Hermione's heart was pounding. She was flying up, down, left, and right on a stolen broomstick.
"Watch out!" screamed Keelin from behind her. Hermione looked up and saw a hooded monster. She didn't know dementors could fly! Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and accepted the inevitable. There was no outflying the creature. This was her end. Hermione felt her broomstick shudder from the dementor's grip.
"Wake up!" yelled Keelin from far behind her.
Hermione didn't understand. Wake up? What did Keelin mean?
"Hermione, wake up!" yelled Keelin, now right next to her. Hermione was so startled she opened her eyes and whipped around to face Keelin.
But it wasn't Keelin.
It was Mrs Weasley. "Time to get up, Hermione," she said softly.
Hermione looked around in confusion. To her left, she saw Ginny pulling herself into a sitting position, typing to wipe the sleep from her eyes.
"What time is it?" Hermione asked.
"Early," Mrs Weasley said simply. "But it's time to get up. Now get dressed and down stairs. The twins, Ron, and Harry should be down soon."
"What about everyone else?" mumbled Ginny.
"They're going to apparate later," Mrs Weasley said.
Hermione had forgotten about that mode of transportation. It was extremely dangerous and could only be performed when a witch or wizard was over 17 and passed an exam. She had read stories of people who were splinched, leaving part of their clothes or body behind in their former location. The degree of splinching could range from minimal, such as loss of hair, to life-threatening, such as loss of flesh, muscle, or bone, though the damage was usually repairable. It sounded dreadful and terrifying.
Hermione and Ginny took turns getting freshened up in the bathroom. Both decided to forgo any makeup in their tired states, but Ginny made sure to put some essentials in her purse just in case.
"Aren't you two girls done yet?" came Mrs Weasley's slightly annoyed voice from outside of the bathroom.
"Yeah, mum," Ginny said, rolling her eyes in the mirror at Hermione. "We'll be down in a minute."
"I made some porridge for breakfast. Hurry up before it gets cold."
Ginny rolled her eyes again but quickened the strokes of her hairbrush. Hermione hoisted her travel bag on her shoulder and followed Ginny down the stairs towards the kitchen. She hadn't felt this tired since last term when she was using the Time-Turner.
"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny asked again, this time to her father.
"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 coloured 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.
"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs Weasley furiously, holding up some very suspicious-looking 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. !"
All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they made 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, Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.
Hermione looked up, somewhat surprised to see the moon still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. She realised she hadn't even so much as glanced at a clock before leaving the Burrow and couldn't help but wonder what the actual time was. 3:00? 4:00? 5:00?
Beside her, Harry quickened his pace to catch up to Mr Weasley leading the sluggish line of teenagers.
"So, how does everyone get there without all of the Muggles noticing?" he asked. Hermione sped up a bit to hear the explanation as well.
"It's been a massive organisational problem," sighed Mr Weasley. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up to the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. Firstly, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains – remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. 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. 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. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."
Mr Weasley 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, beating Hermione to it.
"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…."
The concept was brilliant, thought Hermione. She was sure there were odd instances when Muggles would accidentally touch one. Still, based on her lack of experiences with Muggles voluntarily picking up litter, they were probably few and far between.
They continued to shuffle down the dark, dank lane towards the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the town, its inky blackness diluting to the deepest blue. Mr Weasley kept checking his watch.
They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they climbed Stoatshead Hill, occasionally stumbling in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Hermione's breath was sharp in her chest, and her legs were starting to seize up. The Weasleys and Harry kept getting further and further in front of her. She couldn't keep up. Hermione tried to take her mind off the numbing pain in her side by mentally calculating how many steps were left. Finally, she crossed the crest of the hill, clutching the stitch in her side and breathing hard.
"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… Now we just need the Portkey." Mr Weasley replaced his glasses and squinted around at the ground. "It won't be big... come on...'"
Hermione tried not to groan audibly. She didn't think she could walk around much more. Nonetheless, they all spread out and started searching. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes 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.
"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, holding a mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand.
"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 at Hogwarts. Hermione could feel her cheeks burn and glanced at Ginny. Her ears were almost as red as her hair.
"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at them all.
"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.
"Not too bad," said Mr Weasley. Hermione had to bite her tongue. "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, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry. "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 –"
"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
"Er – yeah," said Harry.
Hermione could immediately see that Harry was extremely uncomfortable. She knew how much he hated when people immediately glanced at the lightning bolt scar on his head, and Amos did precisely that.
"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you last year... I said to him, I said – Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... you beat Harry Potter!"
Cedric looked slightly embarrassed. "Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you... it was an accident..."
"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. Hermione decided then and there that she did not like Amos Diggory, though she felt bad for his son, who clearly took after his mother in terms of humbleness. "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 Hermione and Harry. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all. A finger will do –"
With difficulty, owing to the bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. Hermione was suddenly very nervous.
They all stood 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... nine people, two grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semi-darkness, waiting…
"Three," muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two, one…"
It happened immediately: Hermione felt as though a hook just behind her navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards. Her feet had left the ground; she could feel Harry and Ginny on either side of her, their shoulders banging into hers; they were all speeding forwards in a howl of wind and swirling colour; her forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling her magnetically onwards and then –
Her feet slammed into the ground, Ron staggered into her, and she fell over. The Portkey hit the ground near her head with a heavy thud.
Hermione looked up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric were still standing, looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.