Chapter 2.
COME ON YOU BOYS IN GREEN
By the time the gong sounded from the stadium, signalling the beginning of the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, the excitement in the air was tangible. Everyone was kitted out in either Irish green or Bulgarian red, animatedly chatting, joking, and even singing as they queued along the lantern-lit pathway. Up ahead, the large, oval stadium glowed gold between the trees of the woods, like a light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.
"It's bloody gigantic," murmured Walter in amazement, staring up at the enormous golden walls surrounding the pitch. "It must fit at least fifty thousand."
"A hundred thousand, actually," Omar said, looking impressed as he admired the building. "I read it in the Daily Prophet last week."
"Nerd," coughed Stan good-naturedly, and Omar threw him a quick glare. "Just because you're a Ravenclaw doesn't mean you have to know everything."
"No, it just means we know more than Gryffindors," Amanda said sweetly, batting her eyelashes.
"We are not having a fight about our houses right now," Erin warned sternly. In her hand was a small figurine of Aiden Lynch, the Irish Seeker, which cartwheeled and waved at passers-by. "I paid fourteen galleons for a seat to watch the final, not to hear you lot argue about the logistics of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."
The friends glanced at one another, sharing amused smirks.
"Fine," Stan said eventually, nodding his head. "I'll shut up."
"Gryffindor is way better, though," mumbled Walter, and Amanda reached over to smack the back of his head.
The Ministry witch at the ticket desk pointed the group in the direction of their seats. After climbing several flights of purple-carpeted stairs, Lara burst through a gate and found herself in the middle of a stadium. She could see thousands and thousands of seats filled with witches and wizards of all ages. Below she could see the bright green plains of grass, and on either end of the pitch three bright gold hoops stood proudly, glinting in the misty golden hue of the Quidditch stadium.
"Oh Merlin," Lara gasped as Walter came up beside her, grabbing his arm with anticipation. "Walt, look."
"I see it," her brother replied laughingly. "This is going to be amazing."
The rest of the group traipsed through the gate. Erin ended up in Lara's arms, having tripped over someone's foot in the haste to get upstairs. Grinning at her disgruntled friend, Lara took Erin's hand and headed up the stairs towards their seats. Lara ended up between her brother and Erin, her green rosette spinning and whizzing on her chest. Her Irish flag was held firmly in her right hand.
The rest of the stadium filled quickly, the noise level becoming deafening. The whole building seemed to quiver as everyone waited for the game to start. In the next stand over, a group of—probably drunk—men had their arms wrapped around one another, swaying from side to side as they sang.
"COME ON YOU BOYS IN GREEN,
COME ON YOU BOYS IN GREEN,
IRISH 'TIL THE END,
COME ON YOU BOYS IN GREEN!"
"Aren't there girls on the Irish team?" Erin spoke in Lara's ear.
"Two. Doesn't really fit the chant, though, does it?"
Erin looked confused, but nodded and leaned back in her seat. Erin didn't actually like Quidditch all that much, despite the fact that she'd paid a hefty amount to be here. Lara suspected she'd come along just so she didn't miss out. As the only Muggle-born of the group, Erin already struggled adjusting to Hogwarts life each year after a summer of being with her Muggle family. Her parents were unnerved by owls coming to their windows and the moving pictures in the Daily Prophet, so Erin usually spent the train ride back to school catching up on what she'd missed.
The Quidditch Cup was something Lara and her friends would talk about for weeks to come. And Erin would balk at the thought of not being involved; political changes and school gossip were one thing, but the Quidditch Cup was an entirely different league.
Walter nudged Lara in the ribs, turning her attention to him. "Do you think I have time to—"
"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome!" a voice suddenly rang out across the stadium. "Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
The listeners broke into tremendous applause and yells. Lara leapt to her feet along with the rest of the stand, waving her Irish flag in the air enthusiastically. She could feel the floor vibrating under her feet with the pressure of so many people jumping up and down.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
"Oh, shite," Walter cursed and ducked his head behind Lara, his hands on her shoulders. "Tell me when it's over!"
"When what's over—"
But Lara's question was quickly answered. About a hundred veela swept onto the pitch, all astonishingly beautiful, their skin gleaming like untouched snow, their hair long golden manes swinging out behind them. They began to dance, slow and rhythmic at first, then faster and faster, throwing out their arms gracefully and shimmying to an electric beat.
Lara blinked rapidly, rather shocked by the change of atmosphere. Walter let out a little whimper behind her, probably remembering his last encounter with a veela only last night. Meanwhile, Erin had to grab Stan before he made a dive for the pitch, and Omar was attempting to climb over the woman in front of him, his hand on her displeased face.
"Sorry, sorry," Amanda squeaked to the woman, though she sounded more amused than anything. "Omar, come back—stop it—"
The veela stopped dancing and the crowd—or, rather, the males of the crowd—cried out in anger. Stan began to spout off a long string of swear words that made Erin elbow him in the ribs and snap, "There are children here, you git."
Stan blinked at her dazedly, as if seeing her for the first time. "What?" he muttered distractedly.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," sighed Erin, as the commentators voice echoed through the stadium again.
"And now, kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
Walter let out a relieved breath and came out from behind Lara. Rolling her eyes at him, Lara leaned forward to watch as a comet of leprechauns zoomed around the pitch, breaking off into two smaller groups before hurdling to the goalposts. A rainbow appeared across the pitch, connecting the two leprechaun colonies, and when the colours had faded, a large gleaming shamrock emerged. There was a moment's pause before golden objects began to fall from the sky.
"What a show!" yelled Amanda brightly, clapping along with the other Irish supporters.
"And now," the man yelled over the noise as the leprechauns settled opposite the veela to watch the match, "ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome—the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you—Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand—Krum!"
As Lara admired the red-clad Quidditch players, he spoke again.
"And now, please greet—the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting—Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand—Lynch! And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
Lara sucked in an excited breath; this was it! The start of the Quidditch final! She held her breath as the four Quidditch balls rushed into the air. Mostafa placed the silver whistle around his neck into his mouth and, with one sharp blow, he zoomed into the air after the balls.
"Theeeeey're OFF!" yelled the commentator as the crowd cheered. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"
"Bloody hell," Erin said breathlessly as the players shot through the air.
Lara threw her a quick smile. Erin had only seen school Quidditch matches, which she was dragged along to by her friends for a bit of fun. But professional Quidditch, especially the National teams, was a whole different experience. The agility, speed, and talent of the players were unfathomable, almost too fast to keep up with. Lara had been to a few games before with Walter, so she understood how overwhelming the matches could be sometimes. Erin, however, had no idea. For the first time, she actually looked a little interested in a Quidditch game.
"TROY SCORES!" the man screamed, and the Irish side of the stadium exploded with cheers. "Ten-zero to Ireland!"
"GO ON, TROY!" shrieked Stan, as the leprechauns formed the glittering shamrock again.
It was known across the world that the Irish chasers were incredible. The media often joked that they must have been separated at birth because of their uncanny ability to read one another's minds. This was proven, once again, by their seamless performance at the final. Within minutes, the score was thirty-zero to Ireland and all the Irish supporters were absolutely agog.
This was when the match turned brutal, the Bulgarian beaters growing fierce and aggressive. The Irish chasers were thrown into disarray, their best moves prevented from being executed. Eventually, Ivanova managed to score Bulgaria's first goal.
"Argh!" Walter squeaked as the veela began to dance in celebration.
Lara reached over to cover Walter's eyes as he stuck his fingers into his ears. After a few seconds, the veela settled back onto their benches, and Lara let go of her brother to focus on the game again. The Bulgarian team had possession of the quaffle but suddenly, Krum and Lynch began to dive towards the ground.
The crowd gasped and choked. Erin grabbed hold of Lara's arm and squealed, "They're going to crash!"
However, only Lynch smacked into the ground, as Krum spiralled off into the air at the last second. Lara cringed along with the rest of the Irish supporters as mediwizards hurried onto the pitch to check the Seeker.
"Damn, that's gotta hurt," mumbled Omar, shaking his head wearily. "I hope he can play on."
"He only got ploughed!" Walter yelled, as if Lynch had simply pulled a muscle. "He'll be right as rain!"
He was right; Lynch got to his feet and mounted his broom. The Irish supporters yelled out in support, and the group of drunken men began to sing again, this time in a rather hearty, spirited tune.
"Lynch, Lynch,
We love you Lynch,
And we think Krum,
Looks like a bum."
"Original," snorted Walter as the game continued.
Lara nodded as she noticed some Bulgarians who must have heard the Irish supporters' chant. Angry and ruffled, the Bulgarians began to sing back to the tune of a well-known Weird Sisters song. "OH! CAN YOU CATCH A SNITCH LIKE KRUM? MA-MA-MA, MA-MA-MA, MA-MA-MA!"
The game got dirtier, along with the language of the Quidditch supporters, as Ireland scored another ten goals. Suddenly, Mullet shot towards the goalposts and Zograf flew out to meet her, elbowing his way to the front. The Irish supporters flew into a fit of rage that was quickly validated; Mostafa blew his whistle and Ireland were given a penalty.
This did little to diffuse the budding tension. The leprechauns taunted the veela by forming the words 'HA HA HA' and the blond creatures leapt to their feet, flipped their hair, and began to dance furiously. As the males in the stadium cringed and desperately covered their ears, Mostafa abandoned the game and landed in front of the veela, staring at them, transfixed, as he flexed his muscles.
"What is he doing?" screamed Erin, throwing herself forward to look over the heads of the people in front of her.
"Somebody slap the referee!" the commentator's voice boomed across the stadium over the yells of outrage.
Lara grabbed Walter's shoulder, shaking him to attention as a mediwizard came running across the pitch to the referee and kicked him in the knee. Mostafa, embarrassed and bright red, began to yell at the veela.
"Doesn't he know what veela can turn into?" Walter flinched worriedly. "Oh, this won't go well…"
He was right. The game had only just begun again when Moran was nearly knocked off her broom by Dimitrov. The leprechauns rose into the air, forming a giant hand that made a very rude gesture to the veela. Within the blink of an eye, the stunning women turned into birdlike creatures, throwing balls of fire towards the small creatures opposite them.
"Oh, shit," laughed Omar, who looked thoroughly enthralled by the turn of events. "I think I finally understand the meaning of 'never judge a book by its cover'!"
"The game," hissed Amanda, turning the group's attention back to the Quidditch players.
"MORAN SCORES!"
"YES!" the Irish supporters yelled out, though it was hardly audible above the veela's screams.
Lara was so busy watching the veela battle with a troupe of Ministry workers that she missed Krum's nose being broken. When the crowd let out groans of pain, she looked up to see a gush of blood coming from the Bulgarian Seeker's face. Beside her, Erin turned a little green and covered her eyes.
"He needs that fixed!" Stan yelled concernedly. "I mean, jeez, look at him—"
He was cut off, however, by the screams of the Irish crowd. Lynch had spotted the Snitch and was making a dive for it.
"LYNCH! LYNCH! LYNCH! LYNCH! LYNCH!"
"Oh Merlin!" yelled Walter as a bleeding Krum caught up with Lynch, hurtling downward. "He's going to crash—"
Lynch collided with the ground, skidding along the grass before disappearing under a herd of angry veela. Cringing at his misfortune, Lara looked up at the sky again, searching for the Snitch and wondering if the Irish team could put on their reserve Seeker to continue the game…
"IRELAND WINS!" screamed the commentator, causing confusion among the many in the crowd who had no idea what was going on. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH—BUT IRELAND WINS—good Lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"
The Irish burst into joyous applause. Walter turned to Lara and brought her into a hug, both of them jumping up and down as they screamed with delight. Several of the group of singing men burst into tears, blubbering about Irish pride. Bulgarian fans were either angrily shouting abuse or lamenting how unlucky the circumstances were; it was almost unheard of for a team to catch the Snitch and not win.
"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box! Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers—Bulgaria!"
The crowd, even the Irish supporters, clapped admiringly, for Krum, at least, had put on a good show. Lara could just barely see several red-robed figures shaking hands with two men at the top of the stands. As the Irish team was introduced, her eyes slid across the illuminated box, noticing a gathering of red hair that had to be the Weasleys'. A smirk came onto her face at the thought.
"Poor Lynch," murmured Omar as the Irish team returned to the pitch to do another lap of honour, the Seeker on the back of Connolly's broom. "He looks like he's been stepped on by a giant."
"He won, though. I don't think he'll care how," shrugged Walter, then turned to the group and clapped his hands happily. "So, who's up for a celebration?"
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
"CAN YOU DANCE LIKE A HIPPOGRIFF? MA-MA-MA, MA-MA-MA, MA-MA-MA!"
"I liked the Bulgarian version better," smirked Stan, having to lean forward and shout into Lara's ear over the roaring music.
"Very creative," Lara agreed tipsily. "I especially liked their dance moves along with it."
Stan grinned and leaned back in his seat again, kicking his legs up to lie across Lara's lap. They were the only two sitting down at the moment, choosing to disengage from the throng of people in the middle of the tent while they opened their next drinks. Around them, about sixty people were stuffed into Walter's tent, dancing and cheering to the music blasting from a wireless in the corner.
People had been turning up all night, popping in for a quick chat and dance before heading to the next celebrating tent. It was a constant stream of people, the faces of the crowd changing every time Lara had a good look. The only constants were her friends and Walter, all of whom were spread across the tent in various states of drunkenness. Erin was dancing with a rather tall blond man, Walter and Omar were on a table showing the crowd how to do the real Hippogriff dance, and Amanda was having an animated conversation with a group of women about the match.
The atmosphere was almost as electric as it had been at the stadium. For all his annoying habits, at least Walter knew how to throw a good party.
"Shall we dance?" Lara yelled towards her friend, pushing his legs off her lap.
Stan shrugged and put his beer onto the floor. "Sure, come on then, blondie."
They made their way into the throng of people, coming up beside Erin, who threw them a happy wave. Another Weird Sisters song blasted through the speakers, just as upbeat and fast as Do the Hippogriff. Stan grabbed Lara's hand and pulled it in an arch, throwing her into a fast, dazing spin. Laughing, unable to keep the grin off her face from the goodness of it all, Lara moved her hips to the beat, her skin warm and sweaty.
The two were dancing to their fourth song, a shrill beat with no words that had everyone jumping up and down, when a scream sounded from outside the tent. A few people froze, peering towards the noise suspiciously, but shrugged it off as a part of the celebrations. But then another scream echoed… and another and another.
Someone rushed over to the radio, hastily switching it off. Lara could feel the thumping of her heart as the whole party stood in silence, awaiting another noise, another sign that something different was going on outside. Already, Lara could tell that the atmosphere had changed; the music and the singing had stopped, and it sounded like people were running past the tent.
"Death Eaters!" screamed a woman from outside as she sprinted past the open door, a flurry of limbs and dark hair.
Like a snap of someone's fingers, the party split off, everyone running out into the night. Stan grabbed both Erin and Lara, pulling them towards him as the desperate crowd trampled past, pushing and shoving one another out the way.
"Omar, Mandy!" Stan's voice boomed across the room. "Walter!"
"Over here!" Lara's brother called out, then appeared at Stan's side with Omar and Amanda.
"Surely that woman was wrong," murmured Amanda worriedly, grabbing onto Walter's arm with both hands. "It can't be… those."
"It's probably the Bulgarians getting testy," Omar said, though he didn't sound convinced.
"I'll check it out," Walter muttered and headed into the night.
Lara's heart was in her throat as she watched him go. She wanted to go with him, or at least shout out for him to be careful, but her body seemed frozen and her words caught in her throat. The sudden shift of mood was discombobulating on its own, but with the alcohol flooding her system, she felt utterly dazed.
Death Eaters?
Walter was gone for what seemed like a century, though it was actually around thirty seconds. He marched back into the tent with his wand drawn, a serious and hard look on his face. Instantly, Lara knew something was wrong.
"You lot have to go," he said hurriedly. "Get into the woods, okay? And stick together, for the love of Merlin."
"Why? What's going on?" asked Erin breathlessly.
"Nothing good," was all Walter replied before shoving them towards the exit. "I'm helping out the Ministry. I'll catch up with you in a bit, okay?"
And then he was gone, disappearing behind a row of tents. Lara sucked in a breath—he couldn't just leave. And what the hell was he leaving for?
"Come on, La," said Stan, tugging on her hand.
Lara unconsciously began to move as Stan dragged her towards the woods. Glancing over her shoulder, half-hoping she'd spot Walter running after them, she saw a dark mass of people in the distance. They marched as if they were in the army, their wands pointed upwards as they laughed and yelled out delightedly. Their masked faces glinted in the dimming firelight, showing a silver armour that obscured their identities. Lara's eyes slipped up to what their wands were aimed at, and instantly wished she hadn't.
Up above, four withering and floppy figures were being knotted and twisted like dough, as if the wizards on the ground were playing with them. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were being tortured in the air. Lara felt an urge to vomit, and nearly did when she noticed how small two of the shapes were.
"Oh my God," gasped Erin tearfully, for she had stopped to see what Lara was staring at.
"That's disgusting!" Omar yelped, sounding like he was about to collapse onto the ground. "Absolutely horrible! What the hell…"
"Guys, we have to go," Amanda whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "Come on."
Lara turned away from the four shapes, unable to take it anymore. She carefully grabbed hold of Erin's hand and dragged her towards the woods, Erin sobbing into her free hand. The further away they got from the main area of the campsite, the more difficult it got to see. Dark figures rushed around in front of Lara, both children and adults, desperate to get away from the hooded criminals. In the distance she could hear children sobbing, terrified and anxious, while others shouted out for loved ones and scrambled into the trees.
"Don't split up, alright?" Lara turned towards her friends, squeezing Erin's hand as she spoke. "Wands out, too."
The group pulled their wands out from various places—Amanda reached into her coat, Omar his trouser pocket, and Stan from his waistband—before heading into the woods. Lara grabbed her own wand from her right boot, pointing it in front of her in case someone jumped out. Her brain was still foggy from the alcohol, but she was pretty sure she'd be able to cast a good jinx if needed.
The five friends rushed along a pathway in the woods, tripping every now and then and letting out huffs of annoyance. They passed several groups on their way, including some goblins and a veela being tailed by a group of admiring boys, and eventually got to a small, quiet clearing where a large bunch of people had gathered. Someone was talking loudly about 'strength in numbers' as Lara came to a halt, gathering her friends around her.
"It's alright, Erin. Please stop crying…" Stan muttered uncomfortably, patting her on the back.
"It's just so horrible," whispered the girl, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "Who would do that?"
Lara wanted to say that she knew plenty of people who would do it, but held her tongue. Erin didn't know much about the war, and Lara wasn't about to worry her. Stan glanced towards Lara, who shrugged, and he sighed softly. "I don't know, Erin. I don't know."
Someone nearby lit up the end of their wand, illuminating the small space with a sliver of bright light. Lara could see several more people turning up in the clearing, each looking as confused and scared as the next. Just as she was about to try to comfort Erin again, she saw a flash of red, and Omar turned just in time to reach out and catch a stumbling Weasley twin.
"You alright, mate?" Omar asked as the twin straightened, grumbling under his breath.
"Yeah, thanks. Tripped over a bloody rabbit hole or something." He glanced back to the ground accusingly, then turned towards the group of friends. "You lot okay?"
"Yeah, are you?" Stan questioned. "Where's your, eh… twin?"
"Over there—Fred, Ginny!" the twin that must have been George yelled out, making a 'come here' movement with his hand.
Fred appeared with Ginny clutching his hand. He looked perplexed, though his expression softened slightly when he saw the group of seventh years. "Hey, you lot alright?" he asked.
"We're fine—" Lara was interrupted as Erin let out another sob. "—sort of. You?"
"Except for George needing a piss, we're fantastic." He threw a sarcastic glare to his twin, who huffed. "Did you relieve yourself?"
"Yeah, and then tripped over," George snorted. "Bloody rabbits…"
"I can't believe this," Amanda said breathlessly, shuffling from foot to foot as she glanced back towards the campsite. "I didn't think Death Eaters existed anymore."
"It's not Death Eaters, it's wannabe Death Eaters," Stan grumbled. "I mean, it has to be, right?"
Omar, his right-hand man, nodded supportively. "I read somewhere that Death Eaters have been pretty much non-existent since the war. They lost their nerve after You-Know-Who snuffed it."
"Maybe it's just the Bulgarians," Erin whispered hopefully.
"I mean, if it is, I feel like they're taking the term sore loser a bit far," Fred said, biting his bottom lip. "Nobody cares about Quidditch that much, not even Wood."
"Well, he did try to drown himself in the showers," muttered George.
"Yeah, himself," Fred threw back. "Not himself and four innocent Muggles."
Ginny sucked in a sharp breath. His eyebrows knitting worriedly, Fred bent down to mutter something quietly to his sister, who nodded at his words. Lara sighed loudly and looked towards the dark pathway that led to the main area; she wanted Walter. He'd be able to calm her nerves and make her feel better. Though they teased each other mercilessly, the siblings were closer than they cared to admit.
"What's that?" Omar suddenly yelped, pointing into the sky.
Lara turned to look. For a second, she was blinded by a green light, brighter than the lights in the Quidditch stadium. Then, before her very eyes, the greenness took on the form of a large skull with a snake lolling out of its mouth like a sharp tongue. The figure flew higher and higher into the sky, green smoke billowing out beneath it.
The whole clearing burst into horrified screams. Amanda crouched down, her hands over her mouth as she stared up at the scene in front of her. Omar and Stan swore loudly, while Fred pushed Ginny behind him and George flinched.
"What is it?" Erin whispered, grabbing Lara's hand desperately. "La, what is that?"
"The Dark Mark," murmured Lara, gulping thickly. "It… You-Know-Who used it as a symbol."
Erin gasped and new tears sprang into her eyes.
"I'm heading back to the campsite," Lara said suddenly, turning away from the skull in the sky. "I need to find Walter—I can't think—I need to find him."
"I'll come with you," Fred offered quickly.
"We should all head back," Omar said shakily. "I can't hear their shouting anymore—I think they've gone."
Other people seemed to think so, too. The crowd in the clearing was thinning, people rushing back down the dark pathway to the campsite. Without a second thought, Lara broke off, pointing her illuminated wand in front of her. She could hear the shouts of her friends behind her but all she could think about was finding her brother, who was out there alone and tipsy fighting Death Eaters, of all things. For some reason, they seemed even more menacing than the thought of dragons.
She headed back towards the tent, hoping he would go there to wait for her. She was running down a trampled pathway when her name was called out in the night.
"Walter!" She turned towards her brother, who stood in the distance waving at her. "Oh thank Merlin—"
She sprinted forward, pulling him into a tight hug before inspecting him for injuries. Except for a cut on his eyebrow and a rip in his t-shirt, he seemed rather unharmed.
"Are you okay?" the two siblings asked each other at the same time.
"I'm fine," Lara replied with a small smile. "We found a clearing and we just waited it out… but the mark, Walt…"
"I know. Everyone's freaking out about it."
"Understandably, I'd say," a Scottish voice said from somewhere behind Walter. Peering around her brother's body, Lara saw Oliver Wood standing with his wand in hand, arms crossed as he angrily glared at the Dark Mark hanging in the sky. "My parents have told me some horror stories about that thing."
"Ollie." Lara grinned towards the former Gryffindor captain. "Where did you come from?"
"We ran into each other trying to hex the Death Eaters," Walter answered as Oliver rolled his eyes at Lara's nickname for him. "He stopped me from getting my arse kicked a couple of times before I sobered up."
"What were you thinking, running into a fight half-plastered?" Oliver sighed loudly, shaking his head. "Same old Walter."
"He loves me, really."
"You're still an idiot."
"Thanks, Ollie," Lara said gratefully. "I mean, Oliver."
Oliver smirked amusedly. "Don't try and butter me up now, kid. I've already saved his life."
"That's a bit extreme," scoffed Walter. "They were simple hexes—"
"I saw a flash of green."
"It was a leprechaun."
The two former Quidditch mates glared good-naturedly at each other. Back when Walter was on the Gryffindor team, he'd served with Oliver for two years until he graduated with Charlie. Lara had crossed paths with Oliver a few times during her first two years at Hogwarts, usually when she went to look for her brother and found him hanging out with his team. She'd called him 'Ollie,' thinking it was a natural nickname, and he'd flinched in a way that told her she was wrong. Still, he never corrected her, probably too scared about invoking Walter's wrath if he gave her lip, and the nickname had stuck.
"Lara! Lara!" Erin's worried voice rang across the campsite. "Oh, there you are! And Walter, oh thank God—"
"Can we get out of here?" Amanda asked Walter, grabbing hold of his arm. "Please, Walt. I can't stay here."
"We'll head for the Portkey area—the Ministry's setting up some early ones, but there's a queue," Walter said.
"Of course there's a queue," muttered Omar bitterly as the group began to trudge towards the campsite entrance. "It's Britain."
Most of the chapter was taken straight from the books, so I'm sorry if it was a bit repetitive! But it was all necessary for the story to move forward. I hope you enjoyed it anyway!
Thanks for the support for the last chapter guys. You're the best.
Next chapter sometime next week...and it's called 'Are you sniffing the drinks?'...you can make your own conclusions...