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The first thing I notice about Harry is that he's had a growth spurt. When I last left him in early July, we were the same height; now, barely two months later, he towered over me by a good four or five inches.

Other than that, his hair was longer, but not much else had changed – he was still the scrawny, knobby-kneed, lightning-scarred boy I'd left behind on Privet Drive.

And he was currently staring at me with no small amount of relief. "Ori? Is that you?"

"Why is everyone asking that?" I ask with an exasperated eye-roll. "Have I grown a second head? Or maybe purple spots?"

Harry just shakes his head and laughs, stepping forward to wrap me in a tight hug. "Don't leave me again. I had no idea where you were, or what you were doing, or if you were even alive…"

"I'm sorry," I sigh, wrapping my arms around his waist. "I couldn't really help it. But I swear I was safe the entire time."

"Where were you?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," I tell him with a straight face as I back out of the hug. "Really."

He sighs and nods resignedly. "I brought your things, by the way." He waves over towards his trunk, and I just now realize that there's two trunks there and not one.

"Thanks." I give my old trunk a once-over, nodding as I find it untampered with. "I'll have to buy a new one."

I straighten up and lead Harry into the kitchen. "Come on, dinner should be ready soon."

But as soon as we come into the kitchen, we find not a calm family sitting around the kitchen table, but instead a scene of chaos: Mrs. Weasley is ranting at Fred, George, and Arthur alike, waving a wooden spoon menacingly.

Harry and I hang back at the edge of the room, and I duck around the center of the noise to sidle up to Ginny. "What happened?"

"Apparently Fred and George pranked Harry's cousin with a sweet that made his tongue grow, Dad had to reverse it with magic," she whispers. "Mum's mad because they somehow knew he was on a diet and that he would take the candy, and Dad had to use magic in front of Muggles. Personally, I think it was brilliant."

"You're welcome," I murmur.

She turns to give me an awed look. "You-?"

"Shh!" I cover her mouth with a hand but nod anyway. "Yes, I helped with the candies. But only for the past hour or so, so don't drag me into this."

She nods, still wide-eyed, and I remove my hand, turning back to the main scene.

"-cleaning the attic, both of you, until you go back to school!" Mrs. Weasley finishes. She takes a deep breath and blinks, looking startled, as if she'd just remember that the rest of us were there. "Apologies, everyone. Go on, take a seat, supper's ready."

I quietly sit down next to the twins, subtly passing them each a sausage from my plate as a silent 'thank you.'

As we all sit around the table, chatter mainly revolves around the Quidditch World Cup.

"My money's on Bulgaria," Ron mutters around a mouthful of food, swallowing at his mother's scolding. "I mean, have you seen Krum fly? He's brilliant! There's no one else like him in the world!"

"Uh-oh, someone's got a crush!" I tease. "Krum, oh Krum, you have a wonderful-"

"Shut it," he scowls. "I'm just appreciating talent, s'all."

"'Talent,'" I agree with finger quotes. "Yeah, sure."

He bristles at the comment, but Mr. Weasley puts a hand on his shoulder. "Settle down, everyone."

"Sorry, Dad," he grouses, and I silently return to my food.

Conversation returns to the match itself, with Ron excitedly telling us about everything from equipment to team statistics. I could hear Fred and George mentioning betting on the match, which I would definitely be getting in on.

Hermione and Percy were talking about the latter's new job at the Ministry, in the Department of International Magic Cooperation, under someone named Bartemius Crouch.

Whatever floated their boat, I guess.

Dinner is finished, dessert is eaten, and the bedrooms are divided among us. Harry was rooming with Ron, and I with Ginny; thankfully, Hermione would be showing up in the morning, so we wouldn't have to be squeezed three to a room.

Ginny's room, however, was possibly the nicest I'd seen in the Burrow thus far; it was open, airy, and covered with Holyhead Harpies posters. Her walls and bedsheets were a light lavender color, the complete opposite from Ron's violently orange theme. She even had a window overlooking the orchard.

"I got the last room in the house," Ginny explains. "It's a bit small, but-"

"It's my new favorite bedroom in this house," I announce, going over to the cot that had been set up for me. "Who're you betting on tomorrow?"

"Ireland, of course! Ron's the only one that's rooting for the red and black, and only because they have Krum. Ireland's got Troy, Mullet, and Moran, and you won't find a better Chaser team anywhere."

"Well, both teams are flying Firebolts, that would even the field a bit…"

We debate back and forth until Mrs. Weasley calls for lights out, and I wrap myself in the blankets and try to get as much sleep as I can.

.

The next morning comes entirely too early.

"Ori…Ori, wake up. 'Rissa, come on."

"Nooo," I moan, pulling the covers over my face. "Five more minutes."

"Orissa, come on, you have to get dressed. We're going to the World Cup, remember?"

"Fine," I groan, poking my head out of my cocoon and blinking sleepily at the person that had woken me. "Hermione? When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago," she says while yanking my covers off. "You need to go get dressed."

"What time is it?" I ask tiredly as I slide out of bed.

"Five in the morning. The sun will be rising in about an hour."

I groan, rubbing my eyes as I grab the clothes I had set out and shuffling off to the bathroom while Hermione moves on to Ginny.

I quickly change out of my pajamas and into an emerald green sweater and a dark pair of jeans, along with a pair of sneakers I had nagged Bill into charming to match my sweater.

I brush my teeth, comb my hair into a semi-decent mess, and walk back into the bedroom to find Ginny half-asleep and dressed, and Hermione somehow wide awake, chattering about Switzerland and the tour she and her parents had taken of Tourbillon Castle.

"What did you do over summer, Ori?" she asks curiously. "Your letters didn't say much."

"Not much," I shrugged. "The highlight was coming here."

"And almost killing Harry's cousin," Ginny pipes up.

"I did not," I argue. "That was your brothers' fault."

She harrumphs at me, but then a smirks spreads over her face. "Say, speaking of Harry and my brothers, want to go wake them up?"

I grin. "I like the way you think, Miss Weasley."

Hermione looks between the two of us before throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Fine! Just hurry, alright? We need to be out of the house by quarter till, at the latest."

"Yes, Mum," I drawl before leaving the room, Ginny hot on my heels. I enter the bathroom across the hall, grabbing a cup and filling it with the coldest water I could. Catching on to what I was doing, Ginny does the same, and we make our way up the stairs.

The trip up the five flights of slightly rickety stairs was a slow one, both because we were trying to be quiet and trying not to spill any water, but Ginny and I eventually stop in front of Ron's bedroom door. I quietly turn the handle, slipping inside without a sound and approaching Harry's bed.

Something's not right, though; Harry was twisting and turning, mutter something over and over. I carefully set down the cup on the nightstand, edging closer to hear the words.

"No…please…don't…no! No! NO!"

He was having a nightmare, I quickly realize. And people having nightmares needed to be woken up. So I just decide to follow my original plan: I grab the cup and quickly turn it over onto Harry's head.

Harry jolts awake with a scream, grabbing his glasses as his eyes dart around the room, looking for any sign of danger. His eyes eventually land on me. "Ori, why am I wet?"

I drop the cup and kick it under the bed, giving him my best 'who, me?' expression. "I have absolutely no idea."

"Don't lie."

"Uh-uh. Nope. Not lying."

He narrows his eyes at me but sighs. "Well, thanks for waking me up, anyhow."

"Bad dream?" I ask sympathetically.

He shrugs and runs a hand through his already messy bedhead. "I dunno. I've been getting these weird dreams lately."

"What about?"

He suddenly tenses up, dropping his eyes to his lap. "Mostly it's Voldemort murdering people. It was a Muggle, this time."

"Oh," I sigh, closing my eyes. I reach out a hand to ruffle Harry's hair affectionately. "Well, Quidditch should take your mind off it. Go get dressed. Hermione will murder me if you and that sleepyhead," I wave at Ron, who was dripping wet and still trying to go back to sleep, "aren't downstairs in ten minutes."

"Alright," Harry yawns. "I'll get going."

"Great," I nod and leave the room, yanking Ron's covers off as I passed by and ignoring his howls of indignation.

I arrive in the kitchen to be greeted by a very busy scene: Mrs. Weasley was practically shoving food down everyone's throats, while Mr. Weasley, Bill, and another stocky redhead – Charlie, maybe? – made sure everything was packed. Fred and George were tucked into a corner, heads bent together as they carried on an inaudible conversation. Hermione and Percy were busy discussing the stadium itself, and the anti-Muggle charms used to hide it.

I quickly accept a plate and scarf down a slice of toast and jam before swiping one of Fred and George's jar of face paint and using it to draw green lines under my eyes and a shamrock on my cheek.

"What about you, Ori?" George asks.

I blink and look at him. "Sorry, what?"

"Gambling! What's your wager on the match?" he asks eagerly.

"Hmm," I lean back in my chair, considering. "Well, as much as I hate to admit it, Bulgaria does have a better Seeker, but Ireland makes up for it in Chasers, so…fifty Galleons, tie game."

"Okay…" he jots something down on a piece of parchment, and I silently wonder if Dad will be mad that I'm gambling actual money.

Everyone is eventually gathered in the kitchen, half of us looking like sleep-deprived zombies, and Mr. Weasley leads us out.

We set a good pace over the Devon countryside, even if I do have to essentially drag Harry, he's so tired. Personally, I'm thanking Merlin for Oliver Wood's training regimens, because I've barely broken a sweat jogging uphill in August.

Mr. Weasley stops us under a tree, giving those who weren't on the Gryffindor Quidditch team a chance to catch their breath.

I trot up to the Weasley patriarch. "Why are we stopped?"

"We're waiting for some guests," he explains. "They should be here any moment…" he trails off just in time for me to hear feet hit the ground behind me.

I startle, jumping about a foot in the air. I whirl around to face a boy with wavy brown hair, mysterious gray eyes, and a chiseled jaw.

I quickly recognize him as Cedric Diggory: Hufflepuff Seeker, Quidditch Captain, and "Hufflepuff Hottie", or so he was known around the castle. Personally, I thought he was attractive, sure, but a bit too serious for my tastes.

I told out a hand. "Diggory. Good to see you."

"Black." He gives my hand a firm shake, shifting the backpack on his back. "You as well."

"Cedric!" Another man calls. "Making friends, are we?"

"Yes, Dad," Cedric responds, moving over towards his father. "This is Orissa Black."

"Ah, yes!" The man nods. "The Black child, I remember. My son won a game against you, you know. Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

I clamp my mouth shut and stick a smile on my face, breathing in and out of my nose. Apparently, I was a) "the Black child" now, and b) high and mighty. "Not at all, sir."

"And Harry Potter! My boy will go down in history as the boy that beat Harry Potter-"

"Only in Quidditch, Dad," Cedric corrects.

This only causes Mr. Diggory to go off into another bout of boasting about his son's achievements, and I duck behind Harry and make my way to the older Weasley boys and making sure I stayed as close to them as possible.

Mr. Weasley eventually manages to quiet Diggory's dad – who was named Amos – and drag us all up a massive hill that was topped with a single dirty old boot.

I frown at it. "That's our Portkey?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley nods. "What were you expecting?"

I ponder this for a moment before shrugging, because I really didn't know.

"Alright, everyone, gather 'round," he calls. "Come on, now, hurry up. Touch the boot."

I quickly make my way forward, feeling people press behind and around me as we all struggle to keep contact with the old leather shoe.

Harry isn't touching it yet, just staring confusedly. "Wait, what?"

"Harry, come on!" I shout.

"I don't-"

"Fifteen seconds!" Mr. Weasley shouts.

I reach out with the hand that wasn't on the boot and grab the material of Harry's shirt, yanking him forward and pinning one of his hands to the leather.

"Three…two…one…hold on…"

There's a nauseating jolt in my stomach as the world disappears in a vortex of color, and I close my eyes to battle my rising nausea.

"Let go!"

"What?!"

"Let go!"

I gulp nervously and release my hold on the boot, flying backward and hitting something hard with a yelp of shock.

I let out a soft groan as my head finally stops spinning, and I crack open an eye to see…sky?

I open my eyes fully, sitting up to look at the sign above a bustling campground of wizards:

WELCOME TO THE 1994 QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!

The World Cup.

We were here.