-- A girl who was born on the eight month to the house of black and Solatto, the month after the boy who lived, should their prophecy's align into an even bigger catastrophe?
Celeste Solatto was just a girl, Harry Potter was just a boy. The two cl...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Celeste laughed as Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. He shot her a slight glare as he began to smirk at her giggles. Cedric looked down at her in admiration. She glanced up at him with a tired smile from laughing and he swiftly pecked her on the lips, bringing her into a hug.
"You're adorable." He smiled down at her and she blushed slightly.
"Why thank you." She smiled up at him and pecked his lips swiftly in return.
"Come on Ced," the voice of Amos broke them from their gaze, "we have to find out where we can pitch our tent." He called out.
"I'll see you over the course of Bulgarias celebrations." Cedric smirked.
"Oh no," Celeste groaned, "you're a Bulgaria fan." She sighed disappointed.
"Of course," he smiled, "you'll see why when they win."
"Uh huh, sure," she nodded bored, "don't come crying to me when they lose."
"Don't worry Cel," he smiled, "I won't." He swiftly kissed her again and ran off to Amos.
They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.
"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Celeste could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.
"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some. . . . We've been here all night. . . . You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black For- est at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite. . . . Weasley . . . Weasley. . ." He consulted his parchment list.
"About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory . . . second field . . . ask for Mr. Payne."
"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.
They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cot- tage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Celeste could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Celeste knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for sev- eral acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.
