The Quidditch Player
Chapter 10
Sunday, 6 August 2006
Hermione drifted in and out of sleep.
The first time she woke up, she was dimly aware of the fact that Harry was spooning her. His arms were wrapped around her waist, legs entangled with hers. Not to mention, his morning glory was rock solid as it pressed against her bum, almost as if it was pleading for some kind of entrance inside of her, a spy coming in from the cold, a la John le Carré. The second time she woke up was when Harry softly placed kisses down the column of her neck, his lips like honey against her skin. He whispered something to her, but she couldn't make out the words. She may have mumbled back incoherently, and Harry may have laughed at her. The third time she woke up, a window of sun nearly blinded her. She instantly recoiled similar to how a vampire would, bringing the duvet up past her head. She blinked several times, yawning all the while. When her eyes adjusted, she sat up in bed and glanced around the room. She was alone.
After putting on her satin dressing gown, Hermione wandered into the kitchen, finding a plate of egg soldiers on the table with the accompanying note:
Thought to make you a spot of breakfast, even if you tend to skip them. I fed Snuggles some of those beef and gravy tins you brought with you because he looked like he was hungry. I managed to get a couple of meows out of him, too! I'm about to head over to the Dordogne Valley and will be there all day until the Quidditch World Cup starts. Wood's probably going to have to be given several Calming Draughts and a few extra when all the furore is done and over with. Andromeda will bring Teddy along and stay with the Weasleys. They'll be in around midday and invited you to stay with them. If you decide to do so, tap this note once with your wand and it'll turn into a portkey. Before you ask, yes, it's already been approved by the the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France. A bit of an added perk to being a professional Quidditch player, eh? It's due to leave at noon. Unfortunately, I won't have time to see you before the final, but don't forget that I stand by my promise to snog you in front of the whole stadium. Hope you're looking forward to it as much as I am.
- H
Smiling, Hermione tapped the note with her wand. It instantly folded like an origami tutorial, taking on the appearance of a miniature stag. From the clock on the wall, she still had several hours to kill until Harry's portkey was scheduled to depart. In the meantime, she thought to enjoy her breakfast, thinking it'd be rude to leave the egg soldiers uneaten, especially after Harry went through the trouble of making them so early in the morning for her.
Snuggles jumped onto the table and eyed the egg soldiers greedily. He laid down on his significant belly and looked over at her, blinking every so often. She reached out her hand and tickled his cheek. It was only when she pulled the egg soldiers closer to her that Snuggles crawled towards them like a soldier would in order to avoid a spray of bullets. He was waiting for her command to go after them.
"You had breakfast already," Hermione admonished. "What do you need more food for with all that weight you have on you?"
He responded by shooting his paw towards the rim of the plate, almost upending everything on there. He tried to drag it back towards him but was unsuccessful in this particular endeavour.
Hermione gently pushed him away and said, "You silly thing."
She took the egg soldiers to the chaise lounge and sat against the back of it, letting the throw pool her legs. She rolled her eyes when she saw that Snuggles's hair had assaulted the fabric quite mercilessly, having to banish them away with her wand lest they targeted the egg soldiers next. She briefly thought about Tigger back in Godric's Hollow, hoping her neighbour was feeding him regularly per her extensive instructions to do so, not wanting to think about the poor cat digging in the rubbish again.
Sunlight streamed through the windows as Hermione reckoned the weather would be perfect for the Quidditch World Cup tonight. She surprised herself to find that she was excited for it. Sure, she still wasn't a huge fan and had no idea why witches and wizards went completely mental over it, but Harry's inclusion definitely skewed her perspective on the matter. Plus, the snog that was supposed to come after made her a touch eager. She'd be cheering for England, of course, and cheering for the snog that Harry promised to fulfill. She wasn't one for public affection yet was going to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. After all, they had kissed a lot last night, but once they were finished, he reminded her that they were kissing, not snogging. Either way, Harry was utterly fantastic with his lips and tongue.
After removing the top of the egg, Hermione marshalled the toast together, taking one of them and dipping it into the soft center. The yolk avalanched down the sides, a gooey flow that tasted like heaven in her mouth. She ate these quickly, trying to ignore Snuggles who was looking up at her with an angelic face. When he couldn't take any more of the torture that she had unwillingly subjected him to, he stood on his hind legs and meowed, sounding like a little girl.
"I really shouldn't be doing this, but here," Hermione said, feeding him a small piece of toast. He gobbled this up quickly, begging for another. "No!" she insisted, feeding him again. "You're heavy enough as it is! Some of it's my fault with all the treats that I give you!" She eyed the chicken and salmon sticks on the counter, wondering if Harry slipped Snuggles one before he left. "And he says he wants a dog," she scoffed, remembering him telling her this when they had dinner at the Royal Lake in Diagon Alley. She imagined he would get one if England proved to be victorious over Bulgaria, splurging on a prize for himself as a job well done.
She fancied Harry more than anyone else that had come before him, most notably Julien. There was also her childhood crush, Daniel, whom she had met at primary school. She called him Paddington after he wore a duffel coat one winter. Needless to say, it wasn't the fame that attracted her. Instead, it was how he made her feel, that she was a rare gem in a run-of-the-mill treasure chest of devoted fans who were impossible to tell apart. Amidst the allure and beauty, she was the one to catch his eye. In a game of predator and prey, she enjoyed the chase, even if she didn't notice his pursuit beforehand. It was hard to describe the sentiment. Rather, one needed to sense the desire, hunger, and longing. She didn't know what was going to come next in their relationship, but it was worth it to experience the unknown with Harry by her side. She had dreams of what she wanted, hoping hers weren't too big and leaving little room for his. It was a compromise, as were all relationships. One thing was for certain: the addition of having Harry in her life made it all the more exciting.
Upon her arrival to the Dordogne Valley, Hermione handed her Portkey to a French Ministry official who threw it inside a large box beside him. However, when she asked him for a map of the campsite so that she could locate the Weasleys, the Ministry official tried to impress her by showing off his ability to speak Mermish. When this went on for far longer than was necessary, the dolphin-sounding noises setting her teeth on edge, she stamped on his foot so that he howled in pain. She wrestled the map of the campsite out of his hands and took off, ignoring the expletives that spewed out of his mouth afterwards.
"Prat," she said to herself with a huff.
Up a hillside, Hermione could just make out the Château de Beynac over the tips of the trees, presiding over the small village of Beynac-et-Cazenac below. Her attention was soon diverted elsewhere by the thousands upon thousands of tents that ambushed a large field, one that was on the threshold of a dark wood. Flabbergasted by how closely these tents resembled the havoc that overwhelmed London in a satirical kind of way, she headed off in the direction of those who were supporting England, evidenced by Saint George's Cross blowing in the breeze. It was so large that it created a flimsy canopy over those nearest it.
She navigated the grounds, risking life and limb to do so. There were fire-breathing chickens that singed the hairs of its owner, a flying carpet that nearly decapitated her, and a llama that was on a rampage, ridden by a house-elf who had gone batty.
"Master has given Kimmy clothes!" she wailed, the pink scarf around her neck bobbing in the wind. "Master has given Kimmy clothes!"
Within the chaos, French Ministry officials were everywhere, giving out fines to those witches and wizards whose tents were anything but Muggle. Besides the usual bell pulls, chimneys, and weather vanes, some tents were charmed to mirror famous landmarks. In particular, Hermione saw smaller versions of Buckingham Palace, Saint Basil's Cathedral, and the Taj Mahal. There were even rows of castles, namely Hampton Court Palace, the Tower of London, and Windsor Castle, all of them relatively chummy with a poor imitation of the Seven Stars, an ancient pub located on Carey Street in Holborn that was distinguished for having survived the Great Fire of London exactly three hundred and forty years ago.
The Quidditch World Cup was also a boon for illicit business practices, meant to act as a disguise against French Ministry officials who had no doubt been placed on high alert to look for such illegalities. But not everyone was as subtle about this as they liked to believe, Hermione witnessing a number of raids conducted on these potential infractions.
"Dragon Eggs are Class A Non-Tradeable Material, mandated by the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France. Where's your head, man?"
"The Wizards' Council made it felonious to use the Golden Snidget during Quidditch-related activities. They're endangered, don't you know?"
"The Ban on Experimental Breeding strictly prohibits mating a fire crab with a manticore! What the hell were you thinking bringing them to the Quidditch Word Cup anyway?"
After Hermione barely dodged a sack of gold unintentionally thrown at her head by a gang of goblins having a bit of a scrap, she heard Ginny calling her name from nearby. She hurried over, especially after observing a large number of bats swarm a cabbage patch located in front of a tent that she was passing.
"Blasted things!" the owner shrieked, waving his wand to and fro.
Smiling at the small sign hammered into the ground, one that read Weezly, she greeted Ginny.
"Just in time for lunch. You hungry?"
"I could do with something small," Hermione replied, the egg soldiers still rumbling around inside of her. She imagined the British Grenadiers playing through her abdominal cavity, the speakers blaring the traditional marching song used by the British and Commonwealth military units.
"Let's eat out here," Ginny suggested, indicating a small grassy area behind the tent the Weasleys had pitched. "It's a bit stuffy inside with so many people." Waving her wand, Ginny summoned a plate of chicken and ham wedges, along with bottles of Butterbeer.
Just beyond the opening flap, Hermione saw who she supposed was Andromeda, her brown hair a stark contrast to the jungle of redheads within reach. Her patrician beauty was further exemplified by her kind eyes, continually sweeping over to a gang of children nearby. Hermione pinpointed Teddy in the midst, chatting with a girl his age, her blonde hair extravagant down her back.
"Are you staying the night?" Hermione asked Ginny once they sat down, the sun shining overhead.
"Of course," Ginny replied with a grin. "Reckon we'll have a lot to celebrate after England wins."
"Confident, are you?"
Ginny gave her a surprised look and said, "I thought you'd be supporting England no matter what?"
"I am," Hermione said, "but what about that Viktor Krum fellow? He's good, isn't he?"
"One of the best," Ginny nodded.
"Harry, too?"
"Definitely," she said with certainty. "That's why tickets for the Quidditch World Cup sold out in record time. Never mind who scores the most points, everyone wants to see who's going to catch the Golden Snitch."
"But your money's on Harry?"
Ginny moved around like a roly-poly toy and said, "I'm not sure. Overall, the English National Quidditch team is better than the Bulgarian National Quidditch team. We, er, they," she corrected, blushing, "have consistently ranked higher in the standings. Between Harry and Viktor, it's too close to call as of now. They're practically equals, with Viktor having the slight edge due to him having more experience. I mean, this is the third Quidditch World Cup he's been to! That's got to count for something, right?"
"Harry said that Viktor Krum is on a mad streak to win the Quidditch World Cup before he retires."
"Aren't we all?" Ginny chuckled, downing a healthy amount of her Butterbeer. "I bet you Harry's the same. Speaking of which, how're things with him? Are you guys dating yet?"
"I think so," Hermione said slowly, remembering the first time they had kissed in his cottage at Godric's Hollow, the treacle tart innocent witnesses to the passionate display. "We're more casual about it all, not wanting to rush into things. A day at a time is how we decided to go about it."
"You fancy him, don't you?"
"Yes," Hermione answered. "A lot more than I thought I would."
"Harry tends to have that kind of effect on people, more so after the war," Ginny said. A short distance away, an explosion was heard, followed by a kaleidoscope of colours that flew high in the air. "Just a warning," she continued, ignoring the harassed-looking French Ministry officials that were sprinting towards the commotion, "if you guys decide to go public about your relationship, there'll be a windfall of accusations about Harry, rubbish about him doing this and that, the usual nonsense. At the same time, the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly will come after you, wanting to get a rise and boost sales."
"Speaking from experience?"
Ginny nodded, "It became so bad that Harry considered moving abroad for a bit, keeping to himself until things settled down. Then, if he felt like it, he'd come back to England."
"What stopped him before?"
"Puddlemere United," she answered, smiling. "He couldn't resist when the opportunity arose to play Quidditch professionally. Now that I think about it, Oliver might've threatened him. Otherwise, he'd be long gone." She paused and said, "But I wouldn't worry about it anymore. I'm pretty sure he hasn't any plans to leave."
"Because?"
"He's obviously smitten with you. I saw it at Ron and Lavender's wedding. Think it's safe to say that things have progressed from there."
It certainly had, last night, in particular. Never before did Hermione experience the urgency she had upon feeling Harry's erection pressing against her. Even though they had kept their clothes on, his black joggers left little to the imagination. Instead of being appalled that Harry was acting like this was his first go, Hermione found it to be incredibly sexy, so much so that she was a little embarrassed by her rampant thoughts, filthy as they were. She remembered biting his shoulder, eliciting a groan from him that would've made any Gryffindor lion proud.
"It can't be, can it?" Ginny suddenly said, her mouth falling open at one of the passerby.
Hermione saw that the woman Ginny was staring at kept tripping over the gauzy, spangled shawl she wore, somehow ignoring this important detail. The glasses on her face made her eyes look like they belonged on a tarsier, whilst a collection of beads and chains swung like buzzsaws from her neck. Most annoying were the dozen bangles on her wrists that clattered together whenever she raised her hands to inspect the crystal ball that she was carrying, which she did every other step.
"Give us one then," Hermione said.
"It's Trelawney," Ginny replied, astonished. "She teaches Divination at Hogwarts." Hermione was instantly reminded of Harry telling her this in Diagon Alley, going so far to suggest they would get on over a cup of tea. "I wonder what she's doing here."
"Maybe she's supporting England?" Hermione offered, thinking it was obvious.
"Huh," was Ginny's response. "The fates must've informed her of the occasion."
"The fates?" Hermione repeated, shaking her head in disgust. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Not as ridiculous as the death omens she went on about," Ginny said. "Every year, Trelawney liked to get dramatic and predict the death of one of her students as a way of greeting those new to Divination. Harry, of course, was chosen his very first lesson when the tea leaves at the bottom of his teacup supposedly revealed the Grim. You know, the giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards?"
"He didn't believe that, did he?"
"Well, a black dog had been following Harry around," Ginny said. "Naturally, he thought it was the Grim. It was later revealed that the black dog was the Animagus form of his godfather, Sirius Black."
"If you ask me, Divination is a bit wooly," Hermione stated.
"As is Trelaweny," Ginny added for effect. The poor woman fumbled every few steps because of her lengthy shawl, nearly running into a pair of moving cacti that someone had thought to magically plant given the duration of their stay in the Dordogne Valley. "Let's see if Ludo can keep away from her lest he try and find out who's going to win the Quidditch World Cup, gambling all his money away like he did last time."
"You don't have to worry about Mr Bagman," Hermione said, finishing the chicken and ham pie. "We have an agreement that if he's on his best behaviour, he'll be given his own private hot tub to use whenever he wants."
"A private hot tub?" Ginny repeated, laughing.
"I got the idea after Harry showed me around Puddlemere United's quarters in Exmoor." She looked at Ginny and said, "The Holyhead Harpies have one too, right?"
"Of course," she answered at once. "But do you think that'll work? Ludo takes to temptation quite easily."
"I think so. I'll have to add it to the blueprints for the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex."
"What does Stump think of this arrangement?"
"He doesn't know about it," Hermione said. "Though I can't imagine he'd refuse if England wins. That's what I'm counting on anyways."
"Kind of sneaky, don't you think?" Ginny said, amused by the whole thing.
Hermione shrugged, "England has to win first."
"They will, I'm sure of it."
For the sake of the British and Irish Quidditch League Complex, Hermione hoped that she was right.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.