FINITE | Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire [4]

𝗶𝘅 | 𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘁𝘀

'Do not tell your mother you have been gambling,' Mr Weasley implored the twins as they all made their way slowly down the purple carpeted stairs.

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

For a brief second, Mr Weasley looked as though he were going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he did not want to know.

They were soon caught up to the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Cheery singing began to reach their ears as they retraced their steps back to the campsite, the night air lit by the lanterns in the forest and leprechauns which 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 hot chocolate before they turned in.

Soon they were arguing enjoyable about the match; Mr Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, Gwen, Bill, Fred, and George were engaging in their own rendition of Irish dancing, careful not to slop any hot chocolate over the rims of their mugs, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed.

Gwen, Ginny and Hermione went into their own tent, talking animatedly through yawns about the match.

The three of them changed into their pyjamas and climbed into their bunks, and soon, silence fell between them, save for the distant singing and occasional banging from outside.

Gwen was in a bunk above Ginny, who was already fast asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow. Gwen hadn't felt tired the entire day, but, now, lying in her bed, her limbs felt heavy but buzzed with excitement.

She found herself fantasising about flying the magnificent stadium, saw herself in shining golden robes with her name printed on the back, her lucky number eight catching the light as she soared a lap to a cheering crowd. She imagined Ludo Bagman announcing her name, catching the Quaffle and scoring for a national team, for Wales or England...

Sleep finally found her, and she continued to dream of winning the World Cup for herself, holding it high above her head, as she had done so a few months prior with the Hogwarts Cup...

Distantly, someone was saying her name, no, frantically calling her name, shaking her in her bunk.

'What?' she murmured, rolling over, moving away.

'Gwen, get up, please, it's urgent...'

It was Hermione, gripping her arm so tight it was aching.

'What do you want?' Gwen groaned, pulling herself up. She rubbed her eyes, peering at Hermione through the blur, and as she came into focus, Gwen slowly registered the wildness in Hermione's eyes.