August 1974
Petunia fell to her knees, fisting the soft grass between her fingers and breathing deeply through her nose. Her vision was swimming and nausea crawled up her throat like a slow moving slug, forcing her to press her teeth together.
Not in front of Eugene , she told herself, a muscle ticking in her jaw. Don't you dare.
A warm hand smoothed over her back, soothing her with firm, slow strokes. "It's gonna pass in a minute, Petals. Portkeys mess with you when you use them for the first time."
"I still don't understand," Petunia gasped, "why we had to touch that nasty thing in the first place."
"It's the most direct way to get here. They were set up and distributed specifically for this tournament."
"I'd vastly prefer Aspen - or even one of your fussy Hippogriffs."
Eugene chuckled. "An honour. Want some water?"
Petunia nodded mutely and carefully took a small sip from the canteen Eugene handed her. Lifting her head gave Petunia a chance to take her surroundings in for the first time and she had to come to terms with the fact that she was no longer standing on a gravel-path in Dorset.
Eugene had explained that touching a rusty old can - that looked more like forgotten trash than anything else - would take them to another place, but Petunia had been hard-pressed to believe it. But before her disbelief had time to settle, everything around her had been swallowed by a sudden whirl of motion and colour as soon as her fingertips had come in contact with the ribbed aluminium.
Now she was kneeling on a low, grassy hill overlooking a wide field speckled with small white tents that from a distance looked like a flock of sheep. Petunia could make out people moving between the tents and with a small twinge of discomfort realised that all of them would be wizards. She'd probably be the only one without magic among them.
"Do we have to use this to get back?" Petunia asked, her eyes falling back onto the red can innocently lying next to her. She wanted to scoot away from it as if it was a poisonous snake but her desire to preserve her image in front of Eugene stopped her.
"Would you like me better if I lied and said no?"
Petunia gifted Eugene one of her annoyed glares before transferring it to the can. She would have kicked it away if she didn't fear getting transported to God-knows-where as soon as her polished shoe touched it. Instead, she stood up and handed the canteen back to Eugene, who obediently took it with a grin, before she smoothed down her skirt. Petunia had opted for one of her favourites, long cotton that fell to mid-calf and was printed with small yellow flowers. She was glad to see that she had managed to spare it from grass-stains despite her rather abrupt landing.
"Let's go then, maybe I'll forget about this cursed thing once we're farther away from it."
Eugene took her hand and started leading her down the hill, his grip sure and warm. "Glad you're feeling better, Petals."
Petunia just huffed and tried to banish the butterflies from her stomach that had sprung to life as soon as Eugene's skin touched hers. It was ridiculous - they kissed and touched often, so simply holding hands should inspire no excitement whatsoever. But no matter how many times she told herself that, her fingers still tickled and her eyes ghosted to their clasped hands every few breaths as if she wanted to make sure they were still holding onto each other.
Eugene had nice hands, Petunia had long decided. Broad palms, long fingers, square nails and small calluses that slightly scratched against her soft skin. When they engulfed her own it was one of the very few times in her life Petunia, always taller than her peers by at least half a head, felt petite. And she liked that feeling.
She'd been so distracted by the hand-holding and consequent butterfly-squashing that she only realised that they had reached the end of the low hill when there were suddenly other people around, the low murmur of many voices intruding into Petunia's quiet bubble of content.
The first thing Petunia noticed about them was the ridiculous fashion. She hadn't come into contact with large-scale wizarding society after her first and only outing to Diagon Alley and she had almost forgotten that they apparently liked to dress either as if they were living in the last century or in colourful constructs that included ostrich feathers and dangling bells. Now the impression of court jesters was only intensified by the white and blue paint on their faces, apparently displaying loyalty for one of the playing teams. Petunia spotted one black-haired woman whose face-paint slithered across her skin in blue bands that reminded Petunia of swimming eels.
"What team are they cheering on?"
Eugene chuckled. "Impossible to tell unless they're sporting a flag, today's match is between Scotland and Greece, and their national colours are the same. Quite convenient if you think about it - whatever team wins, they can just claim they were cheering them on from the beginning."
Petunia hid a small smile and let her eyes continue wandering around. The more she looked, the more she noticed something strange - people peppered throughout who didn't fit into the crowd. They wore black robes, no paint and stern expressions, watching the colourful crowd like they were a squawking flock of unruly chickens. Petunia couldn't quite decide if the black-dressed wizards were the guard dogs or the foxes in that scenario. They made an uncomfortable shiver crawl down her spine and Petunia quickly looked away before one of them caught her staring.
Maybe she wasn't the only one who was unnerved by their presence. While the crowd around her mingled and wore their ridiculous outfits with pride, they somehow appeared subdued. There weren't any raised voices, neither in cheer nor in conflict. Petunia couldn't see any magic anywhere, not even something as small as a floating luggage or a sparkling wand. And considering that Eugene had told her that Quidditch was the wizard equivalent of soccer she was a bit surprised at the low number of people. She had expected to be swamped in a mass, but the way between the tents was free, not enough people around to clog walkways or do more than form small groups.
The low number of people also meant that it was easy to spot a flame of red hair coming their way, poking out between all the blues surrounding them, long before the body it was attached to reached them.
"Gene! There you are, I was worried you would miss the Opening Ceremony, the others have already gone to the stadium" Bilius stopped in front of them, giving a shining smile to Eugene before his blue eyes flickered to their clasped hands and finally up to Petunia. "Hello, Petunia."
"Bilius."
If Eugene sensed the aloofness in her tone, he didn't show it. Instead his grin widened and he clasped Bilius' shoulder in greeting, though Petunia was pleased that he didn't let go of her in the process. "Billy! How've you been?"
Bilius scoffed. "You mean between babysitting my nephews and being chased by Mum's rabid Jarvey through the garden? This is the only thing I've been looking forward to all summer!"
Eugene laughed. "Already decided which team to support?"
"Got to be the Scots, they have Cunningham after all, and everyone knows he's the best when it comes to guarding the goals."
Eugene hummed in agreement and they resumed their walk between the tents, Bilius now at their side. When the red-haired boy took a deep breath, Eugene shot a quick, conspiratorial grin at Petunia that completely flew over her head - until Bilius started babbling: "On the other hand, the Greeks got a new Seeker this year and I heard that he has an insanely high score, especially towards the beginning of the games, good eyes and instincts. But McGregor got the experience and has participated in World Cups in the past, so his nerves are steeled and he won't easily be taken in by a rookie, though if that rookie is as talented as the rumours say maybe it won't matter …"
The rest of his words melted into a haze around Petunia's head, unknown words like Quaffel and Snitch accompanied by numbers and statistics of some kind that failed to kindle even her slightest interest. Instead she took the time to shoot Eugene a raised brow, which only made him chuckle, before trying to pay attention to the twisted way they were taking, her shining shoes now speckled with grass and specks of dirt. Bilius was leading them between the tents which Petunia noted were deceptively small and lacklustre for the amount of richly-dressed spectators around, all plain white linen and not enough space for more than a few people.
"Why so many tents?" Petunia asked, uncaring that she had interrupted Bilius' gushing tales about some player.
"Most plan to stay for a few days, some even arrive days before the game begins," Eugene said. "All part of the experience - after all, Quidditch games can go on for weeks."
Petunia looked at him and clearly communicated 'Don't think I'm sleeping on the ground in some Lord-forsaken field' without opening her mouth.
"If you want, you can stay in my family's tent," Bilius offered, though Petunia didn't miss that his eyes were a bit unwilling when they met hers. "It's already up and we've got enough space for two more. It's right over there."
He gestured towards a sadly sagging specimen, the formerly white fabric slightly yellowish in places. And it definitely didn't look as if it could hold more than two people, not to mention two more people.
"Oh, before we go to the stadium, best leave your wand here, it'll be safe," Bilius tacked on, as if the sight of the tent had jogged his memory.
For the first time Eugene's good cheer waned. "My wand?"
"Yeah, otherwise they'll confiscate it and it'll take hours to get back."
"Why?"
"New rules. Officially so the crowd won't be too rowdy."
Eugene remained silent. Petunia hadn't failed to notice the emphasis Bilius put on 'officially', like he thought there was another reason for the ban. But both boys said nothing further and something stopped Petunia from voicing her question.
Maybe the new rules were the reason behind the strange atmosphere that seemed to linger over the whole tournament like low fog? Going by Eugene's face as he ducked inside the tent to leave his wand behind, wizards obviously didn't like being parted from their wooden sticks.
But watching two dark-clothed men walk briskly past them, hard glares sweeping over the waiting Petunia and Bilius before dismissing them, Petunia felt something cold seep into her bones, as if her feet were sinking into snow.
When Eugene emerged, they joined a throng of people slowly moving across the fields, snippets that resembled Bilius' enthusiastic chatter floating around them. But Petunia could hear an echo of resentment, murmurs about the wand ban or nervous jests about the dark-cloaked people, who were cutting through the crowd in intervals like barracudas through a swarm of small, white-and-blue fish.
She didn't want to be here, Petunia thought, looking at the painted and unfamiliar faces around here. She shouldn't be here … she didn't belong here.
Her feet stalled, her shoulder tugging when Eugene took a second to realise she'd stopped walking next to him. He turned around, his brows crinkled in concern. "Petals?"
"I have to go." The nausea from her arrival returned in full force, Petunia's stomach turning and saliva pooling in her mouth. Her vision was unfocused, the air wavering like a mirage. All she could really concentrate on was her need to leave . Right now.
As if from a great distance she heard Bilius' voice. "Must be warded against muggles."
In the next second all she could see was Eugene's face, warm, broad hands clasping her cheeks, forcing her eyes to meet his brown ones. "Petals, look at me. It's alright, just take a few more steps and it will be over."
You don't understand , she wanted to say, I can't go that way, I have to leave … But even though she felt her lips trembling, no words left them. She could smell Eugene so close to her, felt his warm breath ghost across her skin, his calloused fingers catching in the fine hair on her temples, tickling her with rough patches of skin.
And his eyes. His deep eyes, a mixture of caramel and chocolate and tiny spots of deep obsidian that swallowed the light, looking at her so earnestly, always looking at her …
Her feet were trotting along as if she was sludging through waist-high mud, but she was moving, led along by Eugene's soft insistence.
And then something brushed across her skin, light as a firefly's wings and it was like a bubble popped inside her head. The strange urgency and panic washed out of her like toxic sludge out of a stream, leaving clarity and lightness in their wake.
Petunia blinked against her disorientation, almost swaying. "What … happened?"
"They hid the arena under a barrier that's meant to protect it from muggle's detection," Eugene's voice was grim and his eyes hard. If Petunia had to pin an emotion to his expression it would be anger, though she wasn't sure where it was directed.
She was still so disoriented that it took a second for his words to penetrate her head, and just when she was about to ask what arena he was talking about (they'd been walking across an empty field, she hadn't spotted any building for miles) she saw it.
"We're here."
Towering structures had appeared from thin air right in front of them, piercing towards the sky where before there had only been flat grass. Petunia gaped at them, trying to reconcile their existence with the fact that she hadn't seen anything just a second ago -
The rickety wooden towers formed a giant oval on the field, bigger than any stadium she could have imagined, impossible to overlook.
They reminded Petunia of the small towers Lily had once tried to build with her Mother's stash of toothpicks (lifted from the bathroom under an accompaniment of Petunia's scolding) and they looked just as unstable - as if a fierce enough wind would whisk them away to scatter all over the countryside. The banners and flags flapping on their sides didn't help, instead Petunia almost feared that they would catch the breeze like a sail and tear it all apart even quicker.
And as soon as she stood directly underneath them, Petunia realised how high they truly were. Higher than any building Petunia had ever seen, higher than the highest building she had passed in London and she still remembered her shock when she had left the countryside for the first time.
"Ah - third stand, Section 26-JK," a young witch manning the entrance into the stadium drawled boredly, her fingers clasping the tickets Eugene handed her. She nodded to a black-robed woman behind her who looked anything but bored, her eyes stern and piercing like a hawk's.
"No wands inside the stadium, no magic inside the stadium, no fights inside the stadium. Enjoy the game."
The ticket-girl's voice sounded as if she had forgotten the meaning of enjoyment, but Petunia was distracted when the hawk-eyed woman whisked her wand through the air before snapping: "Clear."
Their small group quickly huddled through the entrance, even Bilius' boisterous enthusiasm for the game, that had accompanied them all the way here, dulled. Instead Petunia took the minutes while they reached the third stand to look around her. They were walking on a small trail that surrounded the circular grass arena in the middle of the wooden towers, larger than any soccer field she had ever seen. Tall hoops had been thrust into the ground, three on each side and surrounded by a pit of fine, white sand that was obviously foreign to the dirt and daisies surrounding it.
Inside the stadium the joyful atmosphere that had been dampened around the tents was much more vibrant. Chatter, laughter, jeers and cheers bounded all around them, creating a blanket of noise that settled more comfortably on Petunia's shoulders than the tense and hushed conversations she had overheard before.
"What's with all the Aurors?" Eugene asked when they had reached their stand, a very uncommon scorn to his words. It was so unlike him that Petunia grasped his hand tighter and was only slightly relieved when he returned the pressure with a short clasp.
Bilius shrugged but his voice was quieter than Petunia had ever heard it. "You know, safety precautions, crowd control. At least that's what they're telling us."
Questions danced through Petunia's mind, their traces weighing heavy with every turn. She picked a harmless one. "Auror?"
Eugene turned to her while they started the steep climb up the rickety steps. Petunia almost imagined she could feel them swaying beneath her feet with every step and was silently grateful that she had no fear of heights.
"Like muggle police. They protect us and enforce rules."
Petunia nodded her understanding, but only felt her confusion mount. She didn't feel protected but watched and going by the expression on the boys' faces, they shared her sentiment.
They found a gaggle of redheads, part of Bilius's family, next to their seats greeting them with enthusiastic handshakes. His mother, the stern, dark-haired woman she remembered from the station, was missing and the only other ones Petunia might have recognized, the young woman with the self-knit sweater and the harried man with the horn-rimmed spectacles, were both absent. Petunia smiled politely at the rest and tried to keep all their names straight but was grateful when a loud bang interrupted them and she had an excuse to shift back to Eugene's side and take a seat.
Glitter spread across the slowly darkening evening sky above her, sizzling and spitting sparks with loud whistles that were soon drowned out when a booming voice echoed all around them: "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my honour to welcome you all to the four-hundred-and-seventeenth Quidditch World Cup!"
The sparkles in the sky suddenly zoomed towards a giant scoreboard, that looked as if it would be more at home at a jousting tournament in the middle ages, and burned themselves into the wood, leaving large, smoking letters behind that read GREECE: 0, SCOTLAND: 0.
Petunia wondered how they would update the score, now that the wood was already burned before dismissing the thought because trying to find logic among magic was just as futile as trying to herd cats in a bathtub.
"And now without further ado, allow me to welcome the Greek Team Mascots!"
Eugene leaned forward while Petunia was taking in the - Creatures? Beings? Animals? - that were skipping into the arena, frozen with astonishment.
Even from so far above the ground she could easily make out the men with curly hair and patchy goatees, an uncommon amount of hair covering their (indecently) naked chests and arms, loaded with an assortment of instruments and flasks.
But the dense chest-hair had nothing on the literal fur that covered their hoved goat-legs.
"Satyrs," Eugene said, and when Petunia looked over she recognized his expression as the one he would wear while telling her about some of the more fantastical creatures hidden in Newt Scamander's basement. He didn't look angry anymore, the appearance of the Satyrs enough to shift his focus and Petunia was strangely relieved to see him in his usual good cheer.
She didn't like it when Eugene looked unhappy, and that reality was somehow frightening enough that Petunia quickly pushed it down, returning her focus to the goat-men down on the field.
They had started strumming their harps while others lifted wooden flutes and panpipes to their lips. A hush fell over the crowd, a second of anticipation where the wizards and witches all around Petunia held their breath - and then a song sprang free from the field, washing over everyone present and gripping them tight.
The Satyrs hopped and danced and played, their hands and hooves clapping, their stubby goat-tails wagging while they always seemed to find a second to sip from their wine-flasks without the music stuttering once. The melody was fast and lively and like nothing she had ever heard before, almost fierce in its tempo but invigorating more than intimidating.
It flooded through Petunia as if it had been poured into her ears in a warm stream, winding around her limbs and before she could stop it her feet were tapping along, her fingers drumming the quick rhythm onto her knees. She felt almost tipsy with it, light-headed and bolstered all at once.
When the satyrs twirled for the last time it was as if a spell was broken, something ancient and primal, more than any other magic Petunia had ever encountered. Only now did she notice the little vines that had sprung free beneath the Satyrs' hooves, snaking over the formerly plain grass as a testament to their presence.
Applause exploded around her and Petunia almost helplessly clapped along, her blood still thrumming with the high of the song.
Before Petunia could order her thoughts and calm herself, the loud announcer-voice once more echoed around them. "And now, kindly welcome the Scottish National Team Mascots!"
The applause trickled down as soon as the spectators got a good look at the creatures skulking onto the field on the opposite side of the now-gone Satyrs. Where the Satyrs had looked almost jolly, with pudgy bellies, red noses and small, stubby horns, these human-like creatures were short and spindly, their gaunt features only highlighting their protruding, blood-shot eyes. Petunia could hear the metallic clinks of their heavy iron boots while her eyes were inexplicably drawn to the bright red hat sitting on their stringy hair.
Eugene's smile dimmed and Petunia saw his hand fall to the pocket where he usually kept his wand, only to come up empty.
These new creatures didn't have instruments or wine, instead carrying rusty pikestaffs which they stabbed into the air.
And then they started singing and Petunia dearly wished she had glued her ears shut instead. Their voices were scratchy and strangely deep, invading and slithering through the crowd, the words accented but no less gruesome for it.
"Blood of our enemies,
Blood of your enemies,
Dunk my hat in,
Blood of your kin,
Blood of our kin,
Dunk my hat in,
And when there is no more blood,
Of our enemies,
Of your kin,
Then thumb my head in."
Finished with their short verse, they chittered in delight and lifted their bright red hats to wave them at the silent crowd.
"Redcaps," Eugene said and it sounded like a warning.
"Err - yes, indeed, what a fierce representation from our Scottish Mascots! And here are the teams, the moment you have all been waiting for, Ladies and Gentlemen! To the right, led of course by Captain Cunningham, followed by McGregor …"
Petunia barely paid attention to the wizards swooping in from the sky, riding their brooms in long curves to round the stadium and give the startled audience a chance to shake off their lingering unease and start cheering instead.
Only Petunia didn't find it as easy to forget. Her eyes followed the creatures - Redcaps - as they slunk back into the shadows, grins stretching their pale lips and exposing long teeth.
But it wasn't their gruesome appearance or blood-thirsty words that held her bound - it was the fact that they had words at all.
They had spoken, sung, with clear sentience and understanding. Not like the Jarvey in the Weasley's garden who had chattered nonsense and insults - these creatures knew what they were saying. They were obviously intelligent, not animals that had performed a trick, but beings who knew what they were doing.
And the wizards were using them as mascots.
Maybe it was nonsensical, to look for similarities with something so decidedly other , but Petunia somehow felt a strange kinship for the creatures now lurking in the shadows, forgotten in the wake of the flying wizards.
Why was there such a stark difference in their treatment? And why did it mirror the way Petunia herself sometimes felt treated by the wizarding community?
Her mind snapped back to the strange barrier that had invaded her thoughts, made her want to run away, disregarding Petunia simply for being non-magical. It had infested her without warning, without leaving her any chance to fight it off, like a virus that had singled her out - if it weren't for Eugene … Petunia shuddered.
She wasn't welcome here. And looking at these beings that were magic, where Petunia had none, and who were still corralled to the corners, banished to the edges and shadows, she wondered why.
Her eyes tried to seek out the budding vines the dancing Satyrs had left behind, but the forms of swishing capes cutting through the air hid them from sight. They had created beauty with their song, and now they were used as entertainment for wizards who took their magic for granted, who viewed it as a neat trick.
Petunia's concentration wasn't on the game taking place, even though Eugene was trying to explain the rules to her (again). But she didn't hold any attention for the grown men clenching brooms between their thighs, chasing way too many balls through the air and - were those baseball bats?
Instead she repeatedly tried to catch a glimpse of the hidden mascots, but they only entered the sunlight whenever one of the teams scored a goal, performing short dances (the Satyrs) or stabbing the air with their weapons and howling (the Redcaps). Every time it happened, Petunia felt her fingers clench in her pretty skirt, feeling guilty for being part of that same cheering audience.
It was probably owed to this preoccupation that Petunia took long minutes to notice when the tension around her flipped from enthusiasm to terror.
Sorry for the cliffhanger ! As always thank you so much for the support you're showing this story, reading your comments really brightens my day ^^
The Quidditch Tournament of 1974 is actually canon as well as the fact that wands and magic were banned from the tournament *waves around happily* Not that I think anyone really cares, but I'm always ecstatic when I can use 'real' events and incorporate them neatly into my narrative.