Right Now Could Last Forever

All in all, the atmosphere as not very friendly as we made our departure. Mrs Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

“Well, have a lovely time,” said Mrs Weasley, “and behave yourselves,” she called after the twins’ retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. “I’ll send Bill, Charlie and Percy along around midday,” Mrs Weasley said to Mr Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron Hermione, Ginny and I set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

I quickly ran to catch up with them. They were both mumbling something about how they were going to have to start again.

“Hey, chins up you two,” I said happily, earning me two glares of death.

“Don’t be so happy,” said George. “We’ll have to start all over again.”

“No, we won’t I said,” I said in a sing song voice, having to put a skip in my step to keep up with their huge strides.

“What are you talking about?” said Fred. “She destroyed them all.”

“Au contraire,” I said, my hand reaching into my pocket and pulling out a handful of Ton-Tongue Toffees.

“Have we ever told you that we love you?” they chimed, both hugging me.

“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice,” I said, as I beamed.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, green-ish tinge along the horizon to our right showed that daybreak was drawing closer.

“So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?” Harry asked from behind me.

“It’s been a massive organisational problem,’ sighed Mr Weasley. “The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up to the World Cup, and of course we just haven’t got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can’t penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry’s been working on it for months. Firstly, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can’t have too many clogging up their busses and trains – remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there’s a handy wood they’re using as the Apparition point. For those who don’t want to Apparate, or can’t, we use Portkeys. They’re objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up the top of Stroatshead Hill, so that’s where we’re heading.”

Ahead of us, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St Catchpole, is where we were heading.

“What sort of objects are Portkeys?” said Harry curiously.

“Well, they can be anything,” said Mr Weasley. “Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don’t go picking them up and playing with them... stuff they’ll just think is litter...”

We trudged down the track, dank lane towards the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slightly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. My hands and feet were freezing. Mr Weasley kept checking his watch.

We didn’t have breath to spare for talking as we began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath I took was sharp in my chest, and my legs were starting to seize up when at last my feet found level ground.

“Whew,” panted Mr Weasley, taking of his glasses and whipping them on his sweater. “Well, we’ve made good time – we’ve got ten minutes...”

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

“Now we just need the Portkey,” said Mr Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. “It won’t be big... come on...”

We spread out, searching. We had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!”

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.
“Amos!” said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed.

Mr Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a mould-looking old boot in hit other hand.

“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr Weasley. “Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I think you know his son, Cedric?”

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff house Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

“Hi,” said Cedric, looking around at us all.

Everybody said “Hi” back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating our team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.

“Long walk, Arthur?” Cedric’s father asked.

“Not too bad,” said Mr Weasley.

“Not too bad -?” I muttered gobsmacked.

“We live just on the other side of the village there. You?” Mr Weasley continued.

“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I 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 at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and I. “All these yours, Arthur?”

“Oh, no, only the redheads and the blonde,” said Mr Weasley, pointing out his children and myself. “This is Hermione, fried of Ron’s – and Harry, another friend –“

“Merlin’s beard,” said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. “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... I said to him, I said – Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... you beat Harry Potter!”

Harry obviously didn’t know what to say to this, so he remained silent. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

“Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. “I told you... it was an accident...”

“Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman... but the best man won, I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which ones the better flier!”

“Must be nearly time,” said Mr Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. “Do you know whether we’re waiting for any more, Amos?”

“No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,” said Mr Diggory. “There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?”

“Not that I know of,” said Mr Weasley. “Yes, it’s a minute off... we’d better get ready...”

He looked around at Harry and Hermione. “You just need to touch the Portkey, that’s all, a finger will do –“

With difficulty, owing to the bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos.

We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to me how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now... ten people, two grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semi-darkness, waiting...
“Three...” muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, “two... one...”

It happened immediately; I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards. My feet had left the ground; I could feel Fred and George on either side of me, our shoulders banging into each other’s; we were all speeding forwards in a howl of wind and swirling colour; index finger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onwards and then –

My feet slammed into the ground; I staggered and fell into George, knocking us to the ground; the Portkey hit the ground near our heads with a heavy thud.

I looked up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric were still standing. though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.

“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,” said a voice.