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Harry had to quickly swallow his voice and control his hands as they hopelessly grasped thin air, trying to find a way to keep her close. He'd seen it, the hurt. So clear, so raw. It had knocked him for six. He wanted her back. He wanted her back! He wanted the moment in the forest. The one before it all. Harry swiftly chased after the retreating figure of Hermione and suddenly stopped. He was doing this for her. To keep her matter what he felt. No matter how hard he wished he could return to that pure, blissful second in the forest. He had to remind himself. It was all for her. It was always all for her.
The crisp morning was chilly and the moon still hung low in the sky. Only a dull, green-ish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer.
"Hurry up Harry! We're on a tight schedule!" Mr Weasley yelled at him, trailing at the far back of the group. Immediately Ron and Neville slowed their paced and retreated to his side.
"I still say Ireland don't stand a chance. Bulgaria have Krum, case settled!" Ron argued with Neville obviously a worn out argument.
"Bulgaria have one good player-"Neville conceded-"but Ireland have SEVEN" the guy did have a point.
"Come on Harry what do you think" Ron whinged, sending death stares at Neville, who just rolled his eyes.
"Well you do have a point, the game usually does ride on the seeker-" Harry said diplomatically
"HAH!" Ron said smugly
"But you can't underestimate your team" this made Neville smirk.
"Whatever" Ron grumbled, hiking his rucksack up and refused to talk about Ireland's chances in the World Cup for a full ten minutes. Which was huge...for Ron.
"How are we meant to be getting there anyway?" Harry asked, not quite understanding how hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards were supposed to get there without drawing attention.
"Portkey" Ron answered, as if it were noting at all.
"Care to elaborate?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do big groups like ours really easily with portkeys, that's how we're getting there" Ron drowned, obviously having heard far too much about these objects from his family. But Harry found it fascinating, it was like an aeroplane for wizards.
They trudged down dark, dank lanes towards the village of Ottery St Catchpole, the silence 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. Harry's hands and feet were freezing and Neville had the pinkest nose he had ever seen. The group didn't have a breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill. Harry always keeping a keen eye on Hermione, carefully watching her footing in case she fell. He, himself stumbled occasionally in the hidden rabbit holes and slipped on the thick black tuffets of grass. But Hermione never faltered, appearing to glide over anything that might trip her.
Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest, and his legs were starting to seize up; like he'd just been put through his paces at one of Wood's more brutal quidditch practices. But finally he found his feet on level ground. They'd made it.
"Whew" panted Mr Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his muggle clothes. They were meant to be traveling incognito, so the muggle attire was a must. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes...now we just need to find 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. Harry tried to keep his distance from Hermione. Not wanting to have another stand off, like in the kitchen back at the borrow. They had only been at it a couple of minutes when a shout rang out from the other side of the hilltop.
"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!" Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky.
"Amos!" said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The group followed.
Mr Weasley began shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy old boot in his hands...it must be the portkey.
"This is Amos Diggory, everyone" said Mr Weasley "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 around seventeen. He was captain and seeker of the Hufflepuff house Quidditch team and Hogwarts.
Everybody said "Hi", except for Fred and George who still hadn't forgiven him for beating their team last year.
"All these yours Arthur?" Amos asked, peering good-naturedly at the three Weasley boys, Ginny, Neville, Hermione and Harry.
"Oh, no, only the redheads" said Mr Weasley chuckling, he then pointed out his children. "This is Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, friends of Ron's - and Harry Potter another friend -"
"Merlin's Beard" said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
"Er-yeah" said Harry, not really wanting to draw attention to himself. Being famous for something you can't remember isn't really anything to boast about. Harry was used to people looking curiously at him, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on his forehead. It was not unusual, just a nuisance. Harry wouldn't mind so much if it were something to be proud of. For him, it was just a symbol of his parents death and that was it.
"Ced's talked about you, of course" said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing you last year...I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell you grandchildren, that will...you bear Harry Potter!"
This really hit a nerve with Harry. The pompous prick had no idea what he was talking about. He needed to be put in his place. "I was a little preoccupied during that match, what with trying to fight of a dozen Dementors" Harry emphasized that last word. Enjoying Mr Diggory's physical shudder at the mention of the foul creatures.
Fred and George were looking rather smug at Harry's retort and Cedric looked a little more than mortified. Harry caught Hermione's eye and he could have sworn he saw a trace smugness there.
"Must be nearly time" said Mr Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for more, Amos?"
"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets" said Mr Diggory, his ego thoroughly deflated. "There aren't any more of us in the area, are there?"
"Not that I know of" said Mr Weasley. "Yes, it's minutes off...we'd better get ready..." He looked around and Harry and Hermione "You just need to touch the Portkey, a finger will do-"
The group of ten struggled to stand around the old boot. What with the bulky backpacks each of them wore. Harry managed to finagle a spot away from the Diggory's and close enough to Hermione without being too conspicuous. Nobody spoke. They all just stood, ten people, two grown men, clutching a manky old boot.
"Three..."muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch,"two...one..."