World Cup
A few days later, Mr. Weasley, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George left for the Quidditch World Cup. After a long and difficult hike in the dawn’s light, they all stood atop a hill, searching for their portkey. They had only been at it a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rang through the still air.
“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!” Two figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.
“Amos!” said Mr. Weasly, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.
Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a shorter wizard with scruffy brown hair and rounded spectacles. In his free hand was a moldy-looking old boot.
“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?” Sure enough, the tall, handsome boy walked up next to his father, the soft glow of the early morning highlighting his stunning features.
“Hi,” said Cedric, looking around at them all. Everybody said hi back except Fred, who couldn’t seem to get words to come out, and George, who looked as though he had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating Griffindor in the previous year.
“Long walk, Arthur?” Cedric’s father asked.
“Not too bad,” said Mr. Weasley. “You?”
“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I’ll 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 the group. “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 behind his glasses.
“Harry? Harry Potter?”
“Er - yeah,” said Harry.
“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos. “Told us all about playing against you last year…” Fred and George shared a look “...I said to him, I said- Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will… You beat Harry Potter!” Fred noticed that Cedric looked embarrassed.
“Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” Cedric muttered. “I told you… it was an accident…” Fred gave George an I-told-you-so look. He looked back at Cedric, whose deep green eyes were illuminated by the sun’s creeping light. He couldn’t help but feel surprised that someone so good-looking could be so modest. He sensed a growing appreciation for the sixth year. Then without warning, a voice came from beside him.
“Hey,” Cedric said. Fred gasped in surprise.
“Oh- er- hey,” he said, trying to get his heart rate back to normal.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“N-no problem,” Fred said, unable to peel his eyes away from Cedric.
“Your brother looks like he hates me,” Cedric confided, gesturing at George.
“Ha! Erm, I wouldn’t take it personally. It’s just Quidditch, is all,” said Fred. Cedric laughed, and Fred felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the rising sun.
“Glad to hear it. Honestly, if looks could kill, I’d probably be lying stiff in the grass right now.”
“It’s just last year’s match, promise.”
“Alright, well it was nice chatting!”
“Yep- er, yes… nice… chatting,” he called as Cedric walked up toward the front of the group. Then he just stood there for a moment, staring at a patch of dirt and thinking. What he was most confused about, out of the whirlwind of thoughts flying around his head, was how flustered and inarticulate he had become around Cedric. Usually, he was very quick witted. With ease, he could think up funny comments and one-liners at the drop of a hat. But put Cedric next to him, and all he could think about was the way his fringe draped above his intelligent eyes and how good his robes looked hanging over his shoulders. Fred was even more confused and uncomfortable than before, so he decided it would be easiest to push the thoughts out of his head and focus on something more fun: the Quidditch World Cup.
The alarming array of sights, sounds, and smells of the camping site was the perfect distraction. Thousands of witches and wizards of all ages were an ocean of green and maroon that sucked Fred in until he could think of nothing else but the game that was to come.
“Bloody exciting, isn’t it George?” asked Fred after they had found their seats. But George wasn’t listening. His eyes had a glazed-over quality, and his expression had gone vaguely blank. “George?” He clicked his fingers in front of his twin’s face. Slowly, George pushed Fred’s hand away from his face, keeping his eyes locked on the field. Following his line of sight, Fred spotted several incredibly attractive blonde ladies dancing far below their seats. They were doing some sort of dance which, Fred realized, had nearly every male around him slack-jawed and hungry-eyed. He saw a couple even get up on railings or seats in attempts to get closer. He also noted some women who wore the same expression as George had, though none seemed stupid enough to climb over railings. He waved his hand in front of his twin’s face, this time breaking his deep concentration.
“Where’d you go, mate? You seemed lost.” Fred’s eyes were clouded with concern not only at his brother’s unresponsiveness, but also with the questioning of why he wasn’t affected by the blondes the same way all the other blokes seemed to be.
“Must be veelas, I’m telling you,” George replied, his eyes locking back onto the dancers on the field. Fortunately, the veelas were soon replaced by a giant leprechaun, which Fred thought was much more to his tastes, especially with the raining galleons.
Soon enough, the game was underway, violent and extremely exciting. The twins’ voices grew hoarse with all of their loud cheers and chants, which nearly doubled in volume when Krum caught the snitch, capturing their right to Bagman’s prize money. They returned to their tent exhilarated from the match’s events, adrenaline still pumping through their blood from the unexpected ending. Totally carefree, Fred spent the day’s closing hours celebrating with his family and friends until sleep finally guided him into the darkness.
Not very long after Fred’s head had met his pillow, he was yanked unceremoniously from his bed that smelled faintly of cats. In the daze, he could make out yelling and rushed footsteps coming from outside the tent. He was wiping the sleep from his eyes, confused and somewhat irritated, when a scream in the distance sent a jolt like electricity running down his spine. Hearing two other screams made any tiredness fade away, and in an instant he was yanking on a pair of jeans and sticking his wand in his pocket. He stepped out of the tent and emerged in a dark, burning world so different from what it had been just a few hours ago. He and his family gazed in horror as the Roberts family were twisted and thrown about in the air by the masked figures below.
“We’re going to help the ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over the noise, indicating himself, Bill, Charlie, and Percy. “You lot- get into the woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!”
“C’mon,” said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. Fred held fiercely onto Ginny’s hand, staring only at the ground ahead to avoid catching a glimpse of the nightmare above. Time was fuzzy with panic, and he didn’t know how much time had passed when George spoke up.
“Fred! Where did the other three go?”
“What?! Oh no no no…” his face took on a very un-Fred-like expression of dread. The three siblings spent the next quarter of an hour yelling for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but they had no luck. Finally, Ginny suggested that maybe they had returned to the tent. When Fred, George, and Ginny made it back, however, they only found Bill, Charlie and Percy. Charlie’s shirt had been ripped, Percy had a bloody nose, and Bill’s arm was bleeding profusely. After they had all exchanged hugs, Fred ran off to get a towel for the crimson that was soaking through Bill’s sleeve. Soon, Mr. Weasley’s voice was heard in the distance. Charlie leapt up from his spot at the table and shouted out of the tent’s opening,
“Dad, what’s going on? Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others-”
“I’ve got them here,” said Mr. Weasley, inciting a sigh of relief from the siblings while he, Ron, Harry, and Hermione entered the tent. The four then proceeded to share the events of the night, which left Fred’s head buzzing with worry and confusion. Mr. Weasley directed everyone to get a few hours of sleep, and in the morning they were off to the Burrow.