Chapter Text
The sharp chime of the doorbell shattered the quiet of Lily’s small flat on a Friday evening. She set her book down on the side table, rose to her feet, and pressed the entry button on the intercom. Moments later, before she’d even properly turned the handle, Leo burst in with a leap, as if the hallway itself had struggled to contain his excitement.
A broad grin stretched across his face; his cheeks were flushed with heat and thrill.
“Go on, guess what happened!” he blurted out.
Lily arched a brow. “No idea… You’ve been accepted?”
As though he’d been waiting for exactly that prompt, Leo whipped a folded sheet from his jacket pocket and waved it triumphantly.
“Glasgow have invited me for a medicine interview! They said my UCAT score was even better than they’d asked for!”
Lily’s smile widened. She stepped forward to wrap him in a proud, delighted hug.
“That’s amazing! I knew it… You’re going to ace the interview too—”
But as she drew back and saw how brightly he beamed, her smile faltered.
“Except… I didn’t get into Glasgow,” she breathed.
Leo’s eyes widened a fraction. “What?”
She turned away and sank onto the couch, fingers laced tightly together.
“They rejected my conditional offer. I only have one option left. Heriot-Watt. Urban Studies.”
Leo spoke gently, almost cautiously.
“Heriot-Watt is a great university…”
“It’s not bad, I know. Just… it means we’ll be apart.”
A small silence stretched between them. Leo set the letter down and took a seat beside her. He nudged her shoulder lightly against his.
“Hey… hey! Glasgow’s only an hour away by train. Even if I get in, I’ll come back every week. Like I could survive without seeing you?”
She managed a brief smile, though sadness still clouded her eyes. She stared down at her half-cold tea, knowing well that distance—on any map—still meant distance.
Noticing the shadow in her gaze, Leo leaned forward and snatched up the cup. One sip, then a grimace.
“It’s gone cold.”
Without another word he hurried to the kitchen, set the kettle on the hob. Lily watched him from the sofa—familiar movements, that mask of playful ease he always wore, hiding the kernel of care beneath. He returned and leaned against the doorframe.
“You do realise this isn’t the end for us, right? We’ll still see each other every single night.”
“I know. It’s just…”
She paused, sighing faintly.
“It already feels like everything’s changing. Before it’s even begun.”
Leo crossed to her again, dropping closer this time, confidence in his grin.
“So what? We’re experts at finding a way—even through a disaster.”
Then, with a mischievous glint:
“You don’t want me to become a doctor?”
Lily let out a short, genuine laugh.
“As Ron would say—doctor? You mean the lot who carve people open? I’d rather you were a Healer.”
Leo snorted with laughter.
“All right, then. I’m not upset. But only if you promise you’ll actually visit every week.”
“Promise? I’ll make an Unbreakable Vow!”
“You do realise medical studies take ages and suck the life out of you, right?”
Leo straightened, putting on exaggerated seriousness.
“I’m the smartest boy you’ve ever met. I’ll manage.”
The kettle whistled. He returned with two fresh cups of tea, placing one gently before her. Lily wrapped her hands around the warm porcelain; the heat seeped through and steadied her.
Soft summer twilight filtered through sheer curtains, and for a moment, the flat felt calm again—quiet, safe, suspended.
…
Morning crept in gently through the heavy, old curtains of their room at the Leaky Cauldron. Lily blinked her eyes open; soft footsteps and sleepy chatter drifted up from the pub downstairs, along with the scent of fresh bread and butterbeer — a familiar reminder that she was, once again, in the wizarding world. On the neighbouring bed, Leo — lying on his side — broke into a grin the moment he saw her awake.
“Morning, sleepyhead. Been waiting for an hour! Up you get — we’ve got loads to do today.”
“Do…?” Lily croaked, voice still tangled in sleep. “It’s summer. What could we possibly have to do?”
Leo hopped off the bed, smoothing his shirt as he marched toward the little wardrobe in the corner.
“Oh, I’m taking you out — clothes shopping, maybe a little hair colour upgrade… Just a few minor improvements to make you absolutely irresistible.”
Propping herself up, Lily tucked some messy strands behind her ear.
“Leo… you know it won’t make a difference. There’s no way Cedric’s going to notice me.”
“Well…” — he turned, eyebrows raised —
“You’re not wrong.”
Lily glared at him. Leo burst out laughing.
“But that’s why we’ll try! Who knows — maybe the Goblet of Fire will spit my name out and we won’t even need Cedric anymore!”
He fastened his robes, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“But the World Cup is a brilliant chance for him to notice you… I want you to walk in and watch everyone — especially him — forget how to look anywhere else.”
He gestured toward Ron’s invitation lying on the vanity table — delivered yesterday by Pigwidgeon, still slightly crumpled from excitement.
Lily hugged her pillow, muttering,
“Right. A new hair colour and a few outfits… and voilà, mission accomplished.”
“We mostly need you to believe in yourself,” Leo insisted, a hint of impatience creeping in.
“Confidence is the most powerful charm a witch can have.”
“I am confident!”
“Oh, please.” He tossed her robe at her. “You have zero confidence in being attractive. Today we fix that. We’re turning this little ugly duckling into a swan. Cedric Diggory should be tripping over himself to talk to you! I mean—what’s he got that you haven’t?”
…
Half an hour later, they stepped out into Diagon Alley through the back entrance. The street was alive with morning bustle: clinking cups from the cafés, the sharp scent of fresh potions from Slug’s shop, and the occasional shower of sparks from mischievous vendors selling trick wands and toys.
Leo led the way with confident strides before halting beneath a round golden sign:
“The Enchanting Enchantress — Stunning Transformations in Under an Hour!”
Lily eyed the window uncertainly. Inside: towering mirrors, plush violet chairs, shelves lined with potions in dazzling colours and labels written in suspiciously curly fonts.
Without hesitation, Leo pushed open the door; a tiny golden bell chimed overhead. A sweet, cool fragrance — mint blended with night-blooming flowers — wrapped around them. A witch with wavy hair shifting between shades of plum drifted forward, grey eyes narrowing in a professional assessment.
“Well, aren’t you a darling! What a perfect day for a marvellous new look. What can I do for you?”
Leo flashed his most charming grin.
“Hi. We’re looking for a few improvements for— my cousin here. Something a bit more… eye-catching. Like the shop name.”
He pointed playfully to the sign outside.
The witch stepped closer, head tilted as her gaze danced over Lily — measuring, calculating.
“I think… I have several ideas.”
She whisked Lily onto a velvet chair before Lily quite knew what was happening. The girl stared at her own reflection in the ornate gold-framed mirror — heart thudding in a mix of excitement and dread.
The witch circled her, evaluating like a painter deciding where to place the first brushstroke.
“Lovely long hair — but too uniform. A warmer shade will bring your face to life. Brows… a bit bold, don’t you think? A softer shape will open up those gorgeous eyes…”
She held Lily’s chin delicately.
“Skin’s smooth, but a touch pale — I’ve potions that could give you a healthy glow, darling. And your nose and lips… a gentle charm could—”
Each observation pricked like a tiny needle. Lily gripped the armrests, knuckles whitening.
Leo noticed. He stepped in sharply.
“Okay — hold it.”
He took a breath, tone firm but polite.
“We’re not trying to rebuild her. She’s still at school, and she’s already beautiful. We just want… subtle enhancements. She needs to stay her.”
The witch smiled, nodding.
“Of course. Just the right touch — no more.”
Lily’s eyes flicked to Leo — a quiet thank-you — and he winked.
“Let’s start with her hair. Shorter, maybe. And warm tones. Definitely warm.”
“Chestnut? Mahogany?” the witch suggested, hands poised behind the chair.
Leo leaned closer to the mirror.
“Red tones are my favourite. And if we don’t like it, we can just change it back… right?”
For ten minutes they debated every possible detail. Finally the witch summoned a golden comb and scissors with a graceful wave.
The comb slid smoothly through Lily’s hair, stopping just above the ends.
“Here?”
“A bit shorter,” Leo insisted.
“Shoulder length.”
The comb obediently hopped up several centimetres.
“Are you sure, dear?” the witch asked.
Lily shrugged. “It’s just hair.”
The scissors snapped shut and snipped the first lock.
“No worries,” the witch assured. “We’ve got rapid-growth potions if needed.”
Two slender vials glided onto the counter — one shimmering like molten metal.
“This one adds shine, and the other activates red undertones. We’ll combine them — watch closely. We stop before it turns too red. Ten minutes should do it…”
The scissors kept dancing, shaping her hair into something lighter, freer. The big phoenix-feather brush swooped up, soaked itself in potion, and began circling Lily’s head. Each stroke made her strands glossier, richer in colour.
Lily watched herself change — hesitant fear melting into a curious spark. Even she could see the warm hue brightening her eyes.
Leo leaned in, whispering with a crooked grin:
“I do believe the swan is beginning to emerge.”
Lily tried not to smile. She failed.
With another flick of her wand, the witch summoned a small box to the table — neatly arranged silver tweezers and delicate eyebrow tools inside.
“Now, let’s refine those brows just a touch… then give your skin a healthy glow.”
Half an hour later, she lifted the lid off a shimmering tin and tapped a fingertip into a pearly powder. Murmuring a short charm, she touched her wand to her finger — and tiny, twinkling motes burst into the air like a cloud of glowing butterflies. They settled across Lily’s hair and skin, vanishing the moment they touched, leaving behind a refreshing scent of orange blossom.
She spun Lily’s chair to face the mirror again, stepped back with hands on hips, and declared:
“Well… there we are. What do you think?”
Lily stared.
Her skin looked somehow brighter and well-rested, as though she’d spent the day under warm sunlight rather than wandering Diagon Alley. The new depth in her hair softened her features; reshaped brows widened her already large eyes. She felt… polished. Different. Stronger. A fragile but welcome layer of confidence fluttered to life beneath her ribs.
She smiled at her reflection — small, unsure, but real. When she shook her head, the shorter hair brushed her shoulders and something inside her agreed: perhaps this hadn’t been a terrible idea after all.
Leo, who had watched the entire transformation with profound seriousness, finally spoke:
“She still looks like Lily… just the version who knows she looks good.”
Then, cheekily:
“Those skin potions… totally safe, right? Asking for a friend who may or may not be me.”
They left the shop with arms full of glossy bottles and sparkling packets the witch had “highly recommended.” Leo looked delighted.
“I’m trying these tonight! Brilliant, wasn’t it?”
Lily shrugged. “Your skin’s already perfect.”
“One should never stop improving,” he said grandly.
A few steps later, Lily slowed in front of Madam Malkin’s.
“Weren’t we going to buy new robes?”
“We are,” Leo said airily, striding on. “But we’re not shopping here anymore. Twilfitt and Tatting’s — that’s where the Malfoys go. I need a very sharp dress robe. Who knows? I might be Champion this year. Besides—Madam Malkin would never shorten your school skirt to my specifications.”
“That’s called objectifying women!” Lily called after him.
“Exactly!” Leo beamed.
…
After securing a new set of school robes and several elegant cloaks, they slipped back into the Leaky Cauldron’s cosy din. Butterbeer and Tom’s famous pea soup scented the warm air. Elderly wizards battled in a corner over exploding chess pieces, laughter erupting with each blast.
Tom spotted them dragging their bulging bags and waved them over. His tone was oddly serious.
“Oi, you two. Need a word.”
They exchanged a quick glance and approached.
“House-elf went up to tidy your room earlier,” Tom said, palms braced on the counter. “But… something outside your window gave her quite the fright.”
Leo frowned. “Something?”
Tom shrugged.
“Apparently, it brought you mail.”
Lily blinked. “Mail? You mean an owl?”
“If it had been an owl, no one would be panicking,” Tom muttered. “Listen, better go check it yourselves — and please, while you’re here, keep to ordinary post owls. We’re used to strange things, but not too strange.”
Lily and Leo hurried up the narrow stairs, wood creaking beneath them. Dusty windows filtered in slanted evening light.
Before unlocking the room, Lily pressed her ear to the door. A faint rustling inside.
They shared a look.
She turned the key.
Both stared toward the window.
A massive tropical bird was perched just outside — feathers gleaming in a riot of colours. Its beak was long and curved, eyes black and bright, and its long tail plumes — gold and turquoise velvet — drifted like silk with each breath.
They froze.
Then Lily gasped:
“That—has to be from Sirius!”
Leo, hand still on the doorframe, gawked.
“What on earth is that thing!?”
Lily dropped her shopping bags on the bed and stepped closer to the window. The creature tilted its head at her approach and shuffled with impatience — eager to deliver whatever message it carried.
“Of course it isn’t an owl,” Lily said, completely ignoring Leo’s tone.
“Sirius must be somewhere owls can’t reach. This is brilliant! Look at him — he’s gorgeous!”
As if perfectly understanding her delight, the bird hopped lightly from the sill into the room. Its landing was so soft it seemed the air itself cushioned its wings. With a swift movement, it dropped a roughly wrapped brown parcel onto Lily’s bed and stepped back, almost dignified.
Lily loosened the string. The first thing that slid out was her wand — long, dark wood, polished smooth, carved with those familiar thin runes along the handle. Her fingers traced the grain, warmth blooming gently beneath her skin like the return of a dear friend.
There was also a folded letter — the parchment sun-stained and smelling faintly of salt and sea breeze. She sat and opened it. Sirius’s slightly untidy handwriting sprawled across the page:
Dear Lily,
I imagine the first thing you’ll want to know is where I am — and why I’ve sent this in such a peculiar manner. I can’t name the place, in case this falls into the wrong hands, but I can tell you it’s the warmest spot I’ve ever been… and thankfully, one where Dementors wouldn’t last a day.
After all those years in the cold of Azkaban, I never thought I’d fall asleep to waves again, or wake up to sunlight. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, when the wind carries heat from the shore, I’m convinced it’s a dream — and that everything might vanish if I blink too long.
As for your wand — it truly saved me. Don’t ask how; just know I needed it more than I realised. It’s one of the finest I’ve ever handled: quick, clever, perfectly balanced — just like its owner. Now I can finally return it, though each time I used it, I remembered who I owed that favour to.
Thank you, for everything. Look after yourself — and Harry. I hope the next time we see each other, there’ll be no rush, no running, no danger… simply a place where I can truly see you.
Sirius
Lily folded the letter carefully upon her knee. Leo, who had been examining the vibrant creature now perched upon a wooden chair, asked,
“Well? What’s he say?”
She shrugged, trying and failing to seem casual.
“That he’s safe… and he sent my wand back.”
But the tiny smile tugging at her mouth told a deeper truth.
Leo’s eyes narrowed knowingly. He pointed at the magnificent bird preening its feathers.
“If you’re not writing a reply, we’d better send him off again before Tom comes marching up with a broom.”
Lily set the wand down and looked at the bird — the jewel-bright feathers glinting in the afternoon.
“You don’t want to at least give him a drink first?”
Leo raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, I see. Just long enough for you to write a reply?”
Lily tried to hide a smile.
“Maybe.”
Leo sighed dramatically, but he fetched the little jug of water anyway.
“Fine. But only a few minutes. I’d like to avoid being escorted out alongside Tweety the Giant here.”
The bird gave a strange sound — half-whistle, half-caw — and dipped its beak gratefully into the jug.
“That’s plenty,” Lily murmured.
She crossed the room to the small writing desk, pulled out a sheet of parchment, and sat. Golden light from the open window streaked across the clean page. Ink and quill waited patiently at her elbow.
Soft rustling feathers and faint sipping noises filled the quiet room. Leo lounged on his bed, pretending boredom but watching everything out of the corner of his eye.
Lily dipped the quill into ink… but didn’t yet write. Her gaze drifted back to Sirius’s letter. She read the last line again, feeling its warmth coil beneath her skin:
A place where I can truly see you.
Her smile returned, unbidden.
Of course Sirius would try to stay formal. Of course he’d fail spectacularly. There was always something in his words — a heat that slipped through the cracks.
Minutes passed before Leo broke the spell with a drawl:
“Well? Why aren’t you writing? Just say ‘Thanks, all good, cheers for not losing my wand.’ Unless you’re planning to describe our thrilling summer in agonising detail…”
Without looking up, Lily replied,
“None of your business.”
She set the tip of her quill to the parchment and wrote — not hastily, but with the care of someone weighing every word.
Sirius,
Thank you for returning my wand in one piece. I’m glad I could help you. And I’m glad you’re somewhere where the sun outshines the shadows. I can’t imagine how strange and wonderful warm sand must feel after those cold, damp walls. It’s summer here too, but the heat you’re feeling must be different. Freedom tends to make everything warmer — especially when you’ve been denied it for so long.
Take good care of yourself. We’re doing the same. Don’t worry too much about Harry — just enjoy the days you’ve got. Write when you can, so we know you’re all right. And say hello to Crookbeak for me.
Lily
P.S. Your new delivery bird nearly scared Tom (the landlord here) out of his wits! Luckily, we’re only staying a few more days before heading to the Burrow for the World Cup — so Tom won’t have to face your ‘experimental post system’ again anytime soon!
She stared at her handwriting for a heartbeat, took a quiet breath, folded the parchment, and sealed it in an envelope. The bird instantly stretched out a leg, ready.
Lily fastened the letter to its leg and whispered,
“Take it carefully — no getting lost. Good lad…”
The creature whistled — a strange trill somewhere between flute and crow — then sprang into the open air, wings barely needing to beat before it vanished into the bright sky.
Leo, still sprawled on his bed, muttered,
“Well, wand’s back. Let’s hope that’s the last parcel Black sends us.”
Lily only shrugged — though her warm ears and pink cheeks betrayed her.
…
A week later, beneath a blazing summer sun, Lily and Leo stood among the noisy crowd gathered around the Leaky Cauldron’s Floo hearth. The air was thick with ash and the scent of half-burnt wood. When their turn came, Leo grabbed a handful of glittering green powder, tossed it into the fire, and the flames roared emerald.
He nudged her forward.
“You go first.”
“You always make me go first,” she muttered — but stepped inside anyway. No chance she’d admit, in front of this many witches and wizards, that she’d never travelled by Floo before.
The heat was gentle, more like warm wind than fire.
Leo called out, “Keep your elbows in!”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tucked her arms close, and spoke clearly:
“The Burrow!”
A split-second later, the world turned into a whirling hurricane.
She was spinning at breakneck speed, a deafening rush in her ears. Nausea lurched in her gut — so she focused hard on counting.
One… two… three… four…
At twenty-three, she was abruptly flung face-first onto wooden floorboards.
It took a few breaths to re-orient herself. The air smelled of fresh bread and jam; clattering dishes chimed from somewhere nearby. Blinking rapidly, she made out two freckled, red-haired faces grinning down at her.
“Hiiiiii!”
She squinted.
“Fred! George! Hi…”
“Welcome to the Burrow, DiNalfi!” Fred cheered.
George smirked.
“Summer’s been good to you! What did you do — get attacked by a makeover spell?”
Somewhere behind them Ron shouted,
“Are you going to help her up or are you waiting for the next person to land on her!?”
Quite right — because as soon as the twins hauled Lily to her feet and dragged her trunk aside, Leo came shooting out of the fireplace, his luggage crashing exactly where her head had been moments earlier.
He grumbled while dusting himself off,
“That old wizard behind me shoved me straight in! Git…”
Ron pushed back from the kitchen table, smiling broadly as he approached. Two other red-haired young men remained seated, but watched with interest.
Lily threw her arms around Ron before she could second-guess it.
“How are you? I missed you!”
Ron froze — startled —
“Oh— er— yeah! I— missed you too! You… look… different!”
She smiled and shrugged, letting him go. While Ron turned to shake Leo’s hand, Lily took her first proper look at the Burrow’s heart — the Weasley kitchen. Every surface was cluttered with enchanted photographs, shiny copper pans, and mismatched crockery. The beloved family clock was visible from here, and a stack of dog-eared cookery spellbooks leaned beside a wireless humming faint music.
The two young men at the table stood. The broader, shorter one — palms calloused and blistered — shook their hands firmly.
“Charlie. Dragon-keeper — Romania.”
Leo’s eyes lit up.
“You’re the one who works with dragons! Right?”
Charlie chuckled.
“Work for dragons, more like.”
Behind him, the other brother rose: tall, effortlessly handsome, red hair tied back and a fang earring catching the light. Lily almost forgot to breathe — suddenly understanding precisely how Fleur Delacour could fall hopelessly for this one.
“Welcome,” he said warmly. “I’m Bill. You must be the DiNalfis. Ron and Ginny haven’t stopped talking about you.”
“They’re very kind,” Lily replied, cheeks warming again.
Moments later, the kitchen door swung open and Mr and Mrs Weasley bustled in. Mrs Weasley wore a checked apron, her hair tied back in a practical twist. She swept forward, planting warm motherly kisses on both Lily and Leo’s cheeks.
“Welcome, dears! Welcome! Have you had a good summer? You didn’t get bored staying at the Leaky Cauldron all that time, did you?”
Lily opened her mouth to answer, but Mr Weasley straightened his glasses proudly.
“Molly, no one gets bored in the Leaky Cauldron — or Diagon Alley for that matter!”
Mrs Weasley brushed a hand lovingly over Lily’s newly styled hair.
“Don’t you look lovely! That colour suits you so well…”
Leo shook hands with Mr Weasley.
“How are you, sir?”
“Me? Splendid!” Arthur beamed. “Anyone heading off to the Quidditch World Cup should be in high spirits! And it’s in England this year — marvellous!”
“We really owe you for inviting us,” Lily added earnestly.
“It’s such a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs Weasley waved the thought away. “We’re thrilled to have you!”
Mr Weasley checked his watch.
“Goodness — past five already! I’ve got to go. I promised we’d collect Harry at five o’clock. I temporarily connected their fireplace to the Floo Network. Took a bit of wrangling — but I have my contacts!”
Ron leapt up eagerly.
“Can I come?”
“Of course! Just hurry, I don’t want to be late in front of Muggles!”
“I’m coming too!” George cried.
“And me!” Fred added.
Leo frowned.
“Do you really think it’s proper to turn up unannounced in their living room?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Leo does have a point. They might not appreciate a large magical delegation— Maybe I should go alone.”
Ron protested,
“It’s not unannounced — we told them we were coming!”
Fred put on a thoughtful face.
“We want to see a Muggle house, Dad. You’re always going on about understanding Muggle culture.”
George chimed in,
“Wouldn’t want to miss a field study opportunity, would we?”
Mrs Weasley planted her hands on her hips.
“What are you plotting? Absolutely not. You stay here.”
But Mr Weasley — already melting — sighed,
“It’s alright, Molly. They can come. Just — behave. They’re strangers to us! Manners!”
Fred saluted.
“Model citizens, that’s us.”
Within seconds, Mr Weasley vanished into the emerald flames, followed by Ron, Fred, and George one by one.
At that moment, Ginny and Hermione arrived. Lily rushed to hug them. Leo offered a casual nod.
“Hey girls — how’s summer? Hermione, when did you get here?”
“A few hours ago,” Hermione replied, returning Lily’s squeeze.
“And you’ve only just arrived?”
Ginny glanced around.
“Where is everyone?”
“They’ve gone to fetch Harry,” Mrs Weasley answered.
Ginny flushed crimson. Mrs Weasley didn’t notice — already levitating Lily’s luggage upstairs.
“You and Hermione in Ginny’s room, dear — we’ve put up two camp beds. Leo, you’re with Bill and Charlie — in Fred and George’s room. Sorry it’s a bit cramped…”
“It’s perfect,” Lily insisted.
Once the luggage floated away, everyone gathered around the table again — tea and chatter flowing easily — until Fred tumbled out of the fire, grinning wildly.
“Where’s Harry?” Lily asked at once. “Everything all right?”
George followed with Harry’s trunk.
“He’s coming. And yes — everything’s fine. Except for the part where we accidentally blew up half their fireplace.”
Ginny squeaked,
“What?!”
“Well,” George explained breezily, “the Dursleys had blocked the chimney — bought an electric fire apparently — and Dad didn’t know! We all got stuck. So he blasted it open with a Bombarda.”
Leo muttered, “Oh dear…”
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh no…”
Then Ron emerged from the hearth. George pounced:
“How’s the whale?”
“Who?” Ron blinked. “Dudley? What do you mean how?”
“He must’ve been in some state,” Leo pointed out.
George excitedly produced a handful of colourful wrapped sweets.
“Our latest invention! Been dying to test it. If we’re lucky, Harry will tell us whether it worked!”
Lily picked one up. Hermione glared.
“You can’t just experiment on whoever crosses your path! What if they’re dangerous?”
Fred scoffed,
“They’re fine! We test most of them on ourselves.”
Bill’s voice cut through calmly,
“Still — it wasn’t right. Dad will be furious. You know how he feels about Muggles.”
Before the twins could reply, Harry shot face-first from the fire. Fred hauled him to his feet immediately.
“So?” he asked eagerly. “Did it work?”
Harry adjusted his glasses.
“Er — yeah. What was that?”
“Ton-Tongue Toffee!” Fred announced proudly.
“We invented it! Been searching all summer for the perfect test subject!”
Laughter erupted through the tiny kitchen. Harry glanced around — Charlie shook his hand, Bill greeted him warmly, Ginny turned redder than the kettle, and before Lily or Leo could get a word in—
Pop.
Mr Weasley appeared, absolutely livid.
“That was not funny, Fred! What did you give that Muggle boy!?”
Fred put on a picture of innocence.
“I didn’t give him anything! Dropped it — he ate it of his own free will. Entirely his fault.”
“You dropped it deliberately!” Arthur thundered.
“You knew he’d eat it — on a diet and hopelessly greedy!”
George leaned forward eagerly.
“How long did his tongue get?”
Arthur’s voice shook with outrage:
“When his parents finally agreed to let me shrink it — it was over four feet long!”
Harry, Leo, and almost every Weasley collapsed in hysterics.
“IT IS NOT FUNNY!” Mr Weasley roared.
“This sort of thing damages Muggle-wizard relations! I’ve spent half my career fighting Muggle abuse and then my own sons—!”
Fred snapped,
“We didn’t do it because he’s a Muggle!”
George folded his arms.
“We did it because he’s a bully. Right, Harry?”
Harry’s face sobered.
“They’re right, Mr Weasley.”
“That’s not the point,” Arthur huffed. “Now listen — if I tell your mother—”
A voice behind him cut in sharply:
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Mrs Weasley stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed. When she spotted Harry, she brightened.
“Hullo, dear!”
Then she returned to Arthur with deadly suspicion.
“Well? What is it you weren’t telling me, Arthur?”
Arthur froze. Lily sensed he’d never intended to involve Molly in this.
He stammered, “Nothing important, Molly — the twins — I told them off—”
“I told you not to take them with you!” she snapped.
“What have they done now? This had better not involve those Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes—”
Hermione leapt into action.
“Ron — why don’t we show Harry his room?”
“He knows where he’s sleeping,” Ron mumbled.
“Same as last year—”
Hermione widened her eyes meaningfully.
“Let’s all go.”
“Oh— right. Yes. Let’s go,” Ron said quickly.
George began to follow.
“We’re coming too—!”
Mrs Weasley shot him a glare.
“You stay right where you are.”
Lily, Leo, Harry, and Ron slipped quietly out of the kitchen, Hermione and Ginny following close behind. They climbed the narrow, zigzagging staircase that seemed to twist endlessly upward through the Burrow.
As they climbed, Harry asked,
“What are Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, exactly?”
Ron and Ginny laughed; Hermione didn’t.
Ron lowered his voice.
“Mum found a pile of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George’s room — lists of all the stuff they’d invented, with prices and everything. You know them — joke wands, trick sweets, that sort of thing. Brilliant work, really. I had no idea they’d been that busy.”
Ginny said,
“For years we’ve heard bangs coming from their room, but none of us guessed they were actually inventing things. We thought they just liked blowing stuff up.”
Ron sighed.
“Only problem is — well, every one of their inventions is a bit dodgy. They wanted to sell them at Hogwarts to make money, but Mum went spare when she found out. Burned the order forms and banned them from inventing. She’s still sore about it, especially since they didn’t get the O.W.L.s she wanted.”
Ginny added,
“And they had a huge row about careers — Mum wanted them in the Ministry, like Dad, but they said they’re opening a joke shop instead.”
Leo looked intrigued.
“What’s wrong with that? Zonko’s does great business.”
Just then a door on the second landing burst open and Percy’s bespectacled, self-important face appeared.
“Hello. Who’s making all this racket? I’m working! Trying to finish a report for the office. Can’t concentrate with you thundering about!”
Ron scowled.
“We weren’t thundering! We were walking. Sorry if our mere existence interrupts your top-secret Ministry operations.”
Harry grinned.
“What’s the report on?”
Percy puffed up proudly.
“For the Department of International Magical Cooperation. We’re drafting standards for cauldron thickness. Some foreign imports are too thin — leaks have risen three percent this year—”
“Groundbreaking,” Ron said gravely. “The Daily Prophet’ll have a field day.”
Percy flushed scarlet.
“You may laugh, Ronald, but without proper legislation the market will flood with substandard cauldrons!”
“Right you are,” Ron muttered. “Carry on, then.”
He started up the next flight. Percy slammed his door.
Three landings higher, raised voices floated from the kitchen — Mrs Weasley discovering the truth about the toffees, apparently.
Ron’s attic bedroom was the highest room in the house. Everything inside was a violent shade of orange — curtains, bedspread, and walls plastered with Chudley Cannons posters, even across the slanted ceiling. On the windowsill sat a goldfish bowl containing a massive frog. A small grey owl — the same one that had delivered Ron’s letter to the Leaky Cauldron — was flapping madly in its cage.
“Shut up, Pig,” Ron groaned.
He gestured around.
“Fred and George are sleeping here too, ’cause Bill, Charlie, and Leo are in their room. Percy doesn’t let anyone in his — work, you know.”
Harry eyed the owl.
“Why d’you call him Pig?”
Ginny answered with a grin,
“Because he acts ridiculous. His full name’s Pigwidgeon.”
Ron rolled his eyes.
“Exactly! And somehow I’m the one being ridiculous. But she named him, and by the time I tried changing it, he’d stopped answering to anything else. So now he’s Pig. Serves him right — he drives Errol and Hermes mad.”
Pig hooted gleefully and twirled in his cage.
“Where’s Crookshanks?” Harry asked Hermione.
“Out in the garden,” Hermione said. “He loves chasing gnomes — he’s never seen any before.”
Lily and Leo perched on one of the spare beds.
“So,” Leo said, “Percy likes his Ministry job?”
Ron made a face.
“Likes it? He worships it. If he weren’t scared of Dad, he’d probably move into the office. Don’t get him started on his boss — it’s ‘Mr Crouch this, Mr Crouch that’ all day long. I bet he’ll announce their engagement soon.”
Leo frowned.
“Crouch? Bartemius Crouch? Percy works for him?”
“Yup. Head of International Magical Cooperation.”
At that moment Lily pulled her wand from her robe pocket to dust off the ashes on her shoes. Ron’s eyes lit up.
“Hey, speaking of—”
Hermione shot him a sharp look. He snapped his mouth shut. Lily knew exactly what he’d been about to ask — Sirius — but discussing him in front of Ginny wasn’t safe. No one besides them and Dumbledore knew he was innocent.
Ginny’s curious gaze flicked between them, so Hermione quickly changed the subject.
“Looks like they’ve stopped shouting. Shall we go help your mum with dinner?”
Ron shrugged. “Sure.”
The six of them trooped back downstairs. Mrs Weasley, looking slightly frazzled, greeted them.
“Thirteen of us won’t fit in the kitchen — we’ll eat outside. Girls, carry the plates, please. Bill and Charlie are sorting the tables.”
Lily, Hermione, and Ginny each grabbed a stack of plates and headed for the back door.
Before they’d gone far, they spotted Crookshanks sprinting past — tail high, chasing something that looked suspiciously like a muddy potato with legs. The gnome’s stubby horns clattered as it fled. Then a loud crash echoed from the other side of the garden.
They rounded the corner to find Bill and Charlie levitating two rickety tables, which were enthusiastically duelling mid-air, slamming together with loud bangs. Fred and George were cheering them on; Ginny dissolved into laughter. Hermione lingered uncertainly by the hedge, torn between amusement and horror.
When Harry, Ron, and Leo appeared carrying handfuls of cutlery, Bill’s table landed a decisive blow — one leg of Charlie’s table splintered.
At that precise moment a furious bellow came from above. Everyone looked up to see Percy’s head poking out of a second-floor window.
“Could you please keep it down?!”
A few minutes later, both tables were groaning under the weight of Mrs Weasley’s finest cooking. The sky above was a deep, cloudless blue; everyone squeezed around the mismatched seating and tucked in. Lily helped herself to a meat pasty and salad, eating happily.
At the far end, Percy was holding forth about work again:
“I told Mr Crouch I’d have the report ready by Tuesday. There’s so much to do — with the World Cup preparations and all — the Department of Magical Games and Sports isn’t pulling its weight… and Ludo Bagman—”
Mr Weasley protested mildly,
“I like Ludo! He got us those brilliant tickets for the Final — on account of that favour I did for his brother once… nothing much, just smoothing over a little incident—”
Percy sniffed,
“Yes, Bagman’s… likeable, but I still don’t see how he ended up Head of the department. Compare him to Mr Crouch! If one of his employees went missing, he’d turn the world upside down to find them.”
Lily looked up, startled.
“One of their employees is missing? Why?”
Percy brightened — finally, an audience.
“Bertha Jorkins. She went to Albania for her holiday over a month ago and hasn’t been heard from since!”
Mr Weasley frowned.
“Yes… I asked Ludo… he claims Bertha’s gone missing before. Says she probably misread the map and went to Australia instead.”
Percy gave a despairing sigh.
“I admit Bertha isn’t the sharpest wand in the drawer — she’s been shuffled through half the Ministry — but that’s not the point. Bagman ought to be searching for her. Mr Crouch is very fond of her — she used to work for our department, you know.”
He straightened his back importantly.
“And anyway, we’ve got enough to do in our office without chasing after other departments’ missing staff. You all know what I mean, Dad… the top-secret project.”
Ron rolled his eyes and whispered to the others,
“He’s just dying for someone to ask what it is. Probably a public exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.”
At the centre of the table, Mrs Weasley was lecturing Bill about his fang earring; Fred, George, and Charlie were loudly discussing the Cup.
“England were flattened by Transylvania,” Charlie grumbled. “Three hundred and ninety to ten! Wales lost to Uganda! And Luxembourg thrashed Scotland—”
By the time dessert plates were cleared away, candles floated low above their heads, hissing softly. The night air was scented with honeysuckle and freshly cut grass. Crookshanks scampered after a pack of cackling garden gnomes.
Ron glanced around to make sure no one was listening.
“So… any news about Sirius?”
Hermione leaned in. Harry whispered back,
“He’s written twice. Seems all right. I answered a couple of days ago — his reply might reach us here.”
Hermione, under her breath to Lily:
“He returned your wand, didn’t he?”
Lily nodded.
“Last week…”
Ron huffed.
“Last week? How’d you manage without a wand? When I’m seventeen I won’t go anywhere without mine.”
Leo grumbled,
“She used mine, obviously. We survived an entire summer wand-sharing, thanks to Mr Black’s beauty sleep.”
Lily added,
“He sent it back with a giant tropical bird. Said he’s somewhere warm near the sea. Dementors don’t survive heat well.”
Harry nodded,
“Yeah — he sent my birthday present that way too.”
Hermione, thoughtful,
“So he’s probably not in Britain…”
Mrs Weasley suddenly checked her watch.
“Goodness! Look at the time. Bed — all of you! You’ll need to be up before sunrise.”
She turned to Lily, Leo, and Harry.
“I’m going to Diagon Alley tomorrow for the school shopping. If you’ve got a list, give it to me — I can pick things up for you.”
Lily smiled gratefully.
“Thank you, but we already bought everything in the Leaky Cauldron. Really — no trouble.”
“No trouble at all, dear!” said Mrs Weasley. “But Harry, you give me your list — you never know how long the Final will last. Five days last time!”
Harry’s eyes shone.
“Hope it does again!”
Percy looked horrified.
“Heaven forbid. Can’t imagine how much would pile up in my in-tray.”
Fred muttered,
“Or how much dragon dung might appear in it.”
Percy snapped red-faced,
“It was a fertiliser sample from Norway! Entirely professional!”
Chairs scraped back as everyone got up. Fred whispered,
“It absolutely wasn’t professional. We sent it.”
They began clearing up. Candles flickered out one by one. The smell of damp grass drifted over the darkening garden. Lily stood beside Leo as he levitated cutlery into stacks.
Quietly, she asked,
“How many Galleons have you got?”
Leo shot her a suspicious look.
“Why?”
“I just… thought maybe we could help Mrs Weasley with match tickets or something. Then she could buy proper dress robes for the boys. You know… Ron…”
She trailed off, shrugging.
Leo narrowed his eyes.
“You’re giving her money? She’ll never accept.”
“I know — but I don’t want Ron stuck in awful dress robes at the Yule Ball again.”
Leo sighed but produced a small leather pouch. It clinked softly.
“Fine. Try. But she’ll refuse.”
A few minutes later Mrs Weasley was alone in the kitchen, a mop scrub-brush enchanted to scour a cauldron. Lily set down a stack of plates, hesitated, and drew a breath.
“Mrs Weasley… could I— just for a moment?”
Mrs Weasley turned, warm and patient.
“What is it, dear?”
Lily quietly slipped the pouch into her hand.
“This is… for the World Cup tickets. We’re so grateful — I’d feel better if you’d accept it.”
Mrs Weasley looked startled — then firm.
“No, sweetheart. We didn’t pay for those tickets. Ludo gave them to Arthur. It wouldn’t be right.”
“But if we’d had to buy them, they’d be far too expensive,” Lily urged. “And we’d never have found any! Please — we’d just like to contribute.”
Mrs Weasley gently pushed the pouch back into Lily’s palm.
“You’ll upset me if you talk like this. You’re our guests — and after what you and Leo did for Ginny last year…”
She shook her head kindly.
“There’s nothing to repay. You’re part of the family now. Off to bed — early start in the morning!”
Lily murmured an apology and slipped out. Leo was leaning against the twins’ door, arms folded.
“Well?”
“She wouldn’t take it.”
“Told you.”
Lily sighed.
“Maybe you could lend Ron one of your dress robes? You’re the same height…”
Leo snorted.
“He’s a Weasley. He’d never accept.”
With another sigh, Lily trudged the last stairs up toward Ginny’s room.
The next morning, Lily could barely tell whether she had slept at all before Mrs Weasley was shaking her awake on the camp bed squeezed into Ginny’s room.
“Girls! Come on — it’s time. The boys are already having breakfast…”
Hermione groaned as she sat up. It was still pitch-dark outside. Ginny emerged from her pillow with a snort — her fiery hair so wild Lily almost mistook it for real flames.
Mrs Weasley hurried downstairs again. Hermione muttered irritably,
“It’s still the middle of the night…”
Lily yawned, rubbing her eyes.
“Maybe it’s a long way to walk…?”
They tiptoed through the twisting corridors, pale and bleary, and entered the kitchen. Leo, Harry, Ron, Fred and George were already at the table. Ginny collapsed into a chair.
“Why so early?” she moaned.
“Because a bit of the way we’ve got to go on foot,” said Mr Weasley cheerfully.
He was dressed in something that looked like a golfing jumper and a pair of baggy jeans held up with a leather belt — clearly an attempt at Muggle clothing that hadn’t quite succeeded.
“On foot?” Harry blinked. “All the way to the Quidditch World Cup?”
Mr Weasley laughed.
“No, no — that’s far too long a walk! Just a short stretch. But gatherings of wizards attract attention — especially in times like these. A World Cup means… well, precautions!”
Lily stared into her porridge, barely awake. Leo leaned close, whispering urgently,
“What’s wrong with your face?”
“What?”
“You look awful. Pale as Nearly Headless Nick!”
“I slept terribly,” Lily hissed back. “New bed, different pillow — nothing’s wrong.”
Leo narrowed his eyes.
“Nothing!? You’re seeing Cedric today!”
Lily opened her mouth to retort — but Mrs Weasley suddenly shrieked:
“GEORGE!”
George tried to look innocent — and failed spectacularly.
“What?”
“What’s in your pocket?”
“Nothing!”
“Don’t lie to me — Accio!”
A rain of brightly wrapped sweets shot from George’s pockets. He leapt to catch them, but Mrs Weasley’s wand was faster. She rounded on Fred too, wand raised:
“Accio! Accio! Accio!”
Tongue-Extenders flew from every possible hiding spot — the lining of George’s coat, the hem of Fred’s jeans, even from inside his sock.
“We spent six months making those!” Fred shouted furiously.
“And your exam results showed it!” Mrs Weasley snapped back.
While chaos erupted, Leo hissed urgently to Lily,
“Go upstairs. Change. Fix your hair. Please don’t ruin everything!”
“I still don’t see why I have to make him like me,” Lily gritted out.
“For the millionth time — a Slytherin boy can’t just become Cedric’s best mate. You — a clever Ravenclaw girl — could be his girlfriend. If I could do it, I would! Now move!”
The leave-taking at the Burrow was… frosty. Mrs Weasley kissed Mr Weasley’s cheek — but her lips were tight, and her eyes still flashed with indignation. The twins, still furious, slung their rucksacks on without so much as a glance at their mother and marched ahead towards the gate.
“Have a lovely time!” Mrs Weasley called after everyone — then, louder,
“And mind your behaviour!”
Fred and George did not turn around.
Mr Weasley ushered Lily, Leo, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny after them. The grass was wet beneath their shoes; the moon still hung pale in the sky, and a faint blush of dawn was only just rising at the horizon.
“How on earth are that many witches and wizards getting there without Muggles noticing?” Harry asked.
Mr Weasley sighed.
“That has been a logistical nightmare. You see — nearly a hundred thousand witches and wizards descending on one place! We’ve no magical venue large enough and hidden enough. Imagine them all pouring into Diagon Alley or King’s Cross — chaos! So we’ve found a suitably remote Muggle area… and for months the Ministry’s been laying anti-Muggle enchantments over it.”
He tapped his watch, speaking faster as excitement crept in.
“Travel had to be staggered — anyone with cheaper tickets had to arrive early; some took Muggle transport (cautiously — we can’t crowd stations). Some Apparate into the forest nearby… And for the rest — we’ve placed two hundred Portkeys all over Britain. The nearest one to us is on Stoatshead Hill. Which is where we’re heading now.”
Up ahead loomed a dark rise behind Ottery St Catchpole. Harry asked,
“What’s a Portkey look like?”
“Oh, anything at all. Best if it’s something so grubby a Muggle wouldn’t dream of touching it…”
They trudged along the damp lane through the village. Dawn unfolded slowly, washing the sky to blue. Lily was overheating, breath short — the steep climb setting a hot stitch beneath her ribs. More than once she stumbled in hidden rabbit holes or skidded down clumps of tangled grass. Lily was not built for uphill marches.
By the time they reached the flatter top, her calves were throbbing miserably. Mr Weasley removed his glasses to wipe the fog from them.
“Ten minutes early. Perfect timing…”
Hermione staggered up last, gasping. Mr Weasley looked around with purpose.
“Now — just the Portkey to find. Won’t be anything grand. Let’s spread out.”
They fanned across the windy hilltop. Leo — ever the strategist — gave Lily’s hair a quick smoothing charm to tame the frizz and scanned the surroundings eagerly.
“So where are the Diggorys?”
“I’m panicking. What do I say first?” Lily whispered, heart hammering.
Leo opened his mouth — but a shout rang out across the slope:
“Here, Arthur! We’ve found it!”
Two figures stood dark against the brightening sky. Mr Weasley strode forward smiling.
“Amos!”
He shook hands with the man — ruddy-faced, with a wispy brown beard — who held up a single mud-caked boot.
“Kids — this is Amos Diggory, a colleague of mine from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And this is his son — you’ll know Cedric, surely?”
A little ripple of suppressed giggles ran through Ginny; Hermione elbowed her sharply. Cedric smiled — and Lily’s stomach dropped to her feet. He was taller than she remembered, older somehow, eyes bright grey under windswept hair.
“Hi,” he said warmly.
Everyone returned the greeting — except Fred and George, who merely nodded, still not over last year’s Quidditch defeat. Amos beamed proudly.
“Bit of a walk, eh?”
“Not too bad,” Mr Weasley puffed. “We’re just the other side of the village. And you?”
“Up since two!” Amos laughed. “Once Cedric passes his Apparition test, I’ll be a happy man. Still — worth every knut. You’d not catch me missing the World Cup — even if the ticket cost an arm and a leg! Yours must’ve weighed a bit heavy too—”
He glanced at the children with friendly curiosity.
“All yours, Arthur?”
“Oh no — only the red-haired ones are mine,” Mr Weasley grinned. “These are Leo, Lily, and Hermione — friends of the family. You must’ve seen them round Hogwarts, Cedric?”
Cedric nodded.
“Yeah — sort of… from a distance.”
His eyes passed over them — and paused just a moment too long on Lily. Her breath snagged.
“Um — hi…” she squeaked.
“And this is Harry,” Mr Weasley added casually.
Amos Diggory’s eyes bulged.
“Harry? Harry Potter?”
Harry nodded awkwardly.
“Well! Cedric’s told us all about playing against you! I said to him — son, that’s one to tell your grandchildren — imagine, beating Harry Potter!”
Harry stared at the ground, mortified. Fred and George stiffened with bristling pride. Cedric hissed,
“Dad — Harry fell off his broom. Something odd happened—”
“But you didn’t fall, did you?” Amos said cheerfully, clapping his son’s back. “Cedric here’s too modest. Proper young gentleman, my boy—”
Lily’s chest tightened painfully — a chill memory of what Cedric would never live to tell. Leo leaned in, voice low and pointed:
“Whether he gets those grandchildren or not… depends on you.”
Lily shot him a murderous glare.
Mr Weasley checked his watch again.
“Right — time’s up. Amos, anyone else we’re expecting?”
“No — Lovegoods have been camped up there a week. Fawcett couldn’t get tickets. Don’t think there’s another witch or wizard for miles.”
“Good. Then let’s get ready — any second now…”
“Right,” said Mr Diggory, looking around at them all. “All you have to do is make sure you’ve got a finger on the Portkey. Just a touch will do.”
With everyone loaded down with rucksacks, it was a struggle to crowd around the battered old boot he was holding. Lily took two careful sidesteps and neatly slipped in beside Cedric, who was reaching for the lace.
At that exact moment Leo, pretending he couldn’t quite reach, said loudly,
“Bit of room for me, yeah?”
He gave Lily such a shove that she almost fell straight into Cedric’s chest. Cedric caught her at once.
“Careful,” he said, steadying her. “It’s slippery.”
Flustered by the warmth of his hands on her arms, Lily righted herself quickly and muttered an apology. Leo, all innocence, flashed her a grin.
“Sorry! Thought I was going to miss it.”
At last they were all clustered around the boot, fingers hooked on wherever they could. A cool wind brushed their faces; no one spoke.
Mr Weasley, eyes on his watch, counted,
“One… two… three—”
The world yanked itself out from under their feet.
A hook seemed to catch Lily sharply round the stomach and haul her forward. Her trainers left the ground. Her shoulder kept thudding into Cedric’s arm — not helped by Leo wedging himself in on her other side. Wind roared in her ears; the hillside, the sky, even the people around her blurred into streaks of colour. Her forefinger felt welded to the grimy leather of the boot, as if some invisible magnet held it there.
And then, just as suddenly, they slammed back onto solid earth.
Lily landed hard on her side; Leo hit the ground face-first beside her and swore under his breath. The old boot thumped down not far away.
Dazed, Lily pushed herself up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric were still on their feet — their hair windswept and ruffled, but otherwise composed. Everyone else was sprawled about looking rather less dignified.
Cedric held out his hand again. This time Lily managed a small smile as she took it and let him pull her upright.
A clear voice rang out,
“Five-oh-seven from Stoatshead Hill!”
They had arrived in a wide, misty, utterly featureless moor. Two exhausted-looking wizards were waiting for them. One held an enormous golden watch; the other was clutching a long roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed in Muggle clothes — disastrously. The man with the watch wore a tweed suit and riding boots that reached his thighs; his companion had combined a kilt with a poncho.
Mr Weasley handed the boot to the kilted wizard, who tossed it into a large box teeming with other battered objects.
“Morning, Basil,” said Mr Weasley.
“All right, Arthur,” Basil sighed. “You’re not on duty, are you? Lucky you. We’ve been here all night. Best move along — we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen… Let me see— Weasley, Weasley…”
He ran a finger down the parchment.
“First field on the left, about four hundred yards up. Your site manager’s called Mr Roberts. Diggory, you’re in the second field — chap called Payne in charge there.”
Leo muttered under his breath,
“Brilliant. Couldn’t have booked side by side, could we? There goes Cedric…”
Lily hitched her rucksack higher.
“What d’you want me to do, beg him to let me share his tent? Wouldn’t put it past you.”
Mr Weasley set off across the moor and they all trudged after him. The mist made it hard to see more than a few yards ahead. After about twenty minutes’ walk a stone cottage and a wide wooden gateway loomed out of the haze. Beyond, Harry could make out the dark line of a forest; on the sloping ground leading down to it, hundreds of tents dotted the hillside like ghostly shapes.
They parted from Mr Diggory and Cedric and headed for the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, surveying the tents. One look was enough to tell he was the only true Muggle for miles. He turned at the sound of their footsteps.
“Morning!” said Mr Weasley brightly. “You must be Mr Roberts?”
“That’s right,” said the man. “Name?”
“Weasley. I booked two pitches a few days ago.”
Mr Roberts consulted a list pinned to the cottage door.
“You wanted a spot near the woods. One night… You paying now?”
“Er — yes, of course,” said Mr Weasley hastily.
He drew Harry aside, fumbling a roll of Muggle notes from his pocket and flattening them out with clammy fingers.
“Help me out, Harry. This is a… a ten? I saw the little number… so that must make this one a five, right?”
Harry murmured,
“That’s a twenty.”
“Right, right, of course… These little bits of paper baffle me…”
Leo strolled over, calm as anything, and plucked the money from his hands.
“It’s fine — let me,” he said quietly.
He returned to Mr Roberts with the sorted notes.
“Sorry about that. My uncle’s just arrived from overseas — still getting the hang of your currency.”
Mr Roberts gave Mr Weasley a long, speculative look.
“Thought as much. You wouldn’t be the first. Had two blokes here ten minutes ago trying to pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps.”
“Really?” said Mr Weasley, going slightly pink.
Mr Roberts rattled around in a tin of change, then paused, frowning out over the fields.
“Never had it this busy. Hundreds of ‘em booked in advance. Folk don’t usually bother — just turn up. People from all over. Foreign, most of ‘em. Odd lot. One chap’s walking round in a kilt and a poncho.”
“He shouldn’t be dressed like that, then?” Mr Weasley said anxiously.
Mr Roberts shook his head.
“It’s like some… some sort of gathering. Don’t know what for. Like they all know each other. As if they’ve arranged it…”
At that moment the wizard in the golfing trousers appeared right beside the cottage, Apparating with a pop. He flicked his wand at Mr Roberts.
“Obliviate.”
Mr Roberts’ eyes glazed over; the frown melted from his face, replaced by a vague cheerfulness. He handed over a folded map and a handful of coins.
“Here you go. Map of the campsite, your change. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” said Mr Weasley.
The wizard in golfing gear fell into step with them as they walked through the great gateway. Up close he looked utterly shattered; dark circles smudged his eyes, and there was stubble on his jaw.
“Roberts is a nightmare,” he muttered once they were out of earshot. “We’re wiping him ten times a day and he still notices things. And Bagman’s no help — bounding about talking at the top of his lungs about Quaffles and Bludgers… Might as well hang up a sign. I’ll be glad when this is over. See you, Arthur.”
He Disapparated with another faint crack.
Ginny frowned.
“Isn’t Mr Bagman Head of Magical Games and Sports? Shouldn’t he know better than to shout about Bludgers in front of a Muggle?”
Mr Weasley led the way through the gate and into the campsite proper, smiling faintly.
“Yes, he should… Ludo’s not exactly the most cautious wizard when it comes to security. But he’s full of enthusiasm! Used to play for England, you know. Best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.”
As they wound their way between rows of tents, he glanced suddenly at Leo.
“By the way… where did you learn to tell Muggle money apart?”
Leo hesitated for a second.
“Well… um… we… I mean—”
“We’ve got a few Muggle friends,” Lily cut in smoothly.
Mr Weasley lit up as though someone had cast Lumos behind his eyes.
“Really? Muggle friends? Oh, that’s wonderful! Tell me everything — how did you meet them? How do you get close enough for friendship? Do you—”
Leo snorted.
“They’re just a boring pair who worked in a little shop we used to go to. Trust me, Mr Weasley, you really wouldn’t want to hang out with them.”
“No, no! Don’t say that!” Mr Weasley protested earnestly. “Muggles are fascinating! I’d love to chat with them. Maybe we could even visit! Where did you say they lived—?”
“Edinburgh,” Lily jumped in again, smiling sweetly. “But one of them’s abandoning the other and going off to Glasgow to study — faithless creature, honestly!”
Leo shot her a murderous look, but they pressed on between tents, climbing the misty slope. The tents were all meant to look perfectly ordinary — which only made the odd additions more ridiculous: chimneys, doorbells, weathervanes… And then the blatantly magical ones: a silk pavilion guarded by strutting peacocks, a three-storey turreted monstrosity that might as well have been yelling “Look at us! We’re wizards!”
“No wonder the poor Muggle’s suspicious,” Lily murmured.
Mr Weasley chuckled.
“We do get carried away when we’re all together. Ah — here we are!”
They had reached the very top edge of the field, right beside the forest. A small sign jabbed into the turf read: Weeley — the name spelt wrong, naturally.
“Best spot in the lot!” said Mr Weasley proudly. “The stadium’s just through those trees — we’re the closest of anyone.”
He dropped his rucksack.
“And remember — no magic while we’re on the Muggle-numbered pitches. Sleeves up, hands on — we’ll do this the proper way. Harry, any ideas how to start?”
Harry muttered,
“I’ve never been camping — the Dursleys never took me. But how hard can it be…”
“Leo?” said Mr Weasley brightly. “You and your Muggle friends ever go camping?”
Leo rolled up his sleeves.
“Once or twice. Lily nearly drowned one of those times. Mind if I take a look?”
With Leo directing and Lily, Harry and Hermione hammering pegs, the tents were up within half an hour — despite Mr Weasley’s enthusiastic but utterly unhelpful attempts with the mallet.
They stepped back to admire their handiwork: two shabby little two-man tents that absolutely screamed “Muggle”. Mr Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and crawled inside.
“It’ll be a squeeze, but we’ll manage. Come and see!”
Lily ducked through the flap… and stopped. Inside was a cosy three-bedroom cottage — complete with fireplace, mismatched armchairs, and a whiff of cat.
“Borrowed from Perkins at the office,” Mr Weasley explained cheerfully. “Knackered his back — can’t camp anymore. Only the one night here anyway. Now—”
He picked up a dusty kettle and peered inside.
“We’ll need water!”
“We could just use Aguamenti,” Leo suggested hopefully.
“No magic,” Mr Weasley reminded him sternly. “We’re on Muggle ground!”
Leo threw his hands up.
“We’re inside the tent. If anyone sees this place, water will be the least surprising thing!”
Ron wandered in, unfazed by the impossible interior.
“There’s a tap marked on the map — over that way.”
“Excellent!” Mr Weasley said briskly, loading Ron, Harry and Hermione with pots and kettles. “You lot fetch water. We’ll gather wood for the campfire!”
“Wood? We’ve got a stove,” Ron pointed out.
“Ron,” said Mr Weasley, eyes shining, “Muggle authenticity!”
They inspected the girls’ tent — smaller, mercifully not smelling of cat — and then the water-carrying trio set off.
Lily stayed behind, rubbing at her aching legs. When the others disappeared among the tents, she wandered to the edge of their site, facing the campground instead of the forest.
The morning sun had burned away the mist, revealing a sea of colour. Flags from every magical nation rippled (or, in some cases, magically rippled) above tents. Little kids zoomed past on toy broomsticks. A wizard sent floating lanterns drifting skyward. Music crashed from somewhere — laughter, chatter, excitement everywhere.
Her gaze snagged on a Bulgarian flag — enchanted to wave even in still air. That was practically subtle compared to the peacocks.
The thought of peacocks led, as it always seemed to lately, to another bird entirely… the great tropical owl that had brought Sirius’s letter… and then, inevitably, to Sirius himself.
She pictured him on a warm beach somewhere far away, shirt unbuttoned, sun turning his pale skin gold while Kegbeak and bright parrots strutted in the sand nearby. Was he happy? Was he lonely? Did he think of her when he read her letter — that she’d be here, among thousands of carefree witches and wizards, celebrating — something he’d never truly been allowed to do?
“After everything he’s survived,” she thought, a hollow ache tightening in her chest, “he deserves a crowd like this… no Dementors closing in…”
For a heartbeat the festival faded — replaced by the cold twist of longing.
“Hey—why are you standing here alone?” Leo’s voice jolted her out of it.
She jumped slightly.
“What?”
“You tell me! Something wrong?”
Lily forced a breath and a faint smile.
“No… just thinking.”
Leo gave her a suspicious look.
“You coming to find firewood in the forest, or staying with Ginny?”
“I’ll stay,” she said quickly.
“Suit yourself. We’ll be back. Mr Weasley’s already found a new colleague to talk to!”
Soon she and Ginny were crouched on the grass, arranging a circle of stones and packing a little soil inside.
“Mum always does this,” Ginny mused, patting it firm. “Not sure why. And she never has to use her hands, of course…”
Lily laughed and passed her another rock.
When they were done, their little makeshift fire pit looked properly “Muggle”. They sat on folding canvas chairs and chatted about the match while watching the bustle of the campsite.
It wasn’t long before raucous laughter came through the trees. Leo, Fred and George reappeared, triumphant and breathless, with towering stacks of firewood.
“Raided half the forest!” George announced, dumping his load dramatically.
“So fast?” Ginny blinked.
Fred puffed out his chest.
“You underestimate your brothers.”
Leo dropped his pile proudly. Lily eyed him, lowering her voice:
“You did magic, didn’t you?”
His smirk was practically glowing.
“Obviously. I’m of age now. You think I’m scratching up my lovely hands for twigs?”
Lily sputtered a giggle.
“If Arthur finds out—”
“I’m not responsible for his Muggle fantasies,” Leo declared solemnly.
Fred, overhearing, stretched lazily.
“He won’t. Unless someone rats us out.”
He flicked Lily a pointed look and Ginny snorted.
Mr Weasley returned from a chat with a tall wizard in a cowboy hat.
“Oh, excellent campfire! Smashing work, all of you!”
He produced a packet of Muggle matches with reverence.
“Muggles use these! Brilliant, really — this bit here ignites when you strike it on the box and—whoosh! A flame! Their ingenuity is marvellous…”
Ten minutes later, the ground was littered with spent matchsticks and Mr Weasley was still gleefully insisting, “I can do it, I can do it!”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived, arms aching from lugging water. Ron groaned,
“You haven’t even got a fire yet?”
“Dad’s become a match collector,” Fred reported.
Leo deadpanned,
“Frankly, we’re fortunate he hasn’t decided to rub sticks together.”
At last, Hermione gently took the matches and demonstrated — firmly, patiently — and fire was achieved. It took another hour before it was strong enough for cooking.
But at least there was entertainment. Their pitch sat on a main thoroughfare — Ministry witches and wizards paraded past constantly, stopping to greet Arthur. And he narrated every single introduction:
“That’s Cuthbert Mockridge — Head of the Goblin Liaison Office… Gil wimple there — Experimental Charms, the antlers are a long story… Ah, Bud and Croaker — don’t bother, they won’t tell you anything…”
“What?” Harry asked.
“Department of Mysteries — top secret. I’ve no idea what they actually do.”
When the fire was finally useful, eggs and sausages were sizzling when Bill, Charlie and Percy turned up.
Then:
“Well, well, the man of the hour!” Mr Weasley cried, waving cheerfully at a bouncing figure.
Ludo Bagman bounded over — yellow-and-black Quidditch robes, giant wasp badge, huge grin, like a former schoolboy who refused to grow up. His belly strained his robes, his broken nose looked earned, and his bright blue eyes practically crackled with leftover adrenaline.
“What a day! Perfect weather! Perfect everything! There’s nothing left for me to worry about!”
He said — as purple sparks exploded behind him and exhausted Ministry staff sprinted to deal with them.
Percy was on his feet in a heartbeat, thrusting out his hand to be admired. Mr Weasley introduced everyone — including Lily and Leo — and Bagman gave Harry the traditional lightning-scar glance before beaming at the group.
Then came the betting — and Fred and George’s spectacularly reckless wager:
“Ireland to win — but Krum gets the Snitch!”
Leo hissed under his breath,
“Didn’t we agree to place bets together? Remember?”
Lily recognized his real meaning: Don’t let Bagman fleece them.
She sent the twins a silent plea — ignored instantly.
Bagman adored the fake wand, the chicken transformation sending him into delighted roars. The twins glowed.
Arthur tried weakly to intervene — too late.
And then—
“Any word on Bertha Jorkins?” Mr Weasley asked quietly.
“Nothing yet!” Bagman said blithely. “She’ll turn up — probably thinks it’s still July!”
Percy nearly dropped the kettle in outrage at Bagman’s nonchalance, but before he could lecture—
“There he is! The very man!” Bagman exclaimed.
Bartemius Crouch appeared — immaculate suit, immaculate posture, immaculate disapproval. He looked like someone who wouldn’t just run a bank — he’d audit a bank into oblivion.
“Sit, relax—” Bagman gestured cheerfully.
“No time, Ludo,” Crouch clipped. “The Bulgarians insist on twelve additional seats in the Top Box.”
Bagman blinked.
“That’s what they wanted!? I thought he was asking me for tweezers — the accent!”
“Mr Crouch!”
Percy nearly snapped in half as he bowed — like a red-haired Quasimodo — and squeaked,
“Tea, sir?”
Crouch blinked at him, thrown by the intensity.
“Yes… thank you, Weatherby.”
Fred and George exchanged wicked snorts over their teacups.
Percy flushed scarlet and fussed clumsily with the kettle.
Leo leaned towards Lily.
“What’s wrong with you?”
She startled — she hadn’t realised she was digging her nails so hard into her palm that one hand was white and the other blue.
“Nothing…”
“Nothing? You look like you’re about to duel Crouch to the death,” Leo murmured. His eyes narrowed.
“He’s the one who threw Padfoot into Azkaban without a trial. Isn’t he?”
Lily nodded.
Leo let out a slow breath.
“Back to square one. Everything with you leads back to him…”
She bit back the retort burning on her tongue — the twins were too close. Instead, she stared ahead at Bagman and Crouch.
Bagman boomed cheerfully,
“Busy as ever, eh, Barty?”
“Very, Ludo,” Crouch replied crisply. “Coordinating Portkeys from five continents is not straightforward.”
“You both must be dying for this to be over,” Arthur suggested brightly.
Bagman looked personally offended.
“What? This is the best time of my life! Besides—there’s that thing, isn’t there? Everything’s sorted, right, Barty?”
Crouch’s expression could have sliced marble.
“We agreed nothing will be announced until matters are finalised.”
“Oh, hush—it’s all done bar the shouting!” Bagman flapped a hand. “These kids will find out soon enough what’s coming. After all, it’s happening at Hogwarts—”
“Ludo.” Crouch’s voice was a guillotine. “We need to speak with the Bulgarians. Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.”
He handed back the untouched cup and waited, stiff as a lamppost, for Bagman to rise. Scoins jingled merrily in Bagman’s pockets as he jumped to his feet.
“See you lot later! Keep an eye out for me in the Top Box — I’m commentating!”
He waved; Crouch gave a curt nod. They Disapparated.
Immediately Fred pounced,
“Dad, what was that about Hogwarts? What’re they planning?”
Arthur just smiled,
“You’ll find out soon enough…”
Percy puffed himself up again,
“It is classified information until the Ministry deems otherwise. Mr Crouch was entirely correct not to divulge—”
“Oh, shut it, Weatherby,” Fred sighed.
…
From late afternoon onward, excitement rippled through the camp like magic in the air. Even the heat of summer seemed to buzz with anticipation.
As night draped itself over thousands of waiting witches and wizards, the last pretence of Muggle caution vanished. The Ministry seemed to have surrendered; enchantment shimmered openly everywhere.
Vendors appeared one after another, pushing carts piled with marvels:
enchanted badges chanting players’ names, green pointed hats sprouting shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves with lions that roared, flags playing their national anthems, tiny figures of Quidditch stars marching up and down your palm.
When they finally staggered back to the tents, their pockets were emptier — though Leo and Lily limited themselves to a pair of Omnioculars each, the others sported Ireland colours proudly. Mr Weasley had a flag, waving it like a schoolboy.
Then — a deep gong echoed through the forest. Green and scarlet lanterns ignited between the trees, marking the path to the stadium.
Mr Weasley’s eyes shone like the lanterns.
“It’s time! Come on — let’s go!”