Chapter 11) Odd Looks, Odd Sweets

Selected Listening: Where We Are- The Lumineers

Anastasia awoke to Hermione shaking her shoulder in the dark morning. She stumbled alongside the other two girls into their jeans and sweaters, throwing toiletries and hairbrushes into bags, and stumbling out of the bedroom and downstairs into the warm-lit kitchen.

There was no time for breakfast—Mr. Weasley said they would eat when they arrived, and they strolled out of the Burrow with Harry and every non-apparating Weasley child in tow.

The group plodded along as the first hints of sunlight peaked over the horizon. A light mist hung in the air as they made their way through the forest near the burrow. When they reached the hill, they spotted one familiar face, Cedric Diggory, and his father.

Ginny and Hermione blushed when Cedric said hello to them. Anastasia supposed the Hufflepuff seeker was attractive, but it didn't matter to her. She didn't miss that Amos and Cedric gave her quick, odd looks. She supposed, after the article, they also wondered about her true beliefs.

The group walked a while longer until they reached a ratty old boot in the middle of a field.

"This is our portkey," Arthur said, checking his pocket watch. "Everyone hold on, and don't let go until I tell you."

The group packed in a tight circle around the boot. It seemed inane that ten people would be assigned to the same small portkey at the same time. Squeezed between Harry and Fred, Anastasia reached to grab a portion of the shoe, but by the time she did, nearly every spot had been taken.

Anastasia seized hold of a lace with one hooked index finger.

"Time!" Arthur yelled.

And they began spinning, faster and faster, pulled outward. She thought she might come apart at the skin. Her finger slipped. She screamed.

A strong arm came around her waist, nearly crushing her. Fred held her to his side, eyes squeezed shut. The spinning began to slow.

"Let go!" Arthur shouted, and within a few seconds they had hit solid ground.

"Th-thank you." Anastasia stuttered as she pushed up to her knees. Fred had rolled over and pushed himself up.

"Don't mention it. Couldn't have the headmaster's daughter flying off to Dublin, could we?" he asked with a grimace and walked off with his brother.

When Anastasia first met the twins, they were two of the select few in the world to know about her existence. Her father made them promise to look after her and keep her secret, she supposed more as an insurance policy that they wouldn't go around blabbing than any hope they could protect her from harm. After she began attending school and her identity was revealed, the twins' presence in her life slowly began to fade—save for when they needed help with their pranks or wanted to harass her about her own predicaments. Still, she wondered if Fred took the promise he made to the headmaster just a bit too seriously compared to his brother.

Perhaps that was what Percy meant the day before.

Mr. Weasley spoke with a man guarding the portkey arrival station who pointed them in the direction of their campsite and the group set off across the grassy moors.

Anastasia fell behind alongside Harry. They were both walking slower than the others, caught up in their own thoughts. They glanced at each other momentarily, both something they wanted to say. Out of all the people there, she knew what Harry thought the least about her predicament. They hadn't had a moment to themselves since the previous year when they spent the last days of summer in Diagon Alley together.

"I guess I should congratulate you…" Harry said, disgruntledly.

"About what?" she asked.

"You got to keep your godparent," he said solemnly. A rock fell to the pit of her stomach. She heard him talking about his godfather last night at the dinner table. Owls…that's all he got to communicate with him.

"I'm sorry about Sirius," she said. What she really meant was, she was sorry she managed to let Pettigrew escape, ending the possibility of Harry moving away from the Dursleys.

"It's not fair…" Harry said disgruntledly. "You get to spend time with her…out in public…blood purist views and all. Meanwhile, Sirius is a good person, and if he shows his face he gets thrown back in Azkaban."

"I'm sorry," she replied. "You're right. It isn't fair. If I could change things—"

In her mind, she felt the rat tail slip from her claws again.

"That's alright…one of us should be happy," he muttered.

Anastasia placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Look!" she pointed with a grin.

They crested the hill and saw an expanse of field spread out in a basin below them, tents of all colors, flags of green and red flying, and hundreds of magical people wandering about the festival.

When Anastasia looked back to Harry and saw he wore a rare grin, that same grin of freedom he wore three years ago when they rode the boat with Hagrid from the cabin at sea to shore.

At the border of the campsite, Harry helped Arthur count money for the fee, and they watched as the muggle site keeper had his memory obliviated by a fast-casting security wizard. Walking through the fields of colorful flags and magical objects, it was no wonder why the muggles were suspicious. Every wizard in attendance could have used a lesson in muggle fashion, wearing everything from kilts to night gowns to bell-bottom jeans. By far, their little crew did the best job blending in.

They arrived at their plot and Anastasia, Harry, and Hermione worked together to assemble the tents the muggle way. The inside of each tent, boys and girls, was large and cozy—they had borrowed them from one of Mr. Weasley's older ministry friends—the four fourth-years ventured off to see the whole campsite and gather some water.

The congregation of magic folk was alive with the spirit of the game, and if any ministry official actually told them to stop using magic for decorating their tents or cooking food or apparating from friend to friend, they would have laughed in their faces. They saw Cho, spritely as always; Oliver, excitable over his new quidditch position; and even Seamus Finnegan, his tent covered in shamrocks. They each gave Anastasia looks as strange as the Diggory's had. Seamus's reaction particularly unfavorable as he was half-blooded. The sun began to hang midway over the sky, and Anastasia felt a grumble in her stomach.

"I think we need to get back now…I need breakfast." She commented, or maybe she said it because she simply wanted to avoid more people staring at her like some sort of enigma.

They headed back to camp and found that the rest of the older Weasleys had arrived and opened a variety of lawn chairs around a sad little campfire that Arthur had started himself. They cooked breakfast over the flame that Bill might have encouraged with a spell he cast when Arthur wasn't looking, and relaxed on their plot, watching people pass by here and there.

Anastasia ended up sitting between Hermione and the twins. She relaxed back into her chair and delightedly munched on her slice of ham steak. She often felt no greater peace than eating a well-cooked breakfast.

"Sorry about last night," George offered, handing her a wrapped candy across the arms of their lawn chairs. She squinted at it and saw a fine line of text spiraling around the sweet that read Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Wasn't the kindest way to introduce you to our new inventions."

"Inventions?" Anastasia asked. "Is this what you fed me?"

"Not quite…" George admitted. "That was a Ton-Tongue Toffee…same thing we gave Harry's cousin. This is—oh what did we decide to call it, Fred?"

Fred, on the other side of George, was trying hard to ignore the conversation entirely. He looked pissed at his brother for trying to rope him into the conversation.

"Coughing Cordial…we were debating between that and plain Cough Drop…but that wouldn't go with the rest of our alliterations for the product," Fred admitted and took another bite of toast.

Anastasia stared at it again and unraveled it. The candy was a transparent peridot color, and it reminded her clearly of something she'd seen before. Fred saw it in her expression and couldn't help commenting.

"You helped invent it. If it weren't for that potion you gave us…we wouldn't have figured out how to do it," he said, semi-gratefully.

"Creative definition of the word gave," she commented in slight annoyance. They forcibly took the potion Minerva granted her to appear ill whenever she was about to enter a month-long stretch of keeping a mandrake leaf under her tongue for the animagus process. She rewrapped the sweet and handed it back to George.

"Keep it!" George chimed. "First one's on us. It's going into something called—" George looked to make sure Mr. Weasley wasn't listening, but their dad was talking with everyone in the Ministry who passed, "—something called a Skiving Snackbox. A whole box of sweets to get one out of class and unwanted obligations."

Anastasia smiled and pocketed the candy. Fred and George were protective, but generous.

"That's a great idea, but what happens when you're out of class and don't want to be sick anymore?" she asked.

George and Fred shared a look.

"Haven't quite figured that out yet," Fred admitted. "That's the next step."

"You're going to get yourselves in trouble!" Percy scolded from the other side of Fred. "And then what is mum going to say? You ought to be applying for internships like I was at your age."

"And spend next summer worshipping a ministry suit?" Fred asked. "Fat chance."

"Prefer the trouble," George agreed. "It's fun. You should try it sometime."

Percy scowled and turned away.

A stocky man in a yellow and black striped quidditch outfit arrived, large smile over his face. Arthur popped up to say hello and greet him.

"Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman."

Ludo Bagman was the Master of Games and a former beater on the Wimbledon Wasps. He had a jockish air of overconfidence.

Anastasia greeted him with the rest, polite, but unimpressed, and he asked for wagers on the game, which the twins took him up on with their life savings.

"And you, Miss Dumbledore?" He turned to Anastasia quizzically, as many were today, trying to make sense of her. She shook her head.

"Not my thing."

"Not your thing. Well, I have to thank you for your willingness to vacate your space for the summer. I've been at Hogwarts quite often making preparations with your father for—"

"Ludo—" Arthur warned.

"The events, this year," Ludo finished, making himself comfortable by the fire with a camping mug of tea. "Exciting stuff."

Anastasia shared looks with the other teens.

"Dad, what is going on?" Ron asked. "Can't you tell us at this point? We'll know in a few days anyway."

"And no sooner!" Arthur insisted. "Top secret."

Ludo fidgeted impulsively as if he were about to tell them anyway when a man named Barty Crouch came along, and the three men discussed umpteen Ministry dealings related to the games that Anastasia had no interest in at all. She wondered more about the mysterious event at Hogwarts…and she also wondered if Draco had arrived and where he was staying.

That evening, they climbed to the top box of the stadium where their seats were reserved, souvenirs in hand. Albus had ensured hers was next to the Weasley's, but when they arrived, they saw another family coming in striking blonde and black. Anastasia caught Draco's eyes and looked away immediately.

"Oh no, are you bloody serious?" Ron asked. "One of us has to sit in between."

Hermione, who originally had been leading into the aisle, intuitively backed away from the last seat of their grouping and looked at Anastasia pleadingly.

"Anastasia, could you?" Harry asked awkwardly.

"Since you're used to them, you can sit next to them," Ron concluded.

Anastasia nodded and took her spot. Secretly, her heart fluttered. As the Malfoys approached, they also re-sorted themselves as Lucius and Arthur exchanged insults. Lucius, farthest from them, Narcissa second, and Draco closest to Anastasia.

Anastasia wondered if she should say something to Narcissa about the article, or anything really, but she clammed up.

Narcissa peeked and then looked away, not saying anything either. A silent admission of guilt.

So, she knew. Anastasia thought.

As much as she wished she could trust the woman, that moment if anything, told her she couldn't. Not completely.

She vaguely heard Harry, Ron, and Hermione having a hushed conversation with a house elf behind them, and Cornelius Fudge telling Mr. Weasley about the grand donation the Malfoy's had made to St. Mungo's. But Anastasia was too distracted to hear the details.

Draco sat beside her, elbows pointed over the arms of his chair, trying to seem completely disinterested in her. They caught each other's glances accidentally and smirked at one another.

Under his breath, he asked,

"What the hell happened to my tongue last night?"

She blushed.

"You don't want to know," she whispered back.

He frowned incredulously, but before she could explain further, the announcer came on and the game began.

The mascots of the Bulgarian team entered first—veela. Anastasia had never seen them before, and although they were beautiful, she didn't know what was making the men around them go absolutely bonkers, mesmerized by the sight of them, like sirens.

Ginny, Hermione, and Anastasia shared looks as the boys prepared to jump off the bloody stands. Hermione grabbed Ron and Harry, Ginny, the twins.

Anastasia caught the back of Draco's green cloak hood and pulled him back to his feet. He shook his head blearily along with the other hundreds of thousands of men as the veela left the field. She didn't miss that Narcissa handed Lucius a handkerchief to wipe the drool off his chin. Anastasia rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," Draco muttered and cleared his throat.

The crowd watched as leprechauns soared overhead, bursting fireworks over the sky and raining gold down into the crowd. The players soared onto the field. The snitch released. In all the excitement, nearly everyone was standing, leaning on the box ledge in front of them. It was easy for Draco to slide his free hand down next to Anastasia's and grasp it without anyone seeing. Her giddiness resumed as the game continued, and she watched replay after replay through her omnioculars cheering and shouting along with the others.

"IRELAND WINS!" Ludo shouted.

The stadium roared in complete bliss of victory or the misery of defeat. People threw their hats, jumped up and down, hugged one another. Anastasia couldn't help beaming brightly at Draco.

Draco smiled at her, jubilant, and kissed her. She threw her arms around his neck.

They pulled away, grinning, but the dread sunk in as Anastasia spotted Lucius having a silent aneurism behind Draco.

"Get. Away. From my son." He stated very sternly.

Draco froze, his joy draining to horror. Anastasia felt herself shaking, she dropped her arms and tried to think of anything that would remedy their momentary slipup.

"Dear," Narcissa tried, one hand on Lucius's shoulder, but her husband jerked away and pushed past her to get closer to Draco.

"I-I'm—" Anastasia started. She expected Draco to jolt away, to plead with his father for his momentary slip up. A firm resolve of stubbornness settled over his expression.

"No, father! I'm tired of this. It's ridiculous." He grabbed hold of her hand. "Anastasia is my girlfriend. We're dating whether you like it or not, and in a few days, we'll be where you can't bother us about it."

There was a resound of low "oohs" from the Weasley's seats.

Lucius's face was turning red and green at the same time, he drew his snake-headed wand from its sheath.

"Go!" Draco yelled. "run!"

Draco yanked her away and ran with her down the aisle past her friends, who made way for them to get through, then purposefully blocked Mr. Malfoy as they laughed in amazement. The two clamored down the flights of stairs, one step after another, and when they finally reached the ground floor, they found a nook under one of the stadium columns to catch their breath.

At least they would have, if they hadn't been snogging.

"You were brilliant…" Anastasia remarked, regaining her grasp around his neck as he found her waist. "You're going to be grounded for ages."

Draco shook his head, unbothered.

"I don't care. As long as I'm with you."

The golden moon hung low in the sky and the rising stars watched over the young lovers. She felt the heat of his breath on her face. He drew her torso to his and they carried on with their newfound exploits in the cool night air.