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 normal one 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 smoothing down her skirt. She had opted for one of her favourites, long cotton that fell to mid-calf and was printed with small yellow flowers. Petunia 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 had kissed often and once Petunia had even touched Eugene's naked back, so simply holding hands should inspire no excitement whatsoever. But no matter how often 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 suddenly there were 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 wizarding society after her first and only outing to Diagon Alley and she had almost forgotten that they apparently liked to dress either with fashion that was fifty years out of style 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 gift Eugene a raised brow, which only made him snicker, before trying to pay attention to the twisted way they were taking, her shining shoes now speckled with dust 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 people 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 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 seen any building for miley) when she saw it.
"We're here."
❀
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 ^^