Forever Yours ☞︎ Harry Potter X Reader

Fourth Year ➪ The Dark Mark

Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs. The game was very enjoyable and as it turned out, the twins were right. In the end, Krum caught the snitch, but Ireland ended up winning the game.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Mr Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilt hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Y/N, Hermione, and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pyjamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite, they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.

"Oh I am glad I'm not on duty," muttered Mr Weasley sleepily. "I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating."

Harry, who was on a top bunk above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum's more spectacular moves. He was itching to get back on his own Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint... Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move was supposed to look like... Harry saw himself in robes that had his name on the back, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, "I give you... Potter!" and through the crowd's loud sounds, he heard Y/N's voice yelling and saying, "good luck Harold! I believe in you!"

These fantasies made a soft smile appear on Harry's face. He didn't know whether he had fallen asleep or not, all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr Weasley was shouting.

"Get up! Ron -- Harry -- come on now, get up, this is urgent!"

Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit the canvas.

"'S' matter?" he said.

Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams and the sound of people running. He slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, but Mr Weasley, who had pulled on his jeans over his own pyjamas, said, "No time, Harry -- just grab a jacket and get outside -- quickly!"