Chapter Text
Amy felt as though she had barely lain down to sleep in Ginny’s room when she was being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley.
“Time to go, Amy, dear,” she whispered, moving away to wake Ginny and Hermione.
Amy levered herself up, and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress, rubbing at her eyes. It was still dark outside.
Ginny made a wordless noise of protest as her mother prodded at her, and next to her Hermione was already on her feet and reaching for her toiletry bag and the clothes she’d set out yesterday evening, moving quickly to be the first one into the Weasleys’ shared bathroom.
Amy and Ginny dressed in silence, still too groggy to talk, and took their turns brushing their teeth and hair. Then, yawning and dragging their feet, the three girls headed downstairs to the kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, and the boys were already up and seated around the kitchen table, looking about ready to fall right back asleep. Only Mr. Weasley was in any state of alertness, sipping at his morning cuppa and checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as the girls entered, and grinned at them, spreading his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly.
He was wearing an argyle golfing jumper over a check shirt and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a wide leather belt.
“What do you think?” he asked. “We’re supposed to go incognito—do I look like a muggle, Amy? Hermione?”
“Yeah, Mr. Weasley,” said Amy, smiling. “Very well done.”
“Where’re Bill, Charlie, and Per-Per-Percy?” asked George, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.
“Well, they’re apparating, aren’t they?” said Mrs. Weasley, levitating her large pot over to the table and enchanting her wooden spoon to start ladling porridge into bowls. “They can have a bit of a lie-in.”
“So, they’re still in bed?” grumbled Fred, pulling his bowl toward him. “Why can’t we apparate too?”
“Cause you’re not of age and you haven’t done your test,” snapped Mrs. Weasley.
“But Dad, Charlie and Bill could’ve taken us Side-Along.”
“Don’t want too many people clogging up the apparation points,” Mr. Weasley put in. “You’re just asking for people to splinch themselves. The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for apparating without a license.”
“Er—splinch?” asked Amy.
“When you leave a bit of yourself behind and can’t move either way, nasty bit of business” Mr. Weasley explained. “That’s the biggest danger with apparation. It’s quite painful. The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad spends more time un-splinching people than anything else and it’s a fair bit of paperwork when the Muggles spot the body parts left behind. Have to keep on top of it with Obliviators otherwise the Muggle aurors get involved and that’s bad business for everyone.”
“But the wizards who get splinched, you can put them right?”
“Oh, yes, if we get to them in time, it’s a simple enough procedure, but the fine is very steep. You don’t mess around with apparation. There are plenty of adult wizards who don’t bother with it. Prefer brooms—slower, but safer.”
“And Bill, Charlie, and Percy can all do it?”
“Charlie had to take the test twice,” said Fred, grinning. “He failed the first time, apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old bird doing her shopping, remember?”
“Yes, well, he passed the second time,” said Mrs. Weasley.
“Percy only passed his test two weeks ago,” said George. “He’s been apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can.”
“But why did we have to get up so early,” Ginny moaned.
“We’ve got a bit of a walk,” said Mr. Weasley.
“Walk?” said Amy. “Are we walking to the World Cup?”
“No, no, that’s miles away,” said Mr. Weasley. “We only need to walk a short way. Stoatshead Hill on the other side of the village. We needed to set up someplace isolated. It’s very difficult for a large number of witches and wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention, so we have to be very careful about how we travel. It’s a pickle at the best of time, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup—”
“George!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply.
They all jumped.
“What?”
“What is that in your pocket?”
“Nothing!”
“Don’t you lie to me George Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “Accio!”
Several small, brightly wrapped toffees zoomed out of George’s pocket, he made a grab for them and missed and the candies sped into Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched hand. They were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees.
“We told you to destroy them,” said Mrs. Weasley, furious. “We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, both of you!”
Breakfast descended into an unpleasant scene as Mrs. Weasley and the twins shouted at each other while the rest of them tried to eat their porridge and not watch too closely.
The twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many of the toffees out of the house as possible, but Mrs. Weasley ferreted out all their hiding places with liberal use of her Summoning Charm, and vanished the lot of them right there at the table.
“We spent six months developing those!” shouted Fred.
“Oh, a fine way to spend six months!” Mrs. Weasley shrieked. “No wonder you didn’t get more O.W.Ls!”
All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they made their departure.
Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed her husband on the cheek, but not nearly as darkly as the twins, who had each shouldered their rucksacks and walked off without a word to her.
“Well, have a lovely time,” said Mrs. Weasley, forcing a smile. “And behave yourselves!” she called after the twins retreating backs.
They didn’t look back or answer and Mrs. Weasley shook her head and offered Mr. Weasley a rueful look.
“I’ll send Bill, Charlie and Percy along around midday,” she told him, briskly.
Mr. Weasley kissed her gently on the temple and Amy, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the yard after Fred and George to give them a bit of privacy.
It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a faint greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Amy, who was still curious about how they were getting to the World Cup, fell back to walk with Mr. Weasley.
“So how will everyone get to the World Cup without the muggles noticing?” she asked.
“Well, it’s primarily a massive organizational problem,” said Mr. Weasley, perking up a bit. “The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up and we just haven’t got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. Of course, there are places that muggles can’t penetrate without wizarding assistance, but they’re not suited for quidditch and we certainly can’t pack a hundred thousand people into them. 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 round the clock for months on it. Then, the next big problem is that we have to stagger arrivals to the site. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand and camp out. A limited number of people can use muggle transport, cars and such if they have them. Local muggle-borns mostly, but wizards are coming from all over the world. Some of them apparate, of course, but setting up safe apparation points where they can appear well away from other people is a struggle. And for those who don’t want to apparate, or can’t, we use portkeys.”
“Portkeys?”
“Portkeys,” agreed Mr. Weasley.
“I’ve read about those,” Hermione put in. “They’re enchanted objects, spelled to transport a person from one spot to another at a prearranged time.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Weasley. “Tricky spell, but dead useful, and you can do large groups at a time if you need to. All the magical governments involved arranged for portkeys. We arranged for two-hundred of them here in Britain, and the nearest one to us is up the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that’s where we’re headed.”
Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of them where a large grassy hill rose up behind the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.
“What sort of objects are portkeys?” asked Amy.
“Well, they can be anything really, but we try to make them unobtrusive so muggles don’t go picking them up and moving them around. Stuff they’ll just think is litter,” Mr. Weasley explained. “We’ll have to hunt for it a bit once we reach the top of the hill, best pick up the pace.”
They trudged down the dark lane toward the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness slowly diluting to shades of deepest blue and indigo.
Amy’s hands and feet were freezing. They didn’t have breath to spare for talking as they began the steep climb up Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, or slipping on tufts of damp dew-slick grass. Each breath Amy took was sharp in her chest and her legs were starting to seize up when at last they finally reached the top and level ground. Hermione came over the crest of the hill after her massaging a stitch in her side.
“Whew,” panted Mr. Weasley, swiping at his forehead, and checking his pocket watch for the hundredth time since the climb began. “Well, we’ve made good time—we’ve got ten minutes, now we just need to find the portkey. It won’t be big, come on.”
They spread out searching. Though Amy wasn’t quite sure how she was meant to tell a portkey from regular litter. They had only been at it a few minutes however when a boisterous shout rent the still morning air.
“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, I’ve got it!”
Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.
“Amos!” said Mr. Weasley, smiling broadly as he strode over to the man who had shouted, and shook his hand firmly.
The rest of them followed.
The older wizard was ruddy-faced from the cold, except for where his chin and cheeks were covered by a scrubby brown beard and he was holding a mouldy looking old work boot in his free hand like it was the catch of the day.
“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And you’ll know his son, Cedric, from Hogwarts.”
They did indeed know Cedric Diggory. He was an extremely handsome boy, around the twins age. A well-liked sixth year Hufflepuff who was the seeker and captain of his house quidditch team.
“Hi,” said Cedric, looking around at them all.
Everyone said ‘Hi’ back except for Fred and George who merely nodded. Even though they were in the same year and had classes together the twins had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team in the first quidditch match of the previous year.
“Long walk, Arthur?” Cedric’s father asked.
“Not too bad,” said Mr. Weasley. “We live just on the other side of the village there. You?”
“Had to get up at half-two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his apparation license,” said Amos Diggory grinning. “Still, not complaining, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of galleons, and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy.”
He peered around good-naturedly at the three Weasley boys, Amy, Hermione, and Ginny.
“Good lord Arthur, are all these children yours?”
“Most of them,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling. “And all but one of the redheads. This is my youngest son Ron’s soulmate, Hermione, and this is their good friend Amy—”
“Merlin’s beard,” said Amos Diggory, his eyes going wide. “Amy? Amy Potter?”
“Hello,” said Amy, waving a bit, trying not to be awkward.
She was starting to get used to the way people gaped at her curiously when they first met her, the way their eyes moved at once to the thin lightning bolt scar on her forehead, but it was always a bit uncomfortable.
“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year. I said to him, I said: Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandkids one day, that will, you outflew Amy Potter!”
Amy wasn’t quite sure how to respond to any of this, but she was a little flattered that Cedric Diggory, one of the most widely admired students in Hogwarts, had been talking about her. She glanced over to him and saw he was blushing faintly.
“Amy fell off her broom, Dad,” he said. “The weather was rubbish and there were dementors—”
“Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on the back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman. But the better flier won the day, and I’m sure Amy here would say the same!”
Amy would not have said that, but she’d only flown against Cedric once and to be fair, that one time, he had outflown her. But the twins were scowling and so were Ron and Hermione, and Cedric looked about ready to sink into the ground from embarrassment so Amy summoned up a smile.
“Well, you certainly had me beat that day, but I’m up for a re-match any time,” she said, and Cedric visibly brightened.
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
“That would be brilliant,” he said, eagerly. “I’ve always wanted to face you on a fair field, see if I can keep up.”
“Oh, come on, Ced,” snorted Amos. “One falls of her broom, the other stays on. You don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!”
“Must be nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley, quickly, pulling out his pocket watch again. “Do you know whether we’re waiting for anyone else, Amos?”
“No, no,” said Amos. “The Lovegoods have been there for a week already. Xeno said something about Snarlaccs? Something like that. Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets. There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?”
“Not that I know of,” said Mr. Weasley. “Yes, we’re only a minute off, we’d better get ready.”
He turned to Amy and Hermione.
“You just need to touch the portkey, that’s all, even a finger will do,” he instructed.
With some difficulty owing to their bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the boot held out by Amos Diggory. They stood there in a tight circle as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke.
Amy had the sudden urge to burst out into giggles as it occurred to her how very odd this would look if a muggle were to catch sight of them all pressed together in the semi-darkness clutching at a manky old boot.
“Three,” muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch. “Two…one…”
It happed in an instant.
Amy was jerked suddenly and irresistibly forwards. Her feet left the ground, and she could feel Ron and Hermione on either side of her, their shoulders banging into hers.
They were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour. Her index finger was stuck to the boot as though it was magnetized and it was yanking her forward and then—
Her feet slammed into the ground. Ron staggered into her and they both fell over, hitting the ground with identical oofs.
The portkey hit the ground near her head with a heavy thud.
“Ow,” Amy complained, flopping onto her back.
Mr. Weasley and Amos Diggory were still standing, looking very windswept, but everybody else was on the ground, though Amy couldn’t spot Cedric—
“All right there, Amy?”
Amy tipped her head back a little further and found herself looking right up at Cedric’s smiling face, his hand extended. She grabbed onto it gratefully and let him pull her to her feet, an answering smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and that’s when it happened.
A burst of green-gold light, like a firework, sparked between them.
Amy had seen this happen a few times before since she’d learned about the magical world, most notably when Ron and Hermione had shaken hands on the Hogwarts Express nearly four years ago and generated a crackling sparkler of red and indigo light.
Everyone was gawping at Amy and Cedric now, who still hadn’t let go of each other’s hands.
Soulmates.
That was what it meant when two people touched and sparks literally flew.
She and Cedric Diggory were soulmates.