Chapter Text
Harry had travelled by portkey several times before, most recently when he visited Greece with his family a month back, yet he'd never get used to the sensation. He whirled around for what felt like ages, the world having become a blurry mess all around him. He could feel Cecilia and Hermione on either side
of him, their shoulders banging into his, as they speeded forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour. Eventually, when he felt himself grow nauseous, his feet slammed into the ground. Hermione staggered beside him, but he caught her before she could fall.
"Oh, thanks Harry," she said, doing her best to put on a smile. Yet Harry could see how pale she had grown.
“Steady there,” Harry said, trying to hide a smirk. “Not a fan of the portkey, Hermione?”
Hermione’s pallor gave her answer before she could speak, only managing a weak shake of her head.
“Ten past five from Sunset Fields,” said a voice.
Harry looked around. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho. Behind them, three yards away, Harry saw the Weasleys getting up. Everyone but Mr Weasley had fallen over.
"Are you taking a nap, Ron?" Harry said as Ron brushed off the grass from his pants with a grin. Harry's dad picked up the bottle.
“Morning, Basil,” he said, handing the bottle to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him.
"Hello there, James," he said happily, "How's the business going, eh?"
"Very good, we recently opened a branch in Germany! How's the family? John starts at Hogwarts next year, right?" said James.
"Yes, he's very excited! You’d better get out of the way James, we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I’ll find your campsite... Potter... Potter...” He consulted his parchment list. “About a mile’s walk over there, third field you come to. Site manager’s called Mr. Smith. Weasley... same field. ”
"Thanks, Basil," Mr Weasley said, and together they left Basil to find their camps. They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about forty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. A man was standing in the doorway, and judging by the way he dressed, which was very similar to Harry's mother's parents's clothes, Harry guessed he had to be an actual muggle.
"Let me handle it," Lily mumbled to James before stepping forward to greet the gatekeeper, "Morning!" she said merrily.
"Morning," the muggle answered.
"Are you Mr. Smith?" she asked.
"Aye, I am. And who might you be?" Mr Smith answered.
"Potters and the Weasleys. Three tents, booked a couple of weeks ago."
“Aye,” said Mr. Smith, consulting a list tacked to the door.
“You’ve got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?”
“That’s it,” said Lily.
“You’ll be paying now, then?” said Mr. Smith.
"Certainly!" his mom said, effortlessly pulling out two hundred-pound bills, "This should do it, yes?"
Mr. Smith collected the bills with an approving grunt, "A map of the campsite for you," he said.
Later that day, Harry found himself wandering the area after having fetched water, alongside Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Next to him, Ginny, wearing her green Ireland shirt, yawned, reminding Harry of how tired he felt. He couldn't help but feel jealous whenever he saw witches and wizards emerging from their tents after a proper night's rest, in stark contrast to his own lack of sleep. Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry’s House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents’ tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Another familiar face was Percival Dumbledore, the now-sixth-year Gryffindor chaser. Next, they were stopped by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, before they finally made their way back.
When they returned, Harry's dad and Sirius were talking to two men whom Harry recognized. One looked similar in age to James and Sirius, yet his beard had started greying, contrary to the two other men. He had short brown hair neatly parted to the side and a short and sharp brown beard. His face was lean and serious, and in the middle sat two blue eyes that looked very similar to those of his great-grandfather, Albus Dumbledore. The man stood out amongst all the other wizards, for contrary to them, Gregory Dumbledore was dressed in a black suit, with a thick black coat on top, and looked exactly like a muggle. The man next to him was far younger, but looked very similar to his father - except for the face; for Armand Dumbledore bore a confident smile, that Harry had rarely seen him without - the only exception being the episode in the Chamber of Secrets. Just like his father, Armand dressed much like a muggle, in a slightly buttoned-down linen shirt. The only thing that stood out about him, was his face which he had decided to paint in the colors of Bulgaria.
"We were wondering when we'd see you!" Harry said, hugging his friend.
"Well contrary to you kids, I merely arrived a few minutes ago - apparition, you see," he said with a smug wink after greeting Ron with a hug, and Hermione and Ginny with a handshake.
"Not you too," Ron groaned, "Percy's the same way, constantly apparating everywhere and bragging about it."
Harry and Ron had been friends with Armand almost since their very first day at school - Hermione and Ginny too once they joined the group - yet they had truly become close friends during their second year when they worked together to kill the Basilisk. In truth, Harry and Ron had done nothing other than discover the entrance to the Chamber, after which Armand the parselmouth opened it and slew the basilisk while Harry and Ron dragged Ginny away; yet Armand had made sure the entire school knew that they too had played a crucial part.
"Where's Ulysses?" asked Harry, wondering where Armand's younger brother was.
Armand chuckled, "He wasn't interested in going. Helena stayed at home too, so it's just me and my dad."
"Not entirely correct," said Gregory Dumbledore bluntly, "My father, uncle, aunts, and cousins are here as well."
Gregory Dumbledore was, by all accounts, a highly intelligent wizard, who had served as an auror during the war - even dueling Lucius Malfoy at one point, if the rumors were to be believed. These days, however, he was merely head of the Department of Magical Runes and Archaeology, a relatively minor department in the ministry. Yet you'd be a fool to consider that evidence of his weakness - Harry had been in enough duels and fights to the death to recognize a warrior. His hooded blue eyes were constantly vigilant, and his hand rested in his wand pocket.
"How are you, Harry?" he said, doing his best to smile warmly while extending a hand. Harry shook it.
"Great, sir," said Harry with a smile, before turning back to Armand, "We ran into Percival earlier today,"
"Did you now?" he grinned, "Could you tell how excited he was by the prospect of him soon being the most talented Dumbledore student?" he asked smugly. They all laughed, yet the action of laughing had revealed the necklace that Armand bore to Harry and the others. A silver chain, with a vertical line and circle enclosed by a triangle, rested on his chest. He had seen Armand wear necklaces before, of course, yet it had always been with the Gryffindor lion, the phoenix that was the coat of arms of the Dumbledores, or any other familiar symbol he recognized. This, however, was a symbol he couldn't remember having ever seen before - what's more, he couldn't remember ever having seen Armand wear it - yet it seemed oddly familiar for some reason.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Armand asked, having noticed Harry's frowning.
Harry perked up, "Your necklace, is it new?" he asked.
For a fleeting instant, Armand seemed alarmed, but when he chuckled, Harry was sure he had been wrong. Yet Armand's grin did not quite reach his eyes as he spoke, "Ah yes, a beautiful necklace, isn't it? I bought it when I visited Romania this summer. It's a symbol for destiny, I was told."
"You were in Romania?" Harry heard Ron ask in surprise.
"Yes, I've been wanting to go for the last year or so, yet of course, I had to wait until I came of age, and well, ever since that happened last April, I'd been looking forward to this trip of mine."
"What on earth where you doing in Romania?" asked Harry.
"Well, just seeing the world, I suppose. There's plenty of interesting magic in Romania - very old magic, that is - and exciting things to do there; I wrestled with a man whom, I'd be willing to bet all my galleons on, has giant's blood, visited the merpeople in the black sea, played a game of wits with a dragon, got captured by a horde of centaurs whom I had to persuade into letting me go, chased after a demiguise, nearly got eaten by three trolls, and a vampire girl tried to bite me - which I wouldn't have minded much, if not for the fact that it would in all likelihood have made me a vampire as well," he said with a wistful sigh.
Hermione grunted, "You expect us to believe all that?" she asked with a smirk. Harry too was skeptical - for one, he knew that demiguises were only found in the Far East, and as such, chasing one in Romania seemed rather difficult. Yet Armand was an extraordinarily powerful wizard, and with the wits to match it. Besides, having already defeated a basilisk before, his tales didn't seem too unbelievable.
Armand shrugged casually, "Do whatever you want, Granger," he said, pulling something out of his pocket, "yet you can't refute my evidence."
Harry and the others moved closer to look at the thing in Armand's right hand, yet before he had the chance to see it, Armand had pulled out his wand and gently tapped the item. The item swelled until it reached a length of six feet. Behind him, Hermione and Ginny gasped, as they looked upon the trident in Armand's hands. It had an odd color, like that of a muggle ship that had been on the bottom of the ocean for far too long, a dark green accented with brown and orange undertones.
"Is that..." said Ginny slowly.
"The trident that formerly belonged to the king of the Black Sea's merpeople. King Evenor, I believe that was his name, gifted this trident to me in return for my aid in some political matter." Armand interjected.
Harry frowned, "What did you do, Armand?"
The seventh-year Gryffindor student smiled sheepishly, "Heh, well..." he motioned for them to follow him as he walked away from his father's earshot, "The day I arrived, everyone was in uproars. You see, some muggle oil drilling was bothering the merpeople, threatening to destroy an old city of theirs. The result would be catastrophic, with several millennia of history being lost, as they had to hastily evacuate every single one of the inhabitants, forcing them to leave behind their belongings." Armand said somberly. Hermione shook her head in anger, and even Ron seemed outraged. Armand continued, "Anyway, King Evenor was preparing an attack on the drillings, the consequences of which I cannot imagine would be good for the magical community. So, I volunteered to slow down the drilling and give the merpeople time to escape. I uhhh.... I might have broken some laws, but it had to be done." Before anyone could ask, he quickly added, "No one was hurt, or well, financially perhaps. But not otherwise."
He tapped his wand against the trident once more, and it returned to its reduced state. Armand smiled and plucked it into his pocket. Before he could say another word, however, Gregory Dumbledore called out, "Armand, come here." he said. Harry looked over and saw his father wave him over as well. Besides James, Sirius and Gregory, were two men that Harry knew, one far better than the other, and a third man that he seemed to remember having seen in the daily prophet once. The first man, was none other than his uncle Remus. Contrary to his normal clothes at home, this was far higher quality - probably because he was around ministry officials - and very muggle-like. Harry grinned at his uncle, and Remus returned the gesture with a small smile. If any muggles looked upon Remus Lupin, they'd see normal man with slightly greying hair, and a scarred face. Ludovic Bagman, however, was easily the most noticeable person Harry had seen so far at the World Cup. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black, and an enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. It had been a few years since Harry had last seen the former quidditch player, and current stakeholder in the Marauder's Merry Magic, and since then he had gained a bit of a stomach. He still looked powerful, of course, yet he had gone slightly to seed.
"Ahoy there!" Ludo called out to the men in front of him, as he laughingly embraced James and Sirius one after the other, "What a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming... and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements... Not much for me to do! And where's your boy Harry, James? Ah, there he is!" he said happily, as he made eye contact with Harry, "Harry my boy, how are you?" he asked as he happily shook Harry's extended hand, "Ready for the games, eh?"
"Of course, sir!" Harry said happily, "I've been waiting for it for quite some time already," he said with a grin.
"And these two are Arthur Weasley's kids," James Potter interjected, pointing to Ron and Ginny, "Ron and Ginny, good friends of my son. And this is Hermione Granger, another good friend. Kids, you already know Ludo of course," he said, and all but Hermione nodded, "And this gentleman here is Mister Bartemius Crouch," he said, his lips thin, pointing to the third man whom Harry didn't know. Harry nearly gasped; now that was a name he knew far too well, having heard the stories from the war, chief amongst them being the trial for James and Sirius, due to their status as unregistered animagi. Harry did his best to force a polite smile, as he shook the hand of the man who had fought to put his father and godfather in Azkaban. Crouch had short, almost unnaturally straight hair, and the ugly mustache he carried did nothing to make his face look less skull-like. Aside from that, he was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie, which even Harry couldn't find a way to criticize.
"Ah yes, you do indeed look exactly like your father, as they all say." he said stiffly, before turning to the Weasleys, "And you must be the children of Arthur Weasley, correct? Ah, speaking of the man," he said, and Harry quickly looked back behind him, and saw the other Weasleys appearing, led by Percy Weasley, who was nearly stumbling over himself in an attempt to quickly reach Crouch.
"Mister Crouch, how pleasant to see you!" he shouted eagerly, and quite clearly out of breath as he quickly stopped right in front of the elderly gentleman.
"Ah yes, Weatherby, nice to see you too." Crouch said disinterestedly. Harry, Ron and Ginny had to turn their backs on the man in order to hide the grins that had appeared on their face. Behind Percy, who’s face had managed an impressive impersonation of a tomato that would’ve put Tonks to shame, Mr. Weasley and the rest of his kids had finally joined the group, a bit more gracefully than Percy. With him was someone whom Harry recognized as Amos Diggory, father of the Hufflepuff seeker Cedric Diggory.
"Remus, good to see you!" he heard the man say, "How's that legislation on werewolves coming along, hm?"
As the adults delved into bureaucratic talks behind them, Harry gestured for his friends to follow him and get away, not wanting to get bored to death.
Harry had never seen such a great game of quidditch before, and his ears were ringing due to all the noise of the thousands of fans. It was odd, he thought, for both sides to be applauding loudly and celebrating as Victor Krum rose to the stands with the golden snitch firmly in his hand. The Irish had won, yet it seemed as if the Bulgarians were just satisfied that the game ended before they got humiliated too badly.
Sirius, whom Harry knew had placed money on Bulgaria, swore loudly and Lily had to cover the ears of Cecilia, "Why in Merlin's name did he catch the snitch now?!" He roared angrily.
James chuckled and patted Sirius on the back, "Sorry Padfoot, you can't win every time, eh? Besides, I reckon Krum wanted to end the match on his own terms."
Sirius growled at the seeker as he flew around proudly, "Sure, but all Bulgaria needed was two more goals, and they would've won! Surely two goals isn't an absurd amount?" Sirius asked rhetorically.
"Not likely," Harry heard an extraordinarily happy Fred Weasley interject behind him before his twin continued, "They've only scored one goal while Ireland scored 170," he said.
Fred nodded, "Give them time to score two more goals, and Ireland might just up their lead to 510-30."
"Far better to end it before it gets too embarrassing," George went on, before grinning widely, "Now forgive us, Sirius old mate, we've got business to do," he said, and Harry saw him and Fred strut over to a flustered and pale Ludo Bagman with outstretched arms.
Harry frowned, wondering what business they might have with Ludo Bagman. Ron patted Harry on the back, bringing him out of these thoughts and back to his friends. "What a match, eh Harry? I'm telling you, Krum; That man can FLY!" Ron roared happily, to drown out the noise of the stadium.
Harry laughed, "That trick he did towards the end," he said eagerly, "Can't bloody wait to try it once we get back to Hogwarts!"
They laughed all the way back to the tents, with red and green sparks flying over their heads all the way. All attempts at secrecy were thrown out of the window, as irish wizards and witches flew around on their brooms - probably influenced by more than a little mead - and sang celebratory songs. Harry was thankful when he could finally step inside his tent, shut out the lights and muffle the loud noises.
"We've got to get tickets for the next world cup, Harry," Ron said with a loud yawn, as he sleepily headed towards the bed. Harry tried to fight his yawn, but couldn't prevent it from escaping his mouth.
"Goodnight, boys," said Bill Weasley with a smirk, "You too, Fred and George," he said as the twins tried to sneak out of the tent with mischievous smirks. They groaned, before heading towards their beds.
"Night," Harry mumbled, as he allowed himself too fall over and hit his bed. The moment his head touched the pillow, he fell asleep, and dreamt of quidditch tournaments, and a mysterious red-haired girl kissing him as he won the world cup of 1995.
He flew around on his broom, the wind flowing through his hair.
And there, right in front of him, was the golden snitch, flying rapidly around.
He almost had it.
All he had to do was reach out...
Something grabbed his shoulders and shook him violently. He turned around angrily, and there on a broom behind him, was his father. His face was panicked.
"HARRY! HARRY!" he yelled, and Harry could feel the distress in his voice. He tried to shake his father's hands off his shoulders.
"Dad I've almost got it!" he yelled, "What are you doing?"
He turned back around, looking for the snitch. To his surprise, it was still within reach. He reached out and...
"HARRY, WAKE UP!"
He felt his father's hand shake his shoulder again, and this time he fell off his broom.
He woke with a startle. His father smiled, "Come on now, son, we need to move."
Harry dazedly reached for his glasses and placed them on his head. Around him, everyone was quickly getting up. He saw Ron look around confusedly, his wand in his hand. "What's happening?" he asked. Suddenly Harry could hear noises from outside the tent. It seemed as if the Irish were still celebrating, and quite loudly.
"Are the Irish causing trouble?" he asked sleepily.
His father looked at him seriously, while pulling out his wand "Not the Irish, the death eaters."
"The death eaters?" Harry nearly shouted. He had heard talk of them before, of course, from back during the war, "What do you need us to do?" he asked, pulling out his wand.
"I need you to take Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Cecilia and follow Fred and George into the forest. To safety. I can't have you duelling bloody death eaters," he added when Harry opened his mouth to protest, "You're fourteen for Merlin's sake. Get to safety, you hear me?" he asked angrily. When Harry continued staring at his father angrily, James Potter asked once more, "You hear me, Harry?"
Harry nodded, "Alright, alright, I'll bloody run," he said scornfully, before storming off towards the exit of the tent, Ron and the twins right behind him. Outside of it, he saw everyone else gathering. His mother was holding Cecilia tightly, and she seemed on the verge of tears, doing her best to put on a brave face. Behind her, Sirius, Remus, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie and Percy all stood with drawn wands. Harry ran over to his mother, as his father joined the other adults.
"Keep her safe, okay sweetie?" his mother told him.
"I will," he assured her, before taking Cecilia's hand.
"You have to go with Harry, alright honey? He'll keep you safe, and then you can return to us afterwards. Go now!" she urged them on, and Harry picked up his crying sister and ran, closely followed by the other kids. Around them, tents were burning, and a large group of masked men were marching around, chanting and laughing as they went. Harry stopped, wanting desperately to help. He was a fantastic duelist, and probably better than some of those death eaters. How was it fair that he had to run like a coward, when he could do far more good if he stayed?
A scream interrupted his thoughts. It was loud and terrible, louder than any scream he had ever heard, and he turned around rapidly to locate its source. There, hanging in the air, was one of the muggle gatekeepers, whose name Harry didn’t know. He was trashing and screaming in pain, and the figure pointing its wand at him was laughing in joy.
Harry felt sick, and with the hand he wasn’t using to carry Cecilia, he pulled out his wand.
”Harry!” Hermione screamed behind him. He turned around desperately, wondering if she had been hit by a curse. To his relief, she hadn’t, yet she was pale beyond what he thought possible, “Harry, we need to go NOW! Into the forest!” She pleaded with him.
”Hermione,” he tried to argue angrily, “We can’t let that happen,” he said, pointing with his wand at the spectacle.
“Harry we’re kids, we can’t do anything! Your parents with handle it, all we have to do is get away!”, she said, before pulling his shirt to her, as she ran towards the forest. He wanted to resist her, he really did. But as a silent cry for their parents escaped Cecilia's lips in the form of a whisper, Harry knew his most important responsibility was Cecilia, and as such, his legs moved with a will of their own, deep into the dark forest.