Year Four: The TriWizard Tournament

Part 1

August 1994

Anne felt as though she had barely lain down to sleep when she was being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley.

"Wake up, Anne, dear," she whispered, moving away to wake Hermione and Ginny.

"What's goin' on?" Anne yawned, sitting up. Hermione and Ginny roused groggy from sleep.

"You're going to the Quidditch World Cup today, remember?" Mrs. Weasley reminded her before leaving the room Anne and the girls shared.

The three girls dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then yawning and stretching made their way downstairs joining Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan.

"Why do we have to get up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley.

"Walk?" asked Harry. "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."

It was chilly and the moon was still out when they all headed out after breakfast. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to the right showed that daybreak was drawing close.

They trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue.

They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshed Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Anne took was sharp in her chest and her legs were starting to seize up when, at last, her feet found ground level.

"Dad, where are we going exactly?" Ron called to Mr. Weasley when he and Harry caught up.

"Haven't the foggiest," Mr. Weasley replied. "What we need to do now is find a Portkey up here."

Just then a shout rang out in the still air.

"Arthur! It's about time, son!"

Two figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" called Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted.

Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a short stout man with thinning brown hair. "Sorry, Amos. Some of us had a bit of a sleepy start." He turned to everyone else. "This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And this strapping young lad must be Cedric, am I right?"

"Yes, sir." Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

Cedric greeted them all. When his eyes landed on Anne, he gave her a brief nod smiling warmly. Blushing, Anne gazed back at him before turning away.

"Merlin's beard!" gasped Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "You must be Harry Potter!"

"Uh, yes, sir," replied Harry uncomfortably.

"Great pleasure," said Mr. Diggory shaking his hand. "Cedric's told me of you."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir."

They walk further on the hill. "Shall we? We don't want to be late."

There, at the top of the hill was a moldy looking old boot. They all stood there in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop.

"Why are we all standing around this manky old boot?" Harry asked puzzled.

"This isn't just any manky old boot," Fred pointed out.

"It's a Portkey," said George.

Everyone in the circle out their hands on the boot.

"On three. One....two....." Mr. Diggory counted slowly. "....three."