Towards the middle of a windswept field quite probably somewhere in Scotland a great mass of capes and brooms could be seen huddled. The weather, unfortunate as it was did nothing to lighten the spirits of the ministry officials in charge of the final preparations towards this years Quidditch world cup. Indeed as Henry Wednesday leader of the operation in question raised his voice to the crowd of bedraggled wizards a deafening roll of thunder rudely interrupted him.
… 'Right o chaps twice round the pitch for security and back in time for tea'…his words swallowed by the crowd and barely audible against the elemental backlash thrown against those gathered. Grimly and unhappily the officials turned into the weather and began to fan out, dreaming of the cauldron pasties and dry socks that awaited them upon their return to headquarters. The wind rose to gale force, shaking the trees to their roots and bending their boughs in half, the grass below dancing to the whistle of the leaves quivering all around and almost inevitably on a day such as it was the rain began again, at first a shower but soon torrential, drowning out all but the sound of the wind. Nevertheless the honourable officials began carrying out their tasks, muttering incantations hexes and jinxes and forming a tight band of protection around the stadium some 2 miles away. If any Muggle were to approach in the following days they would suddenly remember they had a much more engaging matter to attend to, perhaps a dental appointment or a meeting with the bank.
It was fair to say however that not all the officials were doing their job. It is indeed fairer to say that there was only one person not doing their job a wizard by the name of Sam Redding. Certainly from a distance he looked nothing out of the ordinary, red robes sporting the golden emblem of the Quidditch Association but too look into his eyes was to reveal all. An Imperious Curse, the milky vacant stare washed across his face hidden to his colleagues in the weather. Granted not a particularly impressive imperious performed by a not particularly impressive wizard …undoubtedly poor Sam would wake up the next morning with a terrible headache and no explanation to his worried family as to where he had been for the last 48 hours, but no matter the curse was of suitable effectiveness for the task at hand. Holes would appear in the Ministry's defences. Indeed it would be an interesting World Cup.
In a warmer and far drier environment a figure shifted in his robes and made sure his deep purple hat was pulled low over his face. So dark was his aura that many of the other drinkers in the pub had taken to sitting on the other side of the room, away from the shadow that was engulfing the corner. Turning his back to the fire the man was almost entirely submerged in the Smokey gloom of the pub. He was soon to be disturbed though, looking to the old oak clock on the wall he was expecting company and sure enough it arrived. A sudden draught rushed through the dim room and a hunched figure appeared at the doorway, bringing with him all the uncertain and ominous smells from Knockturn Alley behind him. Stepping into the room the before hunched figure stood straight revealing his true height. Amongst the greasy knots of hair that hung about his face he was quickly revealed as no threat, a not particularity impressive figure to say the least. Removing his rank coat, and too the disgust of the barman, throwing it down on the nearest table he made a steady approach to the man in the corner -his mangy once dragon hide boots making an uneven thud (a duelling accident years gone by the cause of his limp).
'Do you have them' spoke the shadowed man softly.
'Top box, second row' grinned the room's latest arrival as he sat down, revealing a row of crooked stumps in the place of teeth….
Lee Jordan was lay flat on his back staring up at his ceiling. Staring back at him was the impressive poster of Victor Krum, his hand clasped around the golden snitch. Resting under Jordan's feet was a small trunk, but this young wizard was not going back to Hogwarts, not for another few weeks yet no this was a chance in a lifetime: 'THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP' read his ticket and man was he excited all his hero's under the same roof! Bulgaria Ireland two fantastic sides! Lee was dizzy with excitement. Not bothering to suppress his grin he briefly looked to his right and stopped. There it was. His small brass commentator's stand, complete with scoreboard and microphone. A feeling of warmth spread across him as he felt the cool metal as he thought back to his fun at Hogwarts- his voice booming across the stands. Snapping to the present Lee rose to his feet 'that'll be me one day- great commentator I'll be there in those stands' he said to Victor still scowling at him from the wall.
Grabbing his suitcase he exited his small ground floor room and looked to the day ahead. 'Wonder if Neville will puke after the port key trip' he thought to himself. Lee's school friend had been only too glad to accept a ticket, it meant a few days away from his vicious granny, something of a holiday in his eyes.
Closing the door behind him Lee smiled. 'Top box row 2' he breathed punching the air 'HERE I COME'.