𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 ━ George Weasley

━ 𝟘𝟘𝟛. 𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑘𝑒𝑦𝑠, 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑆𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐹𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝐺𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒!

💌🏹

╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⁺⤾·˚.⃗. [ ᴘᴏʀᴛᴋᴇʏs, ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ sɴɪᴛᴄʜᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ɢᴀʟᴏʀᴇ ] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Village of Ottery St Catchpole
- Devon, England
( August 29th, 1994. )

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Mr. Weasley kept checking his packet watch every few minutes.

They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Olympia took was sharp in her chest, and her legs were starting to seize up when, at last, her feet found level ground. She was the furthest from athletic, never had been gifted in it or even desired it.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side. "Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big....Come on..."

They spread out, searching. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it." Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" greeted Arthur, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed. He shook hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand. "This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley.