Frank Bryce sets a kettle on the stove and- with a shaky hand- adjusts the flame. He leans forward, squinting to get the fire right, and the window beyond his is revealed. Something flickers. Softly. Then again. Frank turns. 

Atop the hill, light dances in one of the windows of the manor. 

CLANG!

Frank emerges from the cottage, walking stick in hand. He limps into the yard and approaches a door almost completely covered in ivy. He fits a rusty key into the lock

The knob squeals dryly. The walking stick pierces the shadows, then Frank himself enters. His nostrils flare against the sour air. He cocks an ear. Frank's shadow spreads darkly on the landing. Above a small table is an old calendar, freckled with Mildew. August 1943

Frank reaches the top and stops. His breath drifts like smoke. 

At the end of the hallway, a door stands ajar, casting sliver of light across the dusty floor. Frank edges closer and sees a narrow slice of the room beyond. A feeble fire flickers in the grate. From within: voice.

"But where here, my Lord? It seems so... inhospitable.

"How fastidious you've become, Wormtail. As I recall, only recently you called the nearest gutterpipe home. Could it be that the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you?"

"No, my Lord! I only meant-"

"I have my reasons for coming here. Thirteen years of reasons."

"Perhaps if we ere to do it without the boy..."

"No! The boy is everything!"

Just then, the tip of Frank's walking stick vibrates against the floorboard. He eyes it curiously, then- in mute horror- watches a giant snake emerge from the shadows behind him. As it skims past his shoes and into the room, an eerie hiss greets its arrival.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail. According to her, there is an old Muggle standing just outside this room."

The door flings wide, revealing a short balding man- Wormtail.

"Where are your manners, Wormtail? Step aside so I can give our guest a proper greeting..."

Slowly, Wormtail withdraws. Frank's eyes dilate. A flash of green light sears the walls. The walking stick clatters to the floor, handle charred black, weeping smoke. A brittle whistling rises from the shadows of the empty Gardener's Cottage, a tea kettle squealing madly, rising like a scream on the night sky. 

______

Harry Potter sits bolt upright, a gasp in his throat. He winces and presses his palm to the scar on his forehead. Across the room, Ron lies sleeping. 

"Having a bit of a lie-in, are we?" A smug voice comes.

Harry spins, seeing Lorelei Weasley, his best girl friend, grinning from beside his bed. 

"Lory. When'd you get back?" Harry breathes heavily. Lory had gone for a morning walk- as she usually does when sleep eludes her.

"Just now. You?" she's referring as to when he arrived at their burrow.

"Last night." Harry begins to sit up.

"Must have missed you. Though, how could I? With your clumsy arse." Lory ruffles his hair and Harry groans. 

"Says you." Harry bites back playfully. She grins. 

Hermione comes stalking in loudly and Ron wakes. 

"Bloody hell!" Ron bolts up and tugs the blanket over his chest.

"Oh, honestly. Come on. Get yourself dressed or we'll miss the whole thing." Hermione claps at Ron. 

Lory watches as she leaves, then looks at Harry. The two stare at each other before Lory whacks him upside the head. 

"Blimey, Lory! What was that for?"

"I dunno, maybe I just wanted to hit your dumb ass." Lory walks out.

Harry rubs the back of his scalp before turning to Ron, who was still on the verge of sleep. 

"What are you looking at me for?" Ron grumbles. 

"She's your sister. I wonder where she gets it from." Harry throws his feet over the bed. 

"Not bloody likely... more like all that time she spends with Hermione. God awful, the pair of them."

"Don't be dramatic, Ron." Harry shoves him slightly as he gets dressed. 

_______

A string of sleepy silhouettes- Fred, George, Harry, Ron, Lory, and Hermione- trail a huffing Arthur Weasley. Fred has a battered pair of omnioculars slung over his neck.

"Where is it exactly, where we're going?" Harry turns to Lorelei. 

"Dunno. Say, Dad. Where're we going?" Lory hollers forward. 

"Haven't the foggiest. Keep up!" Arthur replies. Harry looks at Lorelei expectantly. 

"Why are you looking at me like I know where we're going?" Lory raises an eyebrow. 

"Why don't you know where we're going?" Harry teases back. 

"Because I've never bloody been to the thing. Merlin, Harry, sometimes you're so daft." Lory sighs, teasingly, again. Harry eyes her curiously. Daft? Yeah, right. 

A ruddy faced wizard appears atop the crest ahead. 

"Arthur! It's about time, son!" The man shouts in greeting. 

"Sorry, Amos. 'Fraid we got a bit of a sleepy start. This is Amos Diggory, everyone. Works with me at the ministry. And this strapping young lad must be Cedric, am I right?" Arthur guesses. 

An extremely handsome 17-year old boy shakes hands with Mr. Weasley, whom he towers over. 

"Sir." Cedric confirms. 

"Bloody hell." Lory sighs. Harry looks to her.

"What? You think he's attractive?" Harry raises an eyebrow.

"How could I not? Look at him." Lory grins widely. Harry pouts.

"Don't be a baby, you're still adorable." Lory pinches his cheek and he yelps.

"Bugger off." He swats her hand away.

"Merlin's beard! You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Ced's talked about you, of course. About playing Quidditch against you last year. I told him- Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will: You beat Harry Potter!" Amos grins. Lorelei frowns and steps beside Harry.

"Harry fell of his broom, Dad. I told you, it was an accident-"

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you? Best man won. I'm sure Harry'd say the same." Amos grins. Harry frowns and Lorelei takes his hand in hers. As much as they tease each other, the both know how much they care for each other. 

"We'll see about that this year, won't we?" Lory challenges with a subtle smirk. Amos's eyebrows furrow before Arthur interjects before his daughter

"Well, shall we? We don't want to be late." Arthur clears his throat, as he should. 

"Hm? Oh, right. It's over there." Amos points. 

Harry cranes his neck. Lying in the short grass is an old boot.

Each person places a finger to the book, arms extended like spokes to a wheel. Harry leans to Lory and whispers. 

"Can you tell me why we're all standing here pressing our fingers to this manky old boot?" Harry grimaces.

"It isn't just any manky old boot, mate." Fred interjects. 

"It's a Portkey." Lory finishes. 

"A Portkey? What's a-"

SWOOSH! The hill lurches then tilts. The sky begins to spin. A howling wind rises and the sky spins faster and faster and faster still... and becoming a blur... until...

... Harry slams hard onto his feet and- like the others beside him- topples onto his back. Above him, the sky reels dizzily, like a carousel, spinning slowly to a halt as Arthur, Amos, and Cedric cycle into view, windswept but upright. 

"That'll clear your sinuses, eh!" Arthur exclaims. 

"And I thought I hated Floo Powder." Harry groans. A hand comes into his view and he trails his eyes up the arm that connected to Lory. 

"Come on, then. Up you go." He takes her hand and helps him to his feet.

"Floo Powder is still my least favorite. Getting covered in soot just to land in a ruddy fireplace." Lory grimaces as she recalls her first Floo Powder experience. 

Harry looks past Lory to the field beyond. Thousands of tents stretch to the edge of a steep cliff, to the deep bowl of a stadium.

"This reminds me of just how many witches and wizards there are sometimes." Lory appears next to Harry, her knuckles tightening around the straps of her backpack as if she were anxious. Or, she could be excited- Harry can't tell. 

"That's an interesting way to look at it." Harry acknowledges her with the tilt of his head, nudging her. 

"Keep up, we don't want to be left behind." He starts off first, trusting she'll follow. And she does. 

_______

Harry glances about in fascination as he and the others trudge through the sea of tents. Exotic accents dance upon the air, every nationality in evidence. 

"Well, here we are!" Arthur pulls aside the flap of a small tent. A very small tent. Harry watches curiously as the others pass through. 

"How in Merlin's name are we all meant to fit in that?" Harry gestures lazily to the tent in disappointment. Lory peers in from his point of view and shrugs. 

"Dad's got all sorts of tricks up his sleeve- just you watch." Lory inhales deeply and disappears inside the tent. Harry draws in the same sort of breath and ducks inside himself. 

Harry looks around and smiles- he's standing in what's equivalent to a 3-bedroom flat.

"I love magic." He grins as she sloppily drops his bag on the floor. 

"I'll take that. You're welcome." Lory slings Harry's and her own over her shoulders. Harry rolls his eyes and follows her at her heal. 

"I could've done that myself." Harry says matter-of-factly.

"You wouldn't owe me that way, would you?" Lory raises an eyebrow at Harry. She knows Harry can't raise a single eyebrow and she takes every chance that she can get to tease him with her ability. 

"Ah, I knew there was a catch." Harry grins goofily as Lory places his rucksack on one of the beds on the boys' side of the tent. She turns on her heal to place her own where she and Hermione will be sleeping. 

"We're separated?" Harry blurts unknowingly. The color red creeps onto the apples of his cheeks as Lory turns at his query. 

"Yes... why do you ask?" Lory tilts her head as she turns her body to face him. Harry shrugs nonchalantly. 

"Harry..." Lory gently takes his hand in hers, causing Harry to look down at her with sparkling eyes. 

"I'm sure you'll be alright for a night or two. What do you do at home when I'm not there, hm?" Her thumbs strokes the back of his hand as she looks up to meet his eyes. 

Harry learned that Lory was quite skilled at helping him through his nightmares and Lory was more than happy to lend her skill. Often when they were younger, Lory helped Ron through rough nights of nightmares after he'd eaten too much for dinner, or too much for dessert. She quickly learned that it was best to not wake him, for he could reel all too quickly back into reality and startle himself. Lory would bring the blankets back up over his chest to restrain the thrashing, stroke his cheek to maintain the mumbling, and whisper positive affirmations into his ear to send the nightmares into the abyss- replacing it with a nice, pleasant dream. As soon as she saw the smile on Ron's face, she'd known she'd done her job, and would quietly slip out of the room back to the welcoming warmth of her own bed. The nightmares often only came once a night. She wouldn't have to go back after that. 

All of the same techniques seem to work in calming Harry from his own nightmares. Although, Lorelei finds it best to embrace him in his sleep to restrain thrashing, as the blankets can do next to nothing to restrain him. 

"Dunno." Harry bites the inside of his cheek and breaks eye contact. Lory's hand moves from his hand to his shoulder and she smiles brightly. 

"If you really do need me, come and get me, yeah?" she pats his shoulder thrice and turns on her heal to the girls' side of the tent. Harry's eyes follow her warily as she walks and he sighs shortly. 

Ron claps Harry on his back, startling him as he spins around. 

"Don't worry too much, mate. She's a light sleeper. If she hears you, she'll wake and be at your side before you know it." Ron starts to unpack his rucksack and Harry nods. 

"Yeah... yeah, no, I'll be fine." Harry forces a smile, which Ron returns. 

________

Harry and the others climb to their seats. Flags of all nations ring the stadium and vendors apparate here and there among the crowd, selling their wares. 

"Get your Quidditch World Cup programs! Only five Sickles!"

Fancy gold handwriting races repeatedly across a giant blackboard: Gladrags Wizardwear- London, Paris, Hogsmead...

"There's the Peruvian Minister for Tourism. And that man there's the African Head of Magical Games and Sports. And- oh lord- there's Ali Bashir. He's been truing to import flying carpets for years. I keep telling him they'll never replace brooms, but he sees a niche market for a family vehicle..."

"Blimey, Dad. How far up are we?" Ron marvels, ignoring his father's rambling about their surroundings. 

"Well, if it rains, you'll be the first to know."

The voice is Lucius Malfoy descending the stairs with Draco. Arthur, tight as a drum, only glares.

"Father and I are in the Minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself." Draco boasts with a smug smirk. 

"Oh, bugger off-" Lory begins.

"Don't boast, Draco." Lucius jabs his walking cane into Draco's chest. Draco grunts and places his hand over where he was jabbed, looking at his father incredulously. 

Lory looks to Harry with disbelief. 

"Well, that's a first-"

"There's no need with these people." Lucius finishes. 

"Ah." Lory cuts herself off with a disappointed sigh. Harry chuckles and nudges her. She smiles. 

Malfoy's eyes trail nastily over Lory and Hermione, landing on Harry. 

"Mr. Potter."

As he passes, Harry eyes the walking stick in Lucius Malfoy's grip. A silver serpent encircles his ring finger, inlaid with emerald chips for eyes. 

________

Harry and the others have settled into the upmost row, where the wind whips coldly. As a fleet of broomsticks jet into view, a roar rises in the crowd. 

"It's the Irish! There's Troy!" Fred exclaims excitedly. 

"And Mullet!"

"And here comes Moran!"

Before Fred can finish, a fleet of dark-clad riders soar over the opposite rim of the stadium. The crowd roars again. 

"I don't see what all the fuss is about." Although Lory's cheeks are smeared in green, (curtesy of her older twin brothers and Ron) her interest in professional Quidditch has never exceeded her brothers' of course. She does find a small interest in the magic of brooms, but the sport itself have never perked her interest. 

"Here come the Bulgarians!" George points as he leans over the railing. 

"Hm. Who's that?" Lory squints her eyes at one particularly young player. 

"That, sis, is the best Seeker in the world." George smirks with a smug nudge to Lory's side. She swats him. 

"He flies rather well, doesn't he?" Hermione acknowledges. The boys exchange amused glances. 

"You could say that." Fred stifles his laughter as George nudges him. 

Fred lifts his Omnioculars to his eyes and spins a dial. He dials Krum in closer, then runs the image forwards and backwards.

"What's his name?" Lory asks as she places her hands on the railing. 

On cue, thousands of fans on the opposite side of the stadium flip large cards bearing the face of the surly looking boy with thick eyebrows. Each one is emblazoned with his name: KRUM.

"Krum?" Hermione guesses.

"Krum." Harry, Ron, Fred, and George assure in unison. 

As the boys look up in admiration, Krum gets past the vast mosaic of his likeness with a nary glance, flying with such breathtaking skill that Harry's jaw fairly falls open. Lory leans over and presses her index finger to his chin, effectively shutting his mouth. 

"You'll catch flies." Lory smirks as Harry swats her hand from his face. 

"Lay off." he grumbles. 

In the ministry box, Cornelius Fudge rises as Lucius Malfoy and Draco take their seats nearby.

"Good evening! As Minister for Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup! Let the match begin!"

A ball of light busts from Fudge's wand. Harry watches Viktor Krum rocket upward, the crowd roaring as he rises into the glittering night sky, the stadium growing smaller, a glimmering disc of light. 

_______

Harry and the others lie about, unable to sleep as they excitedly re-live the match. 

"Such a big fuss over a sport. All he did was catch a ball." Lory grumbles as she flips to another page of her book from where she lies on her bed, shoes tossed lazily about on the floor next to her as she rhythmically taps her sock-clad feet. 

"An incredibly fast ball that's near impossible to spot!" Harry drapes an Irish flag over Lory's lounging figure and she growls, tearing the flag off in the split second after it made contact with her body. 

"You're infuriating." Lory wads up the flag best she can and chucks to towards Harry violently, who catches it with ease. 

"Thank you." Harry smiles cheekily. 

"Brilliant Krum, wasn't he? Did you see him put Lynch into the ground with the Wronski Feint? It was positively brutal." Ron rambles on.

"I think you're in love, Ron." Lory giggles from where she sits, eyes never leaving the spot on her page. 

"Quiet, you." Ron bites back. 

Just then, a chant of voices rise like a lion's roar beyond the tent. Fred grins. 

"Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on." Fred ambles confidently towards the flap of the tent before Arthur bursts in urgently and looks around frantically. 

"It's not the Irish."

The others turn to see Arthur standing by the flap peering out. Something in his voice causes their smiles to wither. 

"Get yourselves dressed." Arthur orderes hurriedly. Once he notices the hesitation in everyone else, he barks another other. "Now!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Lory scramble out of the tent and stare with disbelief at the hellish tableaux before them. All around them, people run in terror, trampling fires and kicking up sparks. Then they see why:

A teeming clot of black-robed wizards, faces concealed behind hideous masks, are marching across the campsite, laughing drunkenly. Some clutch torches while others point their wands skyward, where four people tumble eerily high above.

"Who are those people? In the air?" Lory's hand shakes as she gestures to the bodies above. 

"Muggles." Arthur answers solemnly. Lory gulps hard and diverts her attention. 

"And the ones on the ground?" 

"Death Eaters." Hermione answers in the same fashion. 

Harry looks puzzled by this, but as Arthur draws his wand, Harry does the same without question. 

"No." Lory grabs his wrist and pushes his arm back to his side. 

"Get back to the Portkey, all of you. And stick together. Fred, George, you're responsible for Lory. Lory, you listen to your brothers." Arthur insists firmly as his eyes scan over the group. Lory shifts uncomfortably and opens her mouth to reply when a scream cuts her off from a passing civilian. The scream set everyone on edge and Arthur takes his tone up a notch. 

"Lory! Did you hear me?!" he scolds intensely. Lory blinks, startled by her father's fierce expression, then nods slowly and surely. Arthur dashes off. 

Fred and George glance at each other and nod. They gently shove Lory towards Harry and she grunts, spinning around to face them. "Dad said to-"

"We know what Dad said. You're better ogg looking after Harry and him after you." Fred smiles slightly. 

"Yeah, and with your clumsy ass and your looking-for-trouble attitude, you balance each other out." George finishes curtly. 

"Stay safe!" They disappear into the frantic crowd. 

Harry is the first to move, reaching back and swiping Lory's hand from her side and holds it close to him. "Come on." he beckons, pulling her along through the chaos. 

They streak past blazing tents. Lory feels her hand become less and less tightly gripped in Harry's fingers before she finds it slipping away. Lost in the mob, she falls back. Fred and George flash briefly in the crowd, then vanish. Hermione turns, frantic eyes finding Harry. 

"L-Lory was with you- where is she?" Hermione's frantic eyes search the panicking crowd. She sees no glimpse of her. 

"Where is my sister?" Ron steps towards Harry and gazes at him accusingly. Harry looks back and realizes that his hand is in fact empty. He takes immediate action.

Harry dashes on, buffeted back and forth by the raging crowd. He stumbles, falls, struggles to rise, and is trampled again. Bootheels punish the earth all around him. One strikes his temple hard and he collapses. He sees a frantic Lory before his vision escapes him.