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

𝘅𝗶𝗶 | 𝘀𝗮𝗳𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲

The next morning, Mr Weasley woke them all up only after a couple of hours, and once all their belongings and tents had been packed up and they had approached the Portkey spot, the crowd was thicker than they had seen it yet. Everyone was desperate to get away from the campsite.

'Will Mr Roberts be OK?' Gwen asked Mr Weasley as they fought their way to Basil the Portkey Keeper. Mr Roberts had greeted them with a dazed, 'Merry Christmas!' as they had passed his home.

'Yeah, he'll be fine,' said Mr Weasley. 'Memory Charms can make people a bit disoriented. That was a big thing they had to wipe from his mind.'

Finally, the group managed to get an old rubber tyre Portkey, and before long, they were back on Stoatshead Hill overlooking the village of Ottery St Catchpole.

As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.

'Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!'

Mrs Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front garden, came running toward them, casting a long shadow on the ground in the pale dawn sunlight, still wearing her slippers, face pale and strained, a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

'Arthur-- I've been so worried-- so worried--'

She flung her arms around Mr Weasley's neck and the Daily Prophet fell limp out of her hand and onto the ground. Gwen caught sight of the headline as it fell: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black and white photo of the Dark Mark over the trees.

'You're alright,' Mrs Weasley muttered, releasing Mr Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, 'you're alive... Oh, boys...'

And to everyone's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them into such a tight hug their heads banged together.

'Ow, Mum, you're-- you're strangling us--!'

'I shouted at you before you left!' she sobbed. 'It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OWLs? Oh, Fred... George...'

'Come on, now, Molly,' said Mr Weasley kindly, 'we're all perfectly OK...' He gently prised her off the twins and began to lead her back into the house.

'Bill,' he added over his shoulder in an undertone, 'pick up that paper, I want to see what it says.'

When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs Weasley a strong cup of tea in which Mr Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper.

'I knew it,' said Mr Weasley as he scanned the front page and read off a list of issues reported on: Ministry blunders, culprits not apprehended, lax security, Dark wizards running unchecked, national disgrace...