I sat bolt upright in my bed.

Well, it wasn’t my bed, it was a random one in Ginny’s room.

But I sat upright none the less.

Something was wrong.

I looked at the time and it was only half past two.

I urged myself out of bed and peered out of the window, checked that my friends hadn’t been murdered in their beds before lying down again.

My head started to throb and I realised I had a headache. I felt like crap. I’m such a lemon.

Something was still wrong, and after what seemed like hours I woke up feeling very strange.

Mrs. Weasley was prodding me with a stick. Hermione was kicking my bed. And Ginny was hitting me with a pillow.

I still had a headache.

“Is she awake?”

“Did you see her breathing? I didn’t.”

“She’s as pale as anything.”

“She looks like death.”

“I like pudding.”

“Maple syrup.”

“Alpaca.”

I think I’m hallucinating.

No. I can’t be sick. Not today. They might stop me from going to the Quidditch World Cup, and then I’m a burden on Mrs. Weasley.

I stood up and smiled as I looked at the dark sky. The sun wasn’t even up yet. I must of had like half an hour of sleep.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked me.

“Yeah,” I said trying to sound simultaneously like a happy person, but also someone who just woke up. “I’m fine.”

We pulled on some clothes and headed downstairs into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as we entered, the boy were right behind us, and spread his arms so that we could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.  “What d’you think?” he asked anxiously. “We’re supposed to go incognito - do I look like a Muggle, Harry?” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, smiling, “very good.” 

“Where’re Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?” said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn. He was even cute when he yawned.

Shush.

Shush yourself.

“Well, they’re Apparating, aren’t they?” said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. “So they can have a bit of a lie-in.” 

 “So they’re still in bed?” said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. “Why can’t we Apparate too?” 

“Because you’re not of age and you haven’t passed your test,” snapped Mrs. Weasley.

“You have to pass a test to Apparate?” Harry asked.  He really likes to ask questions, that is when he isn’t saying what I want to say, being some perfect hero, or failing at speeches.

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. “The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It’s not easy, Apparition, and when it’s not done property it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I’m talking about went and splinched themselves.” 

Everyone around the table except Harry and I winced. I’d ask about it, but Harry will.

“Er - splinched?” said Harry, right on cue.

“They left half of themselves behind,” said Mr. Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. “So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn’t move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they’d left behind…” 

“Were they okay?” he asked, startled.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP ASKING QUESTIONS YOU’RE GIVING ME A HEADACHE.

So is screaming in your head.

Didn’t I tell you to shut up?

No, you told me to shush.

Beat it.

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. “But they got a heavy fine, and I don’t think they’ll be trying it again in a hurry. You don’t mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don’t bother with it. Prefer brooms - slower, but safer.” 

“But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?”

Okay, if Harry asks another question, I will hit him.

“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 dear doing her shopping, remember?” 

“Yes, well, he passed the second time,” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Percy only passed two weeks ago,” said George. “He’s been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can.”

There were footsteps down the passageway and Ginny came into the kitchen, looking pale and drowsy.  “Why do we have to be up so early?” Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table.

Did I hallucinate her?

DID I IMAGINE MY WHOLE LIFE?

Probably.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk,” said Mr. Weasley. 

“Walk?” said Harry. “What, are we walking to the World Cup?”

WHACK!

My hand popped out and slapped Harry across the arm.

“Sorry!” I said earnestly.

“Why’d you hit me? And sorry? What’s that about?” Harry said as he rubbed his arm.

He asked another question.

Dick.

“I programmed it into my head to hit you if you asked another question.”

“Programmed?” Harry asked confused.

“UGH! QUESTIONS! LLORSE AND A LEMON! I FRUNKDUNKLE!” I said loudly before eating a second helping of breakfast.

Everyone seemed to silently agree to leave me to my insanity.

“So are we walking to the cup?” Hermione piped in.

She asks a question and I don’t care.

Maybe it’s because the voices told me to like her.

Frogurt.

“No, no, that’s miles away,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling. “We only need to walk a short way. It’s just that it’s very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup…” 

“George!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, I fell off my chair. 

“What?” said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody. 

“What is that in your pocket?” 

“Nothing!” 

“Don’t you lie to me!”  Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George’s pocket and said, “Accio!”  Several small, brightly coloured objects zoomed out of George’s pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched hand.  “We told you to destroy them!” said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. “We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!”  It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find them all.   “Accio! Accio! Accio!” she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George’s jacket and the turn-ups of Fred’s jeans.  

I’m just praying she doesn’t find the ones I’m smuggling out.

“We spent six months developing those!” Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away.  “Oh a fine way to spend six months!” she shrieked. “No wonder you didn’t get more O.W.L.s!” 

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as we took 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. 

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

I still felt beyond crap, but I kinda did spend eleven years like that.

Wait, it was ten.

Was it?

“Hey Hermione....Why do you think they put me in your year, rather than Ginny’s?” I asked thoughtfully.

SLAM.

She hit me.

“Sorry! I programmed it in!” she said unable to keep the smirk off her face.

“You’re a bitch.” I grinned. “God, I love you.”

We trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly 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 all began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass.

“Whew,” panted Mr. Weasley, as we hit the level land. “Well, we’ve made good time - we’ve got ten minutes. Now we just need the Portkey,” said Mr. Weasley, 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 mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand. 

“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And 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.

“Don’t die. I have a feeling you will become a sparkling vampire.” I said before I could even think about the words.

“I’m not that gay.” Cedric replied.

“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 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 me and my sexiness. I’m so vain. I should have been shot at birth and then fed to a kitten. And I bet that kitten would smell like French toast.

“All these yours, Arthur?” Amos said.

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

“Merlin’s beard,” said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. “Harry? Harry Potter?”

“Er - yeah,” said Harry.

And I’m forgotten again. Left on the sidelines bashed and beaten.

Oh shut up. You’re so annoying!

LEMON!

“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!” 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 one’s the better flier!”

There was a long awkward silence.

“And this is Willow!” I said pointing to myself, then pretending I didn’t talk.

I’m so classy.

Hermione looked at me in disbelief and Harry and Ron face palmed.

“Willow Potter?” Amos said looking at me like I was made of gold.

Bit pedo, but I’ll go with it.

“the very one.” George said nudging me.

“They covered up your existence for twelve years! And here you are, as though nothing even happened. Mind you, it must have been fun not knowing your parents were dead and all!” Amos said brightly.

Is he for real?

For once in my life I was speechless. I looked sidelong at Harry and he didn’t know what to say either.

It was really awkward.

“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, Hermione and I. “You just need to touch the Portkey, that’s all, a finger will do -”  With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.

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 of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, 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 forward. My feet left the ground; I could feel Harry and Hermione on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine; we were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour; my forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward and then - My feet slammed into the ground. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, Cedric and I were still standing, while everyone else was on the ground.

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

I turned to cedric.

“You’re gonna sparkle.”

“I am not!”

“Well, something bad’s going to happen to you! You met us me, Harry, Ron and Hermione! Something bad’s outta happen.” I said dramatically

“like what?”

“well, stuff.”

“You’re a faggot.” He retorted.

“Coming from a sparkling vampire-“ I began.

“I'M NOT A VAMPIRE, I DON’T SPARKLE AND I’M NOT GAY!” he screamed sounding like a girl throwing a tantrum.

“Fine! You’re just a sulky little girl then, I’ll call you Bella Swan.”

“YOU’RE SO WEIRD!”

“SANITY IS OVERRATED!”

“PROVE IT!” Cedric shouted.

“I DON’T SEE YOUR NAME ON IT!”

“ACCORDING TO GOD IT IS!”

“YOU’RE SUCH A LEMON!”

Dramatically arguing with Seventh years....like a boss.