Chapter Two: The Boot On the Hill
For the record, Harish did not like waking up early. Once he had nearly thrown Draco out the window (he was on the third floor in a room that overlooked the grassy hills surrounding his manor) because the boy had woken him up too early on Christmas morning. Another time, he had smacked Dobby across the room because he slept in when he was supposed to be having lessons with his father. Harish had no idea why he liked to sleep so late, but it was absolute torture for him to get up before he absolutely had to.
So, the next morning, it had felt like Harish had only just laid down to sleep when he was being shaken awake by Draco…why was it always Draco? Harish vaguely wondered this before rolling over and closing his eyes again.
"Harish!" Draco exclaimed, poking the older boy.
Harish lashed out, and then fell back asleep. The next moment, he was being shaken again. He slid his eyes open. Above him were Fred and George. Draco was standing behind them, sporting a swiftly swelling black eye.
"What happened to you, Draco?" Harish yawned, sitting up.
"Why did he smack me, but not you?!" Draco howled, holding a cold, wet rag up to his face.
"I smacked you?" Harish asked, laughing.
"He's known you too long," George muttered.
"Too much Draco—" Fred broke off and he and his twins shuddered.
"Come on," they both said.
Draco and Harish followed them down the zig-zag of stairs down to the kitchen. There Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table with Sirius, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. Sirius was reading a copy of the Daily Prophet, his own stack of five tickets sitting beside him. The two men looked up as the boys entered and spread his arms so they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.
"What do you think?" he asked. "We're supposed to be going incognito—do you think I look Muggle enough?"
Harish nodded, smiling at Sirius as they both remembered their trip into the Muggle World.
"Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" George asked, failing to stifle a huge yawn.
"Well, they're apparating, aren't they?" Mrs. Weasley replied, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in."
"So they're still in bed?" Harish asked grumpily, pulling a chair up next to Sirius.
The three other Slytherins smirked at him.
"Why can't we Apparate, too?" Fred asked.
"Because you're not of age yet and you haven't passed your test," Mrs. Weasley snapped. "And where has Ginny gotten to?"
She bustled out of the kitchen and they could hear her climbing the stairs.
"We'll be seventeen in April," George said moodily, slopping some porridge back into his bowl.
"You're lucky," Harish mumbled. "I'll be sixteen the whole year…"
"Don't worry," Sirius said with a smile. "Apparating isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Mr. Weasley nodded, gulping some porridge down.
"I threw up the first time I managed it," he said.
"Of course, then there's Splinching," Sirius added.
Everyone at the table winced. Splinching was when you Apparated, but left a bit of yourself behind.
"But Bill, Percy, and Charlie can all do it without being Splinched?" Harish asked.
"Charlie had to take the test twice," Fred said with a grin. "He failed the first time—"
"Apparated five miles south of his original destination, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?"
"Yes, well, he passed the second time," Mrs. Weasley said, marching back into the kitchen amid the hearty sniggers.
"Percy only passed two weeks ago," George continued. "He's been Apparating down the stairs just to prove he can."
There were footsteps down the staircase and Ginny, Ron, and Neville came into the kitchen, looking pale and tired.
"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting down next to George.
"We've got a bit of a walk," Mr. Weasley said.
"Walk?" Harish asked faintly. "We're walking to the Cup?"
"Oh, no that's miles away," Mr. Weasley said dismissively. "No, we're only walking up the hill to our portkey. We'll be meeting with the Diggorys as well. They live nearby…"
"Oh, yeah," Harish said. "Isn't the reason we came here in the first place was because no Portkeys could be arranged near the manor?"
Sirius nodded. "Our tickets were bought in the same section as the Weasleys' since their sons are coming with us, so we were sent to Stoatshead Hill."
"George!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed suddenly.
George jumped and clutched his wand, staring at his mother.
"What?" he squawked.
"What is that in your pocket?"
"Nothing!"
"Don't you lie to me!"
Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"
Several small, brightly colored sweets zoomed out of his pocket. He made a grab for them, but missed, and they sped into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.
"We told you to destroy them!" she said furiously, holding up what were unmistakably Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot—forbid you from selling them at school! Empty your pockets, both of you!"
It was horrible to watch. Harish helped make them after all. The three of them had tried to smuggle as many as they could. The twins had even sent dozens of different joke products to Harish's house by night.
"Accio! Accio! Accio!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.
The toffees zoomed from pots, the lining of George's pocket, the turn-ups of Fred's jeans, and even from under Harish's shirt, which had been tucked into his pants to keep the toffees from falling out.
"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away.
"You can't do that!" Harish howled. "I'm not even your son!"
"Well it seems high time you were disciplined properly."
All in all, it was it was not a friendly atmosphere as they left. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley goodbye, and all three boys were fuming. The twins had hoisted their rucksacks and walked out without a word to her.
"Well, have a lovely time," Mrs. Weasley said. "and behave yourselves!" She called after the twins retreating backs. They still did not respond, but Fred slammed the door to the house behind him.
It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that the sun was crawling its way to the sky. He walked in between the twins, All three of them were still silently seething; Harish especially, as he had not failed to notice Mrs. Weasley's jab at his father's parenting skills. For a Dark Lord, he was doing very well raising him, in Harish's opinion.
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
"Where're we going?" Neville asked finally.
"There," Mr. Weasley responded, pointing to a large black mass that sat behind Ottery St. Catchpole. "Stoatshead Hill."
They trudged through the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence was broken only by their footsteps. It was a good thing it was so early. If it was much later, Harish was afraid they might have run into the Muggles again—his aunt, uncle, and cousin apparently—and gotten the twins into more trouble. And who knew after what their mother had said? She might find some way to punish Harish as well…
The sky slowly lightened as they made it to the other side of the village, its inky blackness diluting to a deep, deep blue. Harish's hands and feet were freezing. If he wasn't near so many adults, he would have cast a spell to warm them…
They didn't have breath to spare as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch periodically. Occasionally, one of them would slip or trip over a rabbit hole. Each breath began to feel like needles in their chests and Harish's legs began to seize up as the hill levelled out.
"Whew," Mr. Weasley panted, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time—we've got ten minutes…Now we just need to find the Portkey…"
Harish looked around the hill, but he didn't see anything that was Portkey material. They were normally formed out of some sort of trash—something Muggles weren't likely to pick up by mistake. Still, there had been some cases where a Muggle grabbed a Portkey and had to be Obliviated and sent back home.
"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 hill top.
"Amos!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.
He was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown bear, who was holding a mangy old boot in his other hand.
"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," Mr. Weasley said. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"
Cedric was an extremely handsome Hufflepuff that was a sixth year as well as Harish and the twins. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Also as they were both Seekers for their teams, that made him and Cedric proper rivals.
"Hi," Cedric said, looking around at them all.
Everyone said hi back except Harish, who merely nodded at the lad. It wouldn't do to appear too friendly with him—even if he did like him.
"Long walk, Arthur?" Amos asked.
"Not too bad," Mr. Weasley replied. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"
"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still…not complaining…Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons—and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…" Cedric's father peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harish, Draco, and Neville. "All these yours, Arthur?"
"Oh no, only the redheads," Mr. Weasley said, pointing out his children. "Blake here," he clapped Sirius on the back, "is taking Harish, Draco, and the twins, so we took Ron's friend, Neville. They couldn't get a portkey arranged nearby, so they came with us."
"Merlin's beard," Amos muttered his eyes widening. "Neville? Neville Longbottom?"
Everyone turned to look at Neville.
"Uh—y-yeah," he stammered.
After two years, Neville had grown accustomed to people staring at him, but it still made him feel uncomfortable.
"Must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley said, breaking the silence. He checked his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"
"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets. There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"
"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley said thoughtfully. "Yes, it's a minute off…We'd better get ready…"
With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the ten of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. No one spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harish how odd they would look if a Muggle were to walk up there just then…ten people, three of them grown men, clutching a moldy old boot in the semidarkness, waiting…
"Three," Mr. Weasley muttered, looking at his watch. "Two…one…"
It happened immediately. Harish felt as if a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Draco pressed on one side of him and Sirius on the other, their shoulders banging into his. They were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though by a magnet.
Then his feet slammed into the ground. Draco staggered into him, knocked him into Sirius, and fell over. The portkey hit the ground near them with a heavy thud. Harish looked around. He, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, Cedric, and Sirius were all standing upright, though appearing slightly windswept. Everyone else were sprawled on the ground.
"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice.