Quidditch World Cup
I don’t own Harry Potter. Quite frankly, if I did, I wouldn’t be bothering with fanfiction. That would just be silly.
Chapter 1 – Quidditch World CupAugust 1998
It was late – very late. Throughout the campgrounds fires had died away as even the hardiest partiers finally admitted defeat and crawled into bed. Though unusually crowded, the army of tents seemed normal enough until one noticed the purples embers of one fire and the dark outlines of shamrocks draped over 2-dozen tents in one area.
The reason for these peculiarities was quite simple: every camper in a 40-mile radius was a witch or wizard. Their world was a hidden one, which explained the remoteness of the location and the extremely dazed muggles (non-magical people) in the area. As a rule, the magical community didn’t congregate en-masse like they currently were, but this was a special occasion – the Quidditch World Cup. It was only held every 10 years and for fans the year following up to the actual match was almost more exciting than the actual game. Not quite, however. After all, a game could go on for months before it ended and everyone had expected it to, given the caliber of the teams.
Instead, the game had lasted barely 3 hours. Despite this, the rest of the night had been spent dissecting every play and strategy of the Irish and Bulgarian National Quidditch teams and excitedly reliving various moments.
But now, in the hours between midnight and morning, only one person was awake. 14 year-old Hermione Granger sat in front of her tent, writing furiously in a large, leather-bound book. Her single candle highlighted her chestnut brown hair straining from its braid and the flashes of white, overly large front teeth as she mouthed the sentences she was writing. Her muggle ballpoint pen flew across the parchment as she recorded the day’s events. However, her mind wasn’t on quaffles or snitches as most of her peers’ would be, but on the stuff many of them took for granted. She wrote of their portkey to the campground early that morning, and the magical tents that contained whole house but were normal-sized. Her mind was full of spells to make fires and binoculars that recorded what you saw. Interspersed throughout the text were pictures and documents such as her ticket and program.
Though she book was only the size of a large notebook, it held three years of such entries. It had been an early gift from her parents for 11th birthday and Hermione had filled it with her thoughts, the spells she’d learned (which were numerous) and retellings of her adventures. It also contained all of the things that she could never discuss with her male best friends, like the unfortunate crush she’s had on her 2nd year Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher and complaints about the two boys themselves.
She’d kept quiet about its existence and had had the most complex locking charms available put on it, because she knew that the information inside could be dangerous to some people. That is some of it could be dangerous (she doubted anyone cared about the pages on how cute Prof. Lockhart had been.).
You see, Hermione was no ordinary witch.
For starters, she was muggleborn – meaning her family was non-magical. This fact caused some pure-blooded wizards (whose entire family had been magical for generations) to look down on her. But that’s not what made her special – there were many muggleborns at her school. No, what made her stand out was her friends and reputation. Hermione Granger was the best friend of none other than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. For three years she had stood by him with their friend Ron Weasley and faced things most adults would have been terrified of – Death Eaters and the Dark Lord Voldemort at the forefront. The whole story of each of their ‘adventures’ had never been told, but there were rumours wild enough to make the three of them known by adults and not just their schoolmates. In addition, Hermione was hailed as a prodigy, as “the smartest witch of her generation”. It was a title that she’d earned, given her nearly obsessive studying.
Even now, in the early hours, her mind was still rapidly processing the day’s events. She was soon interrupted by a low, quiet voice.
“Who’s there? Hermione?” Charlie Weasley, Ron’s second eldest brother, stepped into the dim light. Like his brothers, his hair was a natural, vibrant almost orange red. He was tall, over 6 feet, with shoulders whose width nearly equaled the length of Hermione’s arm, but there was a quiet grace to his movements as he sat next to her. Even seated, her head barely came up to his shoulder, and Hermione found herself nervously closing her journal and shifting.
"What are you doing? I’d have thought all of that quidditch talk would have put you to sleep.” His grin flashed. “Ron said you hated the sport.”
She had to move back slightly to look at his face. “I don’t hate it – I just don’t really get his obsession.” Hermione admitted. “I couldn’t sleep, though. I’m still too wired…er …excited.”
Hermione stared at him, incredulous. “From all of the stuff that’s happened, of course! The portkey, the tents –.” She broke off, seeing that she wasn’t getting through, and sighed. “You don’t get it, do you? Ron’s the same way. You just don’t appreciate the things around you.”
As soon as she said it, she wondered what was wrong with her. She barely knew this man, for all that the Weasley’s were family, and here she was calling him ignorant! Harry and Ron were really having a bad effect on her…
“What?” He isn’t mad?
He glanced down at her thoughtfully. “You’re right.” He repeated. “We do take things for granted. I’ll have to remember that.” Before she could formulate a response to that, he added. “But that doesn’t explain what you were doing. Is that a diary?”
“Um.” She glanced down, her fingers moving over the book nervously. No one, not even Ron and Harry knew of it – she’d been very careful. Could she trust him?
“It’s all right.” Charlie smiled reassuringly as the bushy head popped up. “You don’t have to tell me. No one make you do what you don’t want to – well they can.” He corrected himself and added quickly, “If your will is strong, no one can make you do anything.”
There was silence for a while as both stared into the embers of the fire. Charlie was about to back inside when Hermione spoke.
“It’s a journal.”
“Really?” He smiled at the emphasis she put on the word ‘journal’. She must think that ‘diary’ is too girly – that would be Ron and Harry’s fault, I’m sure.
“Yes.” She bit her lip and glanced at him. “No one knows about it.”
That surprised him. “That’s weir – unusual. I won’t tell. I promise.” His smile grew wider at her obvious insecurity. “What do you write about?”
“Oh, everything! Like –.” She quickly traced a shape on the cover to unlock it and opened to her 1st year. “Norbert.”
And there was Norbert on the page. Next to him was a long list of facts about caring for dragons.
“Wow. It really looks like him.” He moved slightly to get a better look. He snickered slightly. “You should have seen my friends’ faces when they found out that you had a Norwegian Ridgeback at Hogwarts.” He paused. “Ron was really lucky you know. He could have lost his whole hand. Most dragon bites –.”
“Need to be treated immediately or the bacteria in them causes a major infection. I know. I tried to get Ron to go to the Nurse sooner, but he was afraid of getting caught.” She realized that he was staring at her. “What?”
“How’d you know about bites? Most of our new trainees have no clue what to do with an injury.” His stare was starting to make her uncomfortable.
“Well.” She squirmed under his gaze. “It’s right here.” She pointed to the list in front of them. “When we found out about Norbert – Merlin, what a name! – I looked up everything I could.” She smiled suddenly, showing two large front teeth. “As a matter of fact, you might recognize this.” She pointed to a quote at the bottom of the page.
“What -.” He leaned forward again to read and started laughing. “My book – you quoted my book.” He made a noise of disbelief. “I can barely get our apprentices to read it. Oh well, it’s nice to know that someone appreciated it.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, taken aback. He sounded so dishearten and looked almost as defeated.
It looked like he was about to answer when a loud BANG! erupted in the distance.
“What the Hell!” Charlie and Hermione stood up. Charlie stepped slightly in front of Hermione, who was hugging her diary to her. All around them, people began to pop their heads out of their tents to find the source of the continuing noise. Mr. Weasley stepped out, wand clutched tightly.
“What’s going on?” They could see fires springing up, but the darkness made it difficult to see how far away they were.
That’s when the screaming began.
AN: OK, it’s time to review! All comments are appreciated, but flamers will be yelled back at. I have a rough outline for this story, but all suggestions will be taken into account.