed by roughhousing from the twins, then a firm handshake from Arthur. Ginny had clearly sprouted over the summer, as she now came up to Neville's chest. To Neville's surprise, she said hello by way of a peck on the cheek. This was followed by Hermione's tired smile and a kiss on the cheek of her own.
"Ready for the off?" Ron grinned at him.
"Definitely," Neville beamed. He turned back. "You sure you don't want to come, Gran?"
"Nonsense, boy," she twittered, as though the very thought offended her. "A bunch of brash, sweaty men heaving themselves through the air for others' amusement? What utter rot!"
Hermione's grin was one of admiration as she leaned into Neville to whisper, "I quite like your Gran." Hearing her, Ron rolled his eyes.
"It took about as much effort to win the World Cup just to get her to come along."
Hermione bristled. "Well, excuse me if I don't exactly fancy watching people fly around on broomsticks at dangerous speeds! It's one of the many reasons I will never mount one in my life!"
"Yeah, and also one of the many reasons why she'll be an old maid…" Ron muttered sotte voce, oddly making doubly sure that for once, Hermione didn't hear him.
"For someone who claims to want to eschew tradition, you're quite traditional yourself," Neville commented dryly.
"What are you talking about?" Ron blinked. "Hermione knows what our customs are, especially where broomsticks are concerned!"
Neville was sorely tempted to make his teasing more explicit, but decided to hold his tongue as he saw Arthur sweeping back towards the fireplace. "Come on, you lot! We have to double back to the Burrow if we want to reach the Portkey!"
Neville bumped shoulders with Ron, and then hissed when he felt something dig into his sweater. He plucked it out with his finger. "Are these… splinters?"
"Don't ask," Ron grumbled, even as he cringed. "Our last stop didn't go quite as smoothly as this one…"
"We tried to Floo into Harry's fireplace, to bring him along," Hermione chittered, sounding sad as they all were forced to bunch up together inside the fireplace of Longbottom Manor.
"You mean his Muggle relatives' house?"
"'House' is a word you could use," Ron offered up. "Just as you could also use the words 'maximum security prison.' If it's not bars on the bedroom windows, it's an entire fireplace all boarded up. It's a wonder that boy gets on the train alive every year – he probably has to conduct a jailbreak in the summers!"
Behind him, Neville could hear Hermione giggle, then cough as the green flames picked up and they were all whisked away again. He was practically thrown to the stone of the Weasleys' fireplace, before everyone was getting up and traipsing through the house. Where this sprawling, loving family was concerned, Neville had learned two summers ago that it was best to follow the crowd.
They all headed out into the garden and pushed past the front gates, the rolling hills and fields of Devonshire yawning up in the distance to greet them. Arthur led the whole group towards a patch of wood in the nearer vicinity, which still meant a bit of a hike. As he went along, Neville felt his gaze drawn towards the horizon where the hills of Devon disappeared. He thought of Luna Lovegood, who apparently lived within 'Yoo-Hoo!' distance of the Weasleys - just over the next hill, she had said.
"Do you think we might like to invite Luna Lovegood?" Neville called out to no one in particular, hoping that Arthur heard him.
Ron certainly did, and he glanced back to ogle at his best mate, baffled. "That barmy bird from Ravenclaw? Why would we invite her?"
"Well, she is your neighbor," Neville pointed out.
"And my best mate! You wanna make something of it, Ron?" Ginny suddenly appeared with her red hair twisting about like tongues of flame, looking every bit like a mad dog.
"Stop it!" Arthur chided, moving between his two youngest before a row or worse could ensue. The patriarch nervously glanced at his watch. "If we hurry, we can stop at the Rook and still make it back to the Portkey! Come along, you lot, spit spot!"
Neville didn't want to make anyone late, but he let words to that effect die in this throat as the entire troupe shifted course to the left and broke into a light jog. The twins seemed confused.
"Portkey's that way…. Where are we going?" Fred wondered.
"Hey, DAD! WHERE ARE WE GOING?" George hollered.
"Haven't the foggiest – keep up!" Arthur threw over his shoulder, clearly too tired to play the twins' games, more than anything. To the contrary, he seemed to know his way to Luna's house quite well.
The uninhibited Ravenclaw girl herself answered the door, to a house that seemed to resemble a chess piece. As Ginny threw herself at her best girlfriend with squeals, Ron took in the façade admiringly, if also baffled. "Does she play wizards' chess, do you reckon?"
"Fallen for her already, have you, Ron?" Ginny threw back over her shoulder where she still had her arms flung around Luna's neck.
"Wha…..?" Ron glanced at Neville, thrown.
Hermione smirked, amused. "What Ginny means, Ronald, is that maybe you shouldn't judge a person before you get to know them."
"Merlin's Beard, woman! When have I ever done that?"
Hermione's grin now appeared truly vicious, a sparkling glint in her eye as Ron laid his own trap. She was only all too happy to spring it. "Oh, let's see: there was the time you called me a nightmare for helping you with your spell pronunciation. Then there was the time when…"
"Right, all right, keep your hair on!" Ron grumbled, though his face now matched the shade of his hair exactly.
Luna now disengaged from Ginny to stride forward and warmly hug Neville around the neck. "Ginny says you thought to invite me….. Thank you! I do love Quidditch!"
Neville smiled weakly, leaning back out of the embrace and ignoring how Ron was looking at him curiously. If his best mate was searching for someone else to take the mickey out on for a change, it wouldn't be him. "Well…. you live close by and we were passing that way and I figured…."
Luna's small smile was playing at her lips as she listened with altogether too much focus. Rather than ramble to a halt, Neville tried to slough it off by clearing his throat. "Ron didn't want to make the detour, but I insisted."
"OI!"
Hermione lifted a hand to her lips to hide a smile.
The group had to backtrack double-time to the trees. "Now where are we going?" the twins moaned in unison.
"I'll ask," Ron quipped mildly. "Hey, DAD! Where are we going?"
"Again, haven't the foggiest – keep up, KEEP UP!" Mr. Weasley admonished in response to what was clearly the Weasley version of Are We There Yet?
Neville, Luna, Hermione and the Weasleys soon emerged into a small clearing, in which stood a portly man leaning against an imposing oak.
"Arthur!" the man embraced Ron's dad like an old friend.
"Everyone, this here is Amos Diggory…." A sudden blur dropped unexpectedly from the direction of the heavens, lifting a tousled head of chestnut hair upon hitting the earth, and on his feet too. "And this strapping young lad must be Cedric, am I right?"
Hermione and Ginny turned into each other, chittering and giggling. Ron gawped watching the girlish display.
"Between my sister and my best mate….. one of those women is going to be the death of me…."
Neville also didn't understand what was so swooning about the young buck who he only vaguely knew as a Hogwarts classmate – Hufflepuff, if memory served. Cedric Diggory was the Seeker on their Quidditch team. He might even be in his and Ron's year, though he couldn't be certain.
As it was, he felt some solace in seeing how Luna was the only one of the ladyfolk not to turn into a giggling, stuttering mess. She was still wearing her signature dazed grin.
Amos Diggory led them to an old boot in the middle of a field. "Good, it hasn't left yet!" Arthur huffed in relief.
"That's the Portkey?" Neville discerned, befuddled.
"Just watch, mate!" Fred jostled him as the whole bunch encircled the boot.
"More than that – hang on tight!" George added.
Neville again followed the crowd by kneeling in the field and reaching out a hand to get a grip somewhere on the boot. Fighting for possession with eight other people, this wasn't an easy task, and it was made all the harder when the boot suddenly glowed blue and the world around them began to spin at punishing speeds. He could hear Ron yelling, Hermione shrieking, in his ears, and then Arthur's command, "Let go, kids! LET GO!"
Quicker than he meant to, Neville obeyed and felt himself free-falling. He landed hard on his back, the azure sky dancing and swimming into focus in his vision. Grunting, he lifted his head to watch as Amos, Arthur, and Cedric all came gently back to earth on their feet, their legs pin-wheeling for a moment through open air.
They appeared to have landed in another field, on the edge of which was a bustling encampment, right in the shadow of a large stadium. A booming, beaming Amos Diggory led the way, the group maneuvering through the encampment and taking in all the sights and sounds.
"Here is our plot! Spent good money to reserve this!" Amos boomed. "Cedric and I will be in the one across the way, Arthur!"
Arthur nodded gratefully and stooped into the tent. Curious, Neville followed after gentlemanly allowing the ladies to enter first.
"…. Girls, choose a bunk and unpack!" Arthur was calling. This was immediately followed by a girlish shriek from Hermione, off in one of the expansive rooms that somehow managed to fit inside this tent. "Get out of the kitchen, Ron – we're all hungry!"
"Yeah, get out of the kitchen, Ron!" the twins chorused.
"Feet off the table…."
"FEET OFF THE TABLE!" The twins bellowed teasingly back at their father's chiding while keeping their legs firmly propped up on the mahogany.
Neville could only shake his head in wonder. He truly did love magic.
The crowd was raucous that night, up in the stands. Neville was decked out in full Irish regalia, as were Hermione, Luna and all the Weasleys. The twins, Beaters on the Gryffindor Quidditch squad, went berserk as they watched their heroes flying into the pitch.
"There's MULLETT!"
"And Moran!"
The Irish's show of strength was quickly dispersed by their rivals, the Bulgarians.
"Who's that?" Hermione yelled over the din, as one burgundy-robed figure broke away from the pack, performing tricks on his broom.
"Viktor Krum – arguably the best Seeker in the world!" Ron hollered back nearly in Hermione's ear.
Before long, the entire stands, even among some of the Irish fans, was chanting Krum's name. Glancing down to Luna to see what she thought about all this, Neville was heartened to observe how she seemed less perturbed than the others. Less caught up in the hullabaloo. "He does seem a handsome one, doesn't he?"
"Huh?" Neville blinked.
Luna silently pointed, and Neville tracked her finger to find that she was studying Viktor Krum in what may have been an admiring way.
Later that night in the tent, following the match, Neville was relaxing and enjoying watching the twins perform an Irish jig. Next to him, Hermione was indulging the display, even as from her bemused smile, he could tell:
"It's not historically accurate. Irish dance is supposed to be really intricate. For a family with deep Irish roots, you would think Fred and George know this."
Neville grinned. "Then you don't know Fred and George." If there was one thing he knew about Ron's brothers, it's that they truly did eschew convention in a way that Ron claimed to, but in some ways didn't.
Ron himself now burst into the midst of the jig, breaking it up. "There's no one like Krum, though! He's like a bird the way he rides the wind!"
"Krum? Krum! Krum, Krum, Krum!" The twins turned the Bulgarian Seeker's name into a birdcall, circling Ron and flapping their arms.
"He's more than an athlete…. He's an artist!" Never had Neville seen his best mate get so awed about a Quidditch player, even though that player had flown with the opposing team and ultimately caught the Snitch, though Ireland still won the Cup anyway.
"You're in love, Ron," Ginny patted him teasingly.
"Viktor, I love you…."
"Viktor, I doooooooo….."
"When we're apart, my heart beats only for you! ….." Neville joined in the twins' singing.
Fred and George were jigging again, only to be broken up once more and this time by Arthur, though he was far rougher. "Stop it! – STOP IT!" The Weasley patriarch drifted to the flap of the tent. In the quiet, Neville could now hear what sounded like screams splitting the air. WHOOSHing. Lifting back the flap, Arthur peeked out onto a campsite devolving into flames and chaos. His eyes widened.
"Get back to the Porkey, you lot!"
"Dad, what's happening?!"
"No time, Ron! Fred, George! – Ginny is YOUR responsibility!"
There was a CRASH and the sound of flames moving. "Let's GO!" Grabbing Hermione's hand, Ron pulled her along. Neville pressed a palm into the small of Luna's back and steered her forward, bringing up the rear and herding the others so that they stayed with the rest of the group. For once, Fred and George seemed to be taking their father's words to heart and not letting Ginny out of their sight.
Suddenly, an explosion knocked Neville to the ground. As he struggled to pick out Luna again, a sea of humanity drove him in another direction.
"Neville…! NEVILLE!" He could hear Hermione's voice yelling to him over the din, but she too was being driven apart from him, same as the others.
Neville ran where his feet carried him, ducking into a hedge of trees. All around him, explosions could be heard, fires popping up. Glancing back once, he saw a spark of green, cast by a wizard in a hooded robe and his unfortunate opponent crumpled like a rag doll. It only made Neville run faster.
He came to a clearing when he crashed nearly headlong into Ron's broad chest; behind him, he thought he heard Hermione yelp.
"Mate! Mate, are you all right?!" Ron sounded winded, panicked.
"Yeah, yeah I'm….."
"LOOK OUT!" Hermione shrieked.
"STUPEFY!" A ring of wizards suddenly bellowed the spell all at once. Neville was glad how Ron didn't think; the redhead simply muscled both him and Hermione down low to the ground where they huddled, gritting their teeth as red bolts of light ricocheted from the firing squad above them.
"Stop! STOP! Those are my children!" Arthur Weasley's bellow preceded the rest of him as he pushed through the crowd. "Neville, Ron, Hermione, Ginny – are you OK?!"
Neville glanced back to see the twins helping Ginny and Luna off the ground a few paces behind them. He nodded.
A mustachioed gentleman suddenly burst into the reunion, brandishing a wand, his beady eyes wild.
"You have the right to remain silent!" The man gave off the air of a villain in one of the old black-and-white movies.
"Bartimaeus….."
The gentleman ignored Arthur's admonishment. "You have been found at the scene of the crime!" His voice was accented, but Neville couldn't place it.
"Crime?"
"It's the Dark Mark, Neville – it's His Mark," Hermione leaned into him, whispering.
Slowly, Neville glanced up. Through a break in the canopy, high in the sky almost directly above them, was the green flickering of an image, depicting a skull with a serpent protruding out of its mouth. Flashing back momentarily to the Chamber of Secrets, watching the Basilisk slither out and go for him, Neville couldn't help but gulp.
Whatever pogrom had occurred here at the Quidditch World Cup, it heralded nothing good. Twisting through the air, the serpent now seemed to give a shriek as it was disgorged from the intimidating skull.