When Harry made his way down stairs, following closely behind Ron just in case this really was a trap, he looked around the living room noticing Mr. Weasley sitting on the couch reading the paper and nodded his acknowledgement to the older man. He also noticed the open door that, if he remembered correctly, led to the kitchen. He was pretty sure that he was right, as he could smell the fantastic cooking that had become a staple of the Weasley household. He made his way into the kitchen and had to stop himself from running towards the bushy haired beauty seated at the table. In his time, Hermione had died about ten years before Fleur, passing away peacefully surrounded by her friends, family, and her husband Neville. The two had been married around the same time as Harry and Fleur, having been dating since the middle of their sixth year.
She turned towards him and Ron and smiled brightly as she gestured to the seats on either side of her. The table was conspicuously empty, Ginny apparently hadn't been woken up yet, which was good, it would mean a few more minutes of peace for him to gain his bearings. He took the seat on Hermione's right, Ron having taken the other side, and accepted a plate packed with delicious smelling food from a smiling Mrs. Weasley.
"Morning Harry, Ron, how did you sleep?" She asked once he had put his plate on the table and seemed about to tuck in, glancing down toward his awkward handling of the spoon and fork he had picked up from the table. It seemed to her as if he wasn't in full control of himself.
"Good, had a bit of a strange waking up, but other than that it was peaceful enough." He responded to her question, not planning on elaborating anymore on this morning and hoping Ron would be too focused on eating to either. It was a safe assumption as Ron still seemed a bit groggy at having been woken so early and was eagerly tearing into his sausages, having barely glanced up at Hermione's question.
"Strange? Strange how? Are you feeling okay now?" Hermione seemed to spring immediately to the worst possible outcome, something she had always done, and something that had never ceased to amuse him greatly. She had always been a worrier, and it hadn't been helped by the fact that she was generally proved right.
"Yes, I'm fine now," he began, and seeing her disbelief, quickly added, "you can even ask Mrs. Weasley, she diagnosed me with a clean bill just before I came downstairs." He saw her look to the Weasley matriarch and receive the nod of confirmation she was looking for from the woman. Her shoulders released some of the tension they had taken on when she thought there might have been something wrong with her best friend.
"If you say so," she said slowly "just remember that if there is anything wrong that you should let me know, I might know ways to help you." He chuckled quietly to himself as he began to dig into his eggs, leave it up to Hermione to think she had a way of helping him no matter what his problem, it had always been one of his favorite things about his friend, her utter confidence in her own ability. It was truly an admirable trait to be had in anyone, especially when they had the ability to back it up in practical usage.
He and his friends finished their breakfast in amiable silence, each deciding that it was entirely too early to be having conversations with one another. As they sat together, Harry decided that he would take this time to formulate some of the more obscure parts of his plan. He would first need to be sure that Barty Crouch Jr. didn't suspect him, or his newfound power, as a threat against his master. That could lead to nasty consequences like Voldemort deciding that the plan should be aborted, or moving his Horcruxes to insure their safety. Harry had no doubts that he was paranoid enough about them to move them at the slightest hint of trouble. Harry also needed to decide what he would do in the Tasks if things stayed on track far enough for it to matter. He also needed to do his best to not draw attention to himself, or his knowledge, but if that became a problem he would simply say that the stresses of the tournament were getting to him and that he wanted to be studying enough to keep up with the other champions.
He chuckled quietly to himself, imagining the looks of shock that would appear on everyone's face if he simply waltzed into the arena with the dragon and began blowing things sky-high as if it were hardly a challenge, which it wouldn't be for him. He understood that trying to use his magic as he did before he was sent back was stupid and foolhardy, his body could barely handle what nature was doing to it, if he started pumping huge quantities of magical power through it, there would probably be disastrous consequences.
He noticed his friends rising from the table, having finished their breakfast, and rose with them. They all turned towards the door and began their way back through the house back to their respective rooms, or in his and Ron's case, room. He bade Hermione a quiet 'See you soon' and turned back to the room he shared with Ron, intent on getting dressed without making a fool of himself due to his current lack of coordination. He had just began moving toward his trunk to pull out the clothing he had planned on wearing that day when he heard Ron's voice from behind him.
"So mate, you feeling any better? What happened this morning? Was it a bad dream or something?"
"I think it must have been, I don't know what was going on, and sorry about the whole choking you thing. With a bit of food in me, I am feeling much better." He responded, hoping that Ron would drop it at that. When he looked behind him after not hearing a response, he saw Ron rummaging through his dresser, apparently having deemed his answer satisfactory. He returned to his own trunk and pulled out a simple shirt and jeans, and began to change into them, ready to depart and get to the World Cup, no matter how many times he saw it, Quidditch was always one of his favorite things in the wizarding world.
He, along with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley family beside Molly, made their way over the "hill" that Mr. Weasley said was the last part of their trip. The portkey, as he remembered the old boot, sat atop the hill, looking for all the world like the most suspicious object to ever grace the exact center of the top of a hill. Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and informed them that they were a few minutes early and therefore had to wait for their travelling companions, the Diggorys. He found himself a nice patch of grass and promptly fell upon it after dropping his pack unceremoniously to the floor beside him.
As they waited they began to discuss the upcoming match. Ron seemed almost zealous in his adoration for the Bulgarian Seeker, Victor Krum, and the twins had absolutely no reservations in pointing that out to him by blowing kisses and sighing in mock-dreaminess whenever Ron mentioned the man's name, which was surprisingly often. Harry sat idly by, along with Hermione and Ginny, and snickered when he saw Ron's face go beet red as it was won't to do whenever he was embarrassed.
After just a couple of minutes of rest and relaxation, courtesy of the ground, the Diggorys arrived and it was time for them all to catch the portkey to the campsite that housed the World Cup stadium this year. Harry, along with everyone else, quickly took hold of the boot and felt the ground leave their feet and their stomachs jump into their throats. Portkey travel was never comfortable, and in fact, wasn't very convenient. It was only ever good for transporting large groups of people and was therefore subject to that age-old stereotype of 'all public transportation sucks,' a stereotype which was one of the few he actually put stock in.
Luckily, they arrived soon enough and he was thrown to the ground due to his own clumsiness coupled with the fact that he simply wasn't good at using portkeys. Once he had picked himself up from the floor and dusted himself off, much to the amusement of the people who hadn't fallen on their faces, he made his way to the camp by following those in front of him, attempting to keep to the back so as to avoid participating in the conversation and accidentally saying something that would give him away, or put suspicion on him in the slightest. Hermione glanced back at him a few times, probably wondering if he was still feeling ill from this mornings 'strangeness,' but her glances were few and fleeting as she, like him, was more amazed by the hundreds of magical tents that surrounded them in every direction as far as the eye could see. It seemed like there was more people here than he remembered there being, but it could have just been because he was actually paying attention this time.
They had separated from Cedric and his father soon after entering the camping site, them being in support of Bulgaria, had a tent in a different location. They made their way towards the tent that Harry knew as theirs, he remembered it only because of its apparent…normalcy. It just seemed so strange to him the first time around that amidst all of these obviously magical tents, some being two, even three stories in height, that there had been this one little, open-flapped tent that was supposed to house all of them. He followed the Weasley clan into the tent and smiled to himself as he felt a mirrored amazement that this tent had always brought about whenever he thought about it. It was his first real glimpse of magical housing, the Burrow was almost definitely kept upright by magic, but this was in a league all its own.
He looked around the enlarged tent, taking notice of the fully stocked kitchen, along with the separate boys and girls rooms, and the living area that they were all standing in, soaking up the feel of the magic that surrounded them. He made his way to the small kitchenette, followed closely by Ron and the twins, retrieving butterbeers for everyone after asking those in the room if they would like to partake. He joined the twins at the table and slung off his pack, placing it on the floor by the chair and leaning back, stretching, and sighing in contentment when he felt the bones in his back pop, carrying the heavy pack all morning had not been forgiving.
He smiled to himself as he looked around, noticing everyone getting comfortable in their own way. Ron was already asleep on the cot that Mr. Weasley had designated as his, probably trying to rest up so that he would have plenty of energy for the match tonight. He also saw Hermione, reclining in one of the squishy armchairs in the middle of the tent, reading one of the books she had brought with her. He saw Ginny, over by her and Hermione's cots, unpacking her things and situating them in the way she wanted, he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him when he saw the stuffed owl toy that she had placed next to her pillow. The twins were with him in the kitchenette, sipping their butterbeers and resting by placing their feet up on the table, which they were reprimanded for almost immediately for by Mr. Weasley. Then there was Mr. Weasley himself, who was just about to exit the tent and go in search of a place for water, probably hoping to encounter a merchant along the way so that he could use some more of the Muggle money that he found so amusing.
He leaned back in the chair a little further, nearly following over as he did, saved only by one of the twins placing their hand on the back, more by reflex than anything, as he was sure that had they realized what was happening would have more than likely given him the final nudge to tip him over. This was going to be a good day, he would get to see some professional Quidditch, see some veela cheerleaders, he was a guy after all, and he would get to decimate the Death Eaters one at a time if he could sneak off to somewhere where nobody would see him practicing wandless magic, he still had the stupid Ministry's trace on his wand. He was actually conflicted on if he should stop the attack at all, nobody was seriously hurt the last time, and intervening could do little more than get him caught if he got sloppy. But that was something to deal with when he got to it, for now, he would rest, lay down, maybe read a book, and await the time when they would make their way to the stadium for the match.