To the Portkey

"Delilah, come on. It's time to wake up."

Not even a second later, her eyes fluttered open. They were filled with exhaustion, but that did not make her go back to sleep. She looked up at the bushy haired brunette and nodded wordlessly. Hermione pursed her lips into a frown as she watched the young hybrid stand and walk over to her bag to grab her clothes.

"You haven't slept at all, have you?"

It was just the two of them in the room, as Ginny had left to go to the bathroom.

Delilah did not reply.

"Deli..."

She sighed. "I haven't," Delilah admitted.

"And why not?"

Delilah brought out a plastic bag that contained her clothes; it was Lara's idea— separate each ensemble in plastic bags. That way, she's got ready what she's going to wear. She brought the attire out of the bag and simply stared at it for a moment.

"I've been having these dreams..."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You're not dreaming of You-Know-Who, are you? I thought those stopped in—"

"No, I've managed to keep him out of my head since the end of Second Year."

"Then, what..."

Delilah's jaw clenched slightly as she frowned. "That's the thing. I don't know. One moment, I'm in front of someone who's oddly familiar, then, the next, I'm in front of myself, but it's not me." She sighed. "I don't know, and I hate it. I usually know things..."

Hermione gave her a small smile and rubbed her arm comfortingly. "Hey, it's alright. We'll figure it out."

Delilah returned the smile. "Thanks, 'Mione." She paused. "Hey, can you cut my hair a little? I did it last week, but it wasn't very good."

"How much did you cut it last week?"

"Till my shoulders."

"What?! But it's— your waist— how—"

"Witchy hybrid, remember?"

"Right..."

After getting her hair cut, so it fell just a few inches past her shoulders rather than down to her waist, Delilah tied it up and back into a slightly messy bun before grabbing her clothes. Swiftly, she slipped on a black tank top, followed a pair of black trousers and khaki green sneakers. She then pulled a khaki green bardort that matched with her shoes over her tank top. The bardort came with an elasticated waist and shoulders, which left her shoulders bare, so the black straps of her tank top were visible and tailored with flared sleeves and crinkled fabric finish for a bohemian look.

Since she was quick to get dressed, she was the first ready to go downstairs. However, she remained a few more minutes to put another outfit apart, along with another for Hermione and Ginny, in which they would change in later at the World Cup. Putting all three attires into Delilah's charmed maroon pouch, the hybrid told the witch she would see her when she was done, then grabbed her black cashmere coat and headed downstairs into the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as Delilah, along with the boys who followed right behind, entered and spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.

Delilah chuckled; that man was really crazy about the Muggle world.

"What d'you think?" he asked Delilah and Harry anxiously. "We're supposed to go incognito— do I look like a Muggle?"

"Yeah," said Delilah, smiling.

Harry nodded, coming to stand beside her. "Very much so."

"Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in."

Harry knew that Apparating meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another, but had never known any Hogwarts student to do it, and understood that it was very difficult.

"It is."

Harry blinked and looked over at Delilah quizzically. "What?"

"Apparating. It's hard."

He fought back a smile. "Were you just reading my mind?"

She gave him a cheeky smile and shook her head. "Nope. Just your face. That, and I just so happen to know you very well, Harold."

Harry chuckled at that as the both of them turned their attention back to the Weasleys.

"So they're still in bed?" said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. "Why can't we Apparate too?"

No, Delilah thought. She would much rather instant-transmission her way there, but she did not know where the place was. Plus, she had only ever done it with two people, not more than that at the same time, and only Mr. Weasley happened to know where it was, apart from the Bill, Charlie, and Percy. She would've read his mind like she had done with Seth when they first met and she took him to Daren, but now that she could control the mind reading, she did not want to because she knew it would be rude to invade someone's mind even if it's just to look for a destination.

"Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "And where have those girls got to?"

"They're still upstairs," Delilah said softly. Soon after she said so, Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the kitchen, and they heard her climbing the stairs.

"You have to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked.

Not me, Delilah thought, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves."

Delilah bit her lip, while everyone else around the table except Harry winced.

"Er— splinched?" said Harry.

"They left half of themselves behind," said Mr. Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. "So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind..."

"Were they okay?" Harry asked, startled.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. "But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms- slower, but safer."

"But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?"

"Charlie had to take the test twice," said Fred, grinning. "He failed the first time. Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?"

Delilah chuckled. She remembered how hard Apparating was. She had failed to do it many times, but by the time she had it, she'd ended up in Bulgaria, then the next time in France.

She then quickly cleared her throat to hide the cough that was just about to come out. Ron, who sat not far from her, frowned as he noticed that. He was about to ask about it but was cut off by his mother.

"Yes, well, he passed the second time," said Mrs. Weasley, marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers.

"Percy only passed two weeks ago," said George. "He's been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can."

There were footsteps down the passageway and Hermione, and Ginny came into the kitchen, both looking pale and drowsy. Delilah rolled her eyes at the girls; when they're alone, they're wide awake and suffocating her with their worry, but now with everyone else, they let their exhaustion get to them.

Great timing, she thought sarcastically.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley.

"Walk?" said Harry. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup..."

"George!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and they all jumped.

"What?" said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!" Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

Delilah clamped over her mouth to hide her smile and keep herself from laughing.

"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find them all.

"Accio! Accio! Accio!" she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the Toffees away.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took their departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs. Weasley, "and behave yourselves," she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer.

"I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Delilah, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

It was chilly, and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry, having been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup, sped up to walk with Mr. Weasley.

"So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" he asked.

"It's been a massive organizational problem," sighed Mr. Weasley before explaining to him why wizards Apparate or use Portkeys. "I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys."

Hearing her friend's question, Delilah looked back at him and smiled at his curiosity before giving him an answer herself. "They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to.

Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement before adding, "There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed." He pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?" said Harry curiously.

"Well, they can be anything," said Mr. Weasley. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them... stuff they'll just think is litter..."

By the time they all trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, and the twins had calmed down, the silence was broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Delilah kept cringing as she fought to keep herself from coughing. Harry's hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch.

They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest, and his legs were starting to seize up when, at last, his feet found level ground.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time- we've got ten minutes."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big... Come on..."

They spread out, searching. As they did so, Fred and George began questioning Delilah about her enhanced strength and other abilities. At one point, they both tried to jump onto her back, rucksacks and all. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it."

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Guys, get off," Delilah muttered. She did not make move to shove them off as she knew she would end up severely hurting them if she did so.

"Nah, we're good." Delilah groaned.

"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.

Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

Before greetings could proceed, Fred and George jumped off Delilah's back at that moment, catching her by surprise. In result to that, she stumbled forward, straight into Diggory's son. By the slightly cold looks that had settled upon the twins' faces, it had been clearly unintentional, but it was too late to say so; Delilah was already in the Hufflepuff's arms.

Registering what had just happened, Delilah blinked owlishly before looking up, ducking her head slightly. "Sorry... hi."

"Hi," said Cedric, looking down at her in daze.

"Hi," she found herself repeating, looking away from him in slight embarrassment.

"Hi," he repeated as well, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

She looked back up and felt her brows furrow slightly as she looked at him closely. He was tall and quite handsome with chiseled features, pale skin, rosy cheeks, dark brownish bronze hair, and bright gray eyes. He looked familiar, she decided.

"Expelliarmus." George's wand shot over to her. She caught it and smiled.

"Good job, Miss Hawkins," Lockhart said smiling, "Well done, well done. Another twenty points to Gryffindor... and five more for Mr. Weasley's effort. Who else wants to give it a try?" She looked around to the room, but everyone was backing away. "How about Mr. Diggory?"

Delilah looked at Lockhart questioningly. Who's Diggory?

She threw George his wand and watched as a Hufflepuff boy took his place. He seemed to be about the twins' age, maybe a year older. He was tall and quite handsome with chiseled features, pale skin, rosy cheeks, dark bronze... ish hair, and bright grey eyes. He stepped forward and smiled shyly at her, making her smile softly back at him. She never thought she could make people feel shy around her.

They stepped closer, still facing each other and bowed. They raised their wands like swords in front of them then put them down to their side, turning their backs to each other. Delilah walked five steps then turned back around and held her wand out towards her opponent.

"Three― two―"

"Good luck," the Hufflepuff said with a kind smile. At least he wasn't taunting or mischievous like Fred and George. Delilah smiled at him and nodded, signaling that she wished him good luck as well.

"One― go!"

"I know you," she blurted out, snapping him out of his daze. "We dueled against each other two years ago at Lockhart's dueling club."

Cedric rosy cheeks flushed darker. "Yeah— I-I didn't think you would remember me."

Delilah smiled, and he smiled back, though they were snapped back to the present by the sound of someone clearing his throat.

Pulling away from each other, Cedric looked at the others and nodded with a small smile. "Hi."

Everybody greeted him back except Fred, George, and Harry, who merely nodded. The twins had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year; Harry just didn't like the way the older boy had had his arms wrapped around Delilah just a moment ago.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr. Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still... not complaining... Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons— and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Delilah, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's— and Harry, another friend— and Delilah, another friend—"

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Delilah? Delilah Hawkins and Harry Potter?"

"Er— yeah," said Harry.

"Delilah Dawn," the girl corrected with a slightly uneasy smile playing on her lips. "And... yeah."

Harry and Delilah were used to people looking curiously at them when they met them, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on Harry's forehead and the one hidden underneath Delilah's hair on the side of her neck, but it always made them feel uncomfortable.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about that dueling club from two years ago— you'd surely make a great Auror if you moved as fast as he said you did. Told us about playing against you too, Harry, last year... I said to him, I said— Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... You beat Harry Potter!"

Harry couldn't think of any reply to this, so he remained silent. Delilah placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder; he had really thought himself down when that had happened the previous year, and had blamed himself for letting the team down. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you... it was an accident..."

At least he's honest, Delilah thought, regarding the boy with respect.

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman... but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on; you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already, and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr. Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr. Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off... We'd better get ready..." He looked around at Delilah, Harry, and Hermione. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do—"

With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harry how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now... ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting...

"Three..." muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two... one..."

It happened immediately. Delilah felt a rush stronger than the one she'd feel when Apparating. Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Ron and Delilah on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then his feet slammed into the ground; Ron staggered into him, and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud.

Harry looked up. Everybody was on the ground except for Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory, both who, though looking very windswept, were still standing, along with Cedric, who had somehow found himself holding onto Delilah to keep her from stumbling onto the ground, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. The hybrid and the wizard looked at each other in daze, a small blush adorning Cedric's already naturally rosy cheeks.

"Delilah!" a familiar boyish voice exclaimed.

And they quickly jumped apart.

Less than three seconds later, however, Delilah was tackled to the ground where she landed with a grunt, her eyes shutting tight as she took in the familiar weight that had brought her down.

"Get off me, kid," she grumbled, gently pushing him off.

Cedric quickly stepped forward and helped her up. She looked at him and gave him a halfhearted smile. "Seems you're always picking me up," she said, referring to the many times he'd helped her stand back onto her feet after they met in the dueling club.

He chuckled softly, a faint blush coloring his rosy cheeks anew. "I guess so."

The boy on the ground stared at the pair, his eyes narrowing slightly as they lingered on the bronze haired boy. He quickly shot to his feet and wormed his way to his sister's side, intensifying his gaze on the older boy, clearing his throat. In result to his interruption, Delilah and Cedric jumped slightly apart again, and Delilah glared at his brother for being clingy, while Cedric looked away, feeling a bit uncomfortable under the younger boy's intense stare.

"I'm Seth," he said in a low voice. "Seth Dawn— her brother."

"Little brother," Delilah elaborated. "Hence him being shorter than I."

Seth groaned. "Did you have to?" he whined childishly, causing the older pair to look at him with amusement.

"Yes, I did," Delilah deadpanned. "You're being unnecessarily intimidating."

The boy looked up at her, his eyes lighting up. "I was intimidating?"

Delilah snorted. "No. Watching you try to intimidate Cedric was like watching a chihuahua trying to intimidate a horse." She turned to Cedric and placed a hand on his shoulder. "No offense."

He nodded slowly. "Um... okay?"

"Though if it makes you feel any better, you'd make a very handsome horse," she added, bringing the blush back onto his rosy cheeks.

"Erm... thanks, I guess."

She chuckled. "Sorry." She then turned back to her brother. "Where's your twin from another hen?"

"Sleeping in our tent. Uncle Ren and Aunt Lara are there too. First field."

Delilah nodded. "Go back to them. I'll see you later."

Seth pouted slightly, but knew better than to argue with his sister. After giving her one last hug, and throwing one last glare toward Cedric, he left to join his tent-mates, leaving Delilah and Cedric alone. That was when she finally took a clearer look at her surroundings. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor.

A few feet away from her and Cedric was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: the man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... We've been here all night... You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on; I'll find your campsite... Weasley... Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts."

Delilah chuckled to herself humorously as she recalled her brother telling her their tent was in the first field as well.

"Diggory... second field... ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said goodbye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door, though Delilah relented slightly when Cedric called after her.

"Yes?"

"I just... well... you know what? I'll ask you right before we start school."

She chuckled, giving him a charming smile. "What, so you'll look for me on the Hogwarts Express?"

Cedric's rosy cheeks darkened as he let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah," he said with a nod. "Sorry, I'd ask you now, but you'd probably forget by the time we start school. Plus there's the Quidditch match that's coming on pretty soon now..."

She grinned fondly and gave a light shrug. "Sure, just don't forget to ask whatever it is you wanted."

He grinned back. "I won't. Have fun."

"You too."

And with that said, they finally parted ways, Cedric going after his father while Delilah caught up with the Weasleys.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle. "Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley— two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Ah— right— certainly—" said Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a-a— a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now... So this is a five?"

"A twenty," Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word.

"Ah yes, so it is... I don't know, these little bits of paper..."
"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" said Mr. Weasley anxiously.

"It's like some sort of... I dunno... like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble, and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

Delilah frowned at the spot the man had once occupied. "I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," she said. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles."

"He should," Mr. Weasley agreed, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit... well... lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and there was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there; we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult... Muggles do it all the time... Here, you two, where do you reckon we should start?"

Delilah had never gone hiking, even less camping in her entire life; she'd been stuck in an attic for the most part, then she'd spent a while sleeping under trees before finding her way to the orphanage. Harry had never been camping in his life either; the Dursleys had never taken him on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, he, Delilah and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, Harry thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Hermione seemed to have spotted this problem too; she gave Harry a quizzical look while Delilah merely fought back a smile as she watched Mr. Weasley drop to his hands and knees and enter the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

Delilah took one look at his expression and grinned softly. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Harry looked at her and smiled, nodding in agreement. "I love magic," he replied as he fully entered the tent, Delilah following right behind.

"Girls, choose a bunk and unpack," said Mr. Weasley. "Ron, get out of the kitchen we're all hungry."

"Yeah, get out of the kitchen Ron," the twins playfully scolded, both simultaneously putting their feet on the table.

"Feet off the table," Mr. Weasley called them out.

"Feet off the table," they replied in unison, both simultaneously taking their feet off the table, only to put them back on as soon as their father had walked past.

Delilah chuckled under her breath, shaking her head at them. This is going to be a long night, she thought, after she'd chosen the bunk between Ginny's and Hermione's.

"I'm going to go see Seth," she told them. "I'll be right back."

However, the young hybrid did not need to leave the tent to find her brother as, as soon as she finished announcing her short departure, the youngest Dawn bounced in, a large grin on his face, his best friend smiling shyly from behind him at the Weasleys and their tent-mates.

Delilah rolled her eyes at her brother's usual behavior.

"Hello, Weasley family," said the boy. "We haven't been formally introduced; I'm Seth, Deli's brother."

Mr. Weasley looked over at the girl in surprise. He had not been aware that she had a brother. Perhaps she had mentioned it, but he'd been far gone with his fascination over the Muggle life.

Noticing the surprised look on the man's face, Delilah shrugged and gave him a sheepish look. "In my defense, I only just met him last year."

"And this is my best friend," Seth continued as though his sister had not spoken. "Will. It's nice to finally meet you all, though my guess is that you're not all?"

Delilah sighed, shaking her head before taking it upon herself to relieve the air from the awkwardness her brother had brought with him.

"Why don't we go get some water?" she proposed, eyeing the dusty kettle Mr. Weasley was holding.

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron as he glanced around the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, Delilah and... erm... Seth and Will go and get us some water then—" Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans. "— and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"

"But we've got an oven," said Ron. "Why can't we just—"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"

"Wow," muttered Seth to his sister. "You really weren't kidding when you said he practically worshipped the Muggle ways."

Delilah merely chuckled. "You guys go back to Daren; we'll see each other at the game."

Sharing a one-armed hug, the youngest Dawn followed by the young Eberhardt left to do as told. Then, after a final tour of their tent, Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans. Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries.

Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Harry had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"How many times have I told you, Kevin? You don't touch Daddy's wand— yecchh!"

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells, "You bust slug! You bust slug!"

A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls' to skim the dewy grass.

A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose—"

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read:

THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE.

Harry caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

"Er... is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names.

"Deli! Harry! Ron! Hermione!"

It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione beadily.

When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.

"Let's go and have a look," said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag— white, green, and red— was fluttering in the breeze.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"Krum," said Ron quietly.

"What?" said Hermione.

"Krum!" said Ron.

"Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker," Delilah elaborated, causing them all to turn and look at her in surprise. She, in turn, scoffed, a light blush creeping its way onto her cheeks. "Okay, I know I've been kidnapped more than twice, but, come on, I'm not that date retarded; I know my Quidditch."

"I get you know Quidditch well enough, but I never pegged you for someone who followed the players," said Ron.

"I don't follow the players," Delilah denied.

"Then how the bloody hell do you know Krum?"

Delilah's darkening blush did not go unnoticed by Harry. "Why are you blushing?" he asked her.

Her eyes went wide, and she quickly shook her head. "I'm not blushing!"

That had to be the worst lie she'd ever made.

Hermione then spoke up, swaying the attention away from her clearly uncomfortable best friend. "He looks really grumpy," she said, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them.

That made Delilah and Harry share a small laugh as they were pretty sure Ron's reaction would be a bit dramatic.

"'Really grumpy?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius; you wait until tonight, you'll see."

"Careful how you speak, Ron," Harry warned jestingly.

Delilah nodded, knowing where he was getting at. "Yeah, some might think you're in love."

Ron glared at his laughing friends and grumbled under his breath. "Oh, shut up."

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious."

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

Delilah and Hermione were overcome with such a strong fit of giggles at this point that they had to duck out of the queue and only return when Archie had collected his water and moved away.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families.

Oliver Wood, the old captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry and Delilah over to his parents' tent to introduce them, and told them excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next, they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Delilah, who smiled back warmly as she waved back.

Harry then pointed out a large group of teenagers whom he had never seen before.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" he said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

"'Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a pen-friend at a school in Brazil... this was years and years ago... and he wanted to go on an exchange trip, but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

Harry laughed, but didn't voice the amazement he felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. He supposed, now that he saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that he had been stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one. He glanced at Delilah and Hermione, who both looked utterly unsurprised by the information. No doubt they had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other.

"You've been ages," said George when they finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You've not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.

Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last, they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry's and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

Delilah, too, had decided she knew quite enough about the Ministry, and stepped outside the tent after having declined the plate of food Mr. Weasley had offered her; her appetite had still not grown.

"What's up with you?"

She let out a startled yelp before looking back at the tent opening to see Ron standing there, a plate of food and a cup of water in his hands.

He grinned slightly when he realized he'd finally managed to sneak up on her. "Startled you?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but nodded. "Yeah," she replied softly.

"So what's wrong? And don't say 'nothing' because I've noticed you fighting back a lot of coughs yesterday. What happened to 'I'm sort of indestructible'?" he said, holding the food out to her.

She declined, telling him she wasn't hungry, but that only got her a glare.

"Yeah, you seem to not be hungry quite often, so come on. Tell Uncle Ron what's wrong," said the youngest Weasley boy with a half-hearted grin on his face.

She rolled her eyes, then sighed in resignation. "Honestly?" He nodded. "I don't know. And I-I'm scared because I usually know the 'why' in almost everything, but this time around I can't even figure it out no matter how hard and far I look, and that pisses me off because I shouldn't be scared—"

"It's alright to be scared, you know," Ron cut her off mid-rant. "It's only human."

"But I'm not human, Ronald. I-I'm a hybrid— a creature that shouldn't exist."

"But you do exist, Delilah. And if there's anything I've learned in the past four years that I've known you is that things happen for a reason."

"No kidding... if only my reason wasn't for a bloody prophecy," she muttered under her breath.

Ron pursed his lips as he thought. "Another thing I've learned is that you always have a choice to make in life. Your fate... your future— it's up to you to make it as you want, it doesn't have to be like others' say so." He turned to her and gave her a small smile. "So don't let the bloody prophecy be your only reason for living, Deli. You deserve to write your own happy ending."

Delilah looked at him and thought for a moment. Could he be right? Did she deserve this? Could she make the choice to change the path her life is meant to take?

No... after everything I've done? Of course, I don't deserve a happy ending.

"But I don't deserve that, do I?" she mumbled, looking down at her feet. "Not after every bad thing I've done."

"Deli, every good thing you've done outweighs the bad. You do deserve it, you just have to be willing to choose it."

She looked at him once more and finally smiled at him. He was right. Everyone has a choice in life. Even Delilah; she wouldn't be speaking today if that weren't the case.

"When'd you get so wise, Red?" she asked, gazing up at him with fond eyes.

Ron snorted at the new nickname. "I'm a genius, I just decided to keep it a secret," he jested, bumping his shoulder against her own. "Now eat your bloody food."

"Alright, alright! My Goddess... you're becoming worse than your mother when it comes to eating."

Ron's face paled at the comment. "Merlin... I bloody hope not."