❝KRUM GETS THE SNITCH...❞
.・。.・゜✭・.
As they stroll through rows and rows of tents, all belonging to Wizarding families, Ara can't keep her mouth closed. She's never seen this many magical people all in one place, and it's apparently hilarious to Fred and George when she nudges them and points out a particularly ostentatious tent–such as the striped silk tent in the shape of a castle, with white peacocks strutting about at the entrance.
"The Malfoys have arrived," George whispers, rolling his eyes.
"Always the same," Mr. Weasley says, shaking his head with a smile. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
The space Mr. Weasley's pointing to is the empty patch of grass in the far corner of the field, with a wooden sign that reads WEEZLY in large block letters. They all dump their backpacks in one corner, and Mr. Weasley excitedly sets about putting up the tents, chattering about the no-magic rule when they're in such close proximity to Muggles. However, he's not very good at it, and so Harry and Hermione kindly step in to help.
"Let's get out of here before it gets any worse," Fred says out of the corner of his mouth, grabbing Ara's hand and pulling her away. "I heard from Angelina and Lee; they're staying in the next section over."
"What about Alicia?" Ara asks, as George runs to catch up, assuring Mr. Weasley that while they're walking, they'll gather some wood for the fire later. Mr. Weasley certainly is bought in to the Muggle way of things. Ara doesn't mind, though; she finds it endearing.
"Couldn't make it," George replies, falling into step with her and Fred. "Angie said her mum wanted her to get a job this summer. Says she spends too much time on Quidditch."
"Oh, rubbish," Fred scoffs, shaking his head in disappointment. "She should've come, we could've got another ticket."
"She'll be listening on the radio for sure." George nods his agreement.
The sun is rising, the mist around them evaporating, and people everywhere are waking up, cooking breakfast, and talking amongst themselves. They turn the corner into the next section and are immediately overwhelmed by a staggering amount of green and shamrocks: It's as if a clover patch exploded. Ireland's staunch supporters make their dwelling here, that's for sure.
"The end of this row, I think," says Fred, counting signs as they pass each tent, every single one practically swallowed by shamrocks, large and small alike. There are loads of people outside, some of whom Ara recognizes from Hogwarts, who wave excitedly, calling out to friends, chattering animatedly about the match. It's a joyful early-morning atmosphere and Ara revels in it.
And then a pair of arms wraps themselves around Ara's waist and a familiar voice, laughing and melodic, says, "Alright, losers?"
Ara turns around, grinning, and smiles at the tall black girl hugging her waist. "Hi, Angie."
"Took you lot long enough," says another familiar voice, as Lee Jordan rounds the corner, grinning. He claps both Fred and George on the shoulder and swoops in to kiss Ara's cheek before Fred takes a joking swing at him, laughing.
"So, who are we supporting?" asks Angelina Johnson, letting go of Ara and swinging her braids over her shoulder with one hand. "Ireland, country of shamrocks, or Bulgaria, with their brilliant young Seeker?"
"Ireland," George and Lee say in unison, not hesitating even for a moment.
"Dunno, Krum's pretty damn good," Fred says, shrugging. "Even if Ireland wins, I think he gets the Snitch. He's definitely faster than Lynch and he's got better eyes, too."
"Isn't Krum the one who looks like he smelled something bad all the time?" Ara asks, grinning, and Fred and George both snicker.
"That's the one," Lee replies, laughing. "Bloody brilliant player, though. Just turned eighteen, everybody's talking about him. Youngest Seeker ever in the World Cup, if I remember right."
They stroll down the row, Ara locking arms with Fred and Angelina, chatting about their summers, Angelina's escapades with a Muggle boy named Peter (George is mysteriously silent during this story), and gossip from school: Lee heard from Alicia that Roger Davies plans to ask Katie Bell out when they go back to school.
As Fred and Lee go back and forth, arguing about (once again) whether or not Krum gets the Snitch, there's a loud, excited cheer and a familiar figure charges down the row and engulfs Ara in a massive hug. The comforting scent of broom polish and nutmeg makes her smile, and when she pulls away, Oliver Wood's smiling down at her, eyes twinkling joyfully.
"Hi, Ollie." Ara leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning. "How've you been? How was your summer?"
"Smashing," Oliver replies with a chuckle, and then gestures proudly to the emblem on his blue jumper. "I've been signed to Puddlemere United reserves!"
Fred, George, and Lee all shout congratulations, clapping Oliver on the back, who's beaming happily. Despite his being two years ahead of her in school, Ara and Oliver have always gotten along very well. He's like the older brother she never had, and if Ara's being completely honest, she had a tiny crush on him until second year.
"How was your summer?" Oliver asks, hugging Angelina.
Ara shrugs. "Same old."
"Wood, who are you supporting?" asks Lee.
"Ireland," Oliver replies staunchly, putting on an awful Irish accent. "Land of bloody great firewhisky and some of the best Quidditch players in the game."
"What do you think of Krum?" asks George, frowning. "Fred thinks he gets the Snitch, even if Ireland wins."
Oliver shakes his head doggedly. "Krum might be the best Seeker, but Barry Ryan's the best Keeper in the game. He'll keep Bulgaria from scoring, so it won't matter if Krum gets the Snitch."
"Way to avoid the question, Wood," Angelina quips, grinning, and ducks to avoid the friendly punch Oliver throws at her shoulder.
Fred checks his watch. "We should probably get back, find Dad that firewood we promised him."
Ara nods, and so they say their goodbyes to Angelina, Lee, and Oliver, promising to catch up later, and make their way back down the rows toward the Weasleys' campsite. Somehow, Harry, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley have got both tents set up, and Ara, Fred, and George produce three small bundles of firewood, gathered from the sides of the field on their way back.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione are absent, and Mr. Weasley explains that they went off to get some water. He pulls some matches out of his backpack and sets to work lighting the fire – and it's not going very well. Ara wishes he'd just light it with his wand, perhaps surreptitiously, but he's having far too much fun to care how many matches are lying blackened at his feet.
"You've been ages," says George after a few minutes, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione return, bearing kettles and pots full of water.
"Met a few people," Ron explains. "You not got that fire started yet?"
"Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred replies with a grin, sitting back on his elbows next to Ara.
Hermione very kindly steps in, taking the box from Mr. Weasley and showing him how to do it correctly. As they wait for the fire to get hot, Fred and George pull out a game of Exploding Snap and offer to Ara and Ginny to play, but they're too busy watching the people passing to accept.
Ministry wizards, families with children, couples holding hands, people chattering in various foreign languages, all of them seem to pass the Weasleys' campsite on their way to the Quidditch field or their own sites. Ara's fascinated by it: Stephen works in the Public Information office at the Ministry, but he never brings home any interesting news or anything of the sort, while Mr. Weasley seems to have the most interesting stories from work and knows everyone who passes by.
"That's Arnold Peasegood," he's saying to Harry and Hermione, both of whom are keenly interested. "He's an Obliviator–member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know..."
"You know, A, if you want to come and stay longer next year, you can," says George quietly, leaning over to her so that Ginny can't hear.
"Yeah, why not just come home from school with us?" Fred shrugs. "No need to stick around with that lot any more than you need to."
Ara smiles at them sweetly. They say this every year, and every year Ara considers it, but something inside her feels a little obligated to spend time with Stephen and Calla. After all, they might not be her biological family, but they did raise her, and she feels as though they deserve a little credit for it.
"And anyway, Dad has connections at the Ministry," Fred continues, lowering his voice even more. "He could probably help you find your parents."
Ara's smile fades. This is a touchy subject: Last summer was the first time Ara even broached the subject to Stephen and Calla, and they just pretended like she'd asked what was for dinner. But Ara thinks she has a right to know, and so she brought it up to Fred and George. She's not even sure how she'd find out that information, whether there's documentation of any kind, but as she draws nearer and nearer to being of age, it nags at her more and more, wondering if her biological parents are out there.
"Just Apparated, Dad!" says a loud, pompous, extraordinarily familiar voice. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"
Bill, Charlie, and Percy have appeared, just as the eggs and sausages they've cooked are ready to eat, and Ara hastily turns to pay more attention to Fred and George's final game of Exploding Snap as Percy sits down next to Mr. Weasley.
"Aha!" says Mr. Weasley, as Ara takes her final bite of sausage just a few moments later, leaping to his feet. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"
Ara, Fred, and George look up to see a round and pleasant-faced man striding toward them, wearing black-and-yellow striped Quidditch robes and beaming. "Ahoy there!" he calls. "Arthur, old man, what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming and hardly a hiccup in the arrangements. Not much for me to do!"
Before Mr. Weasley can even make introductions, Percy leaps to his feet and rushes forward, hand extended. Mr. Weasley chuckles softly. "Ah, yes. This is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry. And this is Fred – no, George, sorry – that's Fred – Bill, Charlie, Ron – my daughter, Ginny – Arabella Sayer – and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."
There it is again, that flick of the eyes up to Harry's forehead and back down. It happens every time.
"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continues genially, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Bagman," Ara says, smiling, and Fred and George both wave from either side of her.
Bagman waves back cheerfully and then turns back to Mr. Weasley, jingling his pockets, which appear, by the sound of it, to be full of gold. "Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur? I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first – I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years – and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."
Fred and George are already whispering behind Ara's back, deciding what they should bet on, and Ara hopes silently that they won't do anything stupid.
"Oh, go on then," Mr. Weasley's saying now. "Let's see... a Galleon on Ireland to win?"
"A Galleon?" Bagman looks briefly disappointed, but the cheery smile reappears almost instantly. "Very well, very well... Any other takers?"
"They're a bit young to be gambling," Mr. Weasley says, with a surreptitious glance at Fred and George. "Molly wouldn't like–"
"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," says Fred, as he and George quickly count up their money, "that Ireland wins – but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."
"Fred, are you sure–?" Ara leans back, whispering, but Fred gives her a wink as he hands Bagman the fake wand he's pulled from his pocket.
"Trust the process, love."
Bagman roars with laughter as the wand squawks and transforms into a rubber chicken. "Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"
Percy freezes mid-admonition, stunned. Ara covers her mouth to keep from laughing.
"Boys," Mr. Weasley mutters. "I don't want you betting... That's all your savings... Your mother–"
"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Bagman interrupts, jingling his pockets again. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland'll win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance... I'll give you excellent odds on that one... We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."
"Are you really sure about this?" Ara asks softly, as Bagman writes down the twins' names in his tiny blue notebook.
"Don't worry," George replies, grinning, and takes the slip of parchment Bagman hands him with a nod. "Cheers."
Bagman drops onto the grass with a sigh, saying how he'd love a cup of tea while he waits for Mr. Crouch, Percy's new boss, and he and Mr. Weasley make polite conversation about Ministry business, until a man Ara assumes to be Mr. Crouch Apparates right next to their campsite.
He's an older man, with short gray hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, wearing a suit as comfortably as if he were truly a Muggle, and looks as though it pains him to make any sort of smiling motion.
"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," says Bagman cheerily.
"No, thank you, Ludo," Crouch replies with absolutely no expression whatsoever. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."
"Oh, is that what they're after?" Bagman raises his eyebrows curiously. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."
"Mr. Crouch!" Percy bounds to his feet, sinking into a weird sort of bow. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh." Crouch turns to Percy, as if just noticing he was there. "Yes – thank you, Weatherby."
Ara's lucky she didn't attempt to drink her tea, she's laughing so hard; Fred and George are not so lucky. They cough into their teacups, and Percy avoids eye contact, fiddling with the kettle over the fire, as his ears burn tomato red.
Crouch, Bagman, and Mr. Weasley make more polite conversation about Ministry business, and then, when Crouch makes a pointed comment about organizing Portkeys across five continents, Mr. Weasley asks, "I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?"
"Glad!" Bagman shakes his head, looking surprised. "Don't know when I've had more fun... Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"
There's a subtext to his questions, Ara guesses, and her guess is proven correct when Crouch narrows his eyes at Bagman.
"We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details–"
"Oh, details," says Bagman dismissively. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I'll bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts–"
"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," Mr. Crouch says stiffly, cutting Bagman off before he can say any more. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."
He hands his untouched cup of tea back to Percy and waits as Bagman swigs the rest of his tea, struggling to get to his feet. "See you all later," he says brightly, waving goodbye. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me – I'm commentating!"
Mr. Crouch frowns and then, with a pop, they've both Disapparated.
"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred asks immediately, leaning forward, his shoulder pressing into Ara's. "What were they talking about?"
"You'll find out soon enough." Mr. Weasley smiles, eyes twinkling mischievously.
"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," Percy says, sitting up straight. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."
"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," says Fred, and Ara buries her face in George's shoulder to keep from laughing out loud.
They spend the rest of the afternoon chatting and playing games; Angelina and Lee drop by for a rousing Exploding Snap tournament; Ginny falls asleep halfway through the second game, her head in Ara's lap, and Ara has to fend George off when he tries to stick another joke wand into Ginny's hand.
By dusk, though, the atmosphere has changed palpably. Salesmen have Apparated into clean rows, selling both souvenirs and merchandise for both Ireland and Bulgaria, shouting prices into the cool summer night.
Mr. Weasley is carrying an Irish flag, Bill, Charlie, Ron, and Ginny are wearing green rosettes, and Ara purchases a green-and-gold scarf with a glittery embroidered shamrock on one end. Fred and George stare around longingly at all the carts, clearly regretting betting all their money at least a little, and they splutter indignantly when Ara presses green rosettes into their hands.
"Shut up, both of you," she says, pocketing her coin purse. "When you make loads of money with that joke shop, you can pay me back. Otherwise, I'll just start you a tab."
"Fair enough." George grins, pinning the rosette to his jumper. "Cheers, A."
As George runs up to join the others on their way to the field, Fred hangs back, staring at Ara a little longer than normal. "Thanks, love," he says softly, and then does something he's never done before: He leans in and presses a soft, gentle kiss to her cheek.
Ara freezes, unsure of what to do, butterflies fluttering uncontrollably in her stomach, and then he pulls away, smiling embarrassedly, and holds out his hand to her. "Match's starting."
As if this is all completely normal.
So Ara takes his hand. Smiles back.
And they run ahead to join the others, the sound of cheering already audible from the stadium, and the kiss is forgotten as they join the hordes of people queuing outside. But Fred hangs onto her hand all the way up the stairs to the Top Box, and the butterflies hang around, too.
james corden as ludo bagman
roger lloyd pack as bartemius crouch, sr.
.・。.・゜✭・.
sorry for the delay on the update, but i had three track meets this last week (!)
anyway, regular updates are back <3