Year Four - Chapter One

One of the benefits of a magical household was the permission to use magic without fear. As Megan's mother said, it was all right to practice a bit as to not get rusty, and just as long as nobody got seriously hurt, then everything would be fine. Yet I didn't find the time to practice, busy as I was following after Megan, who seemed on a constant sugar rush with her desire to show me around the garden, and then the nearby spots she liked.

Thus, when we took the first portkey that would lead us to the first match of the Tournament, my fingers were instantaneously twitching in the desire of some restful sleep and a lack of running like a lunatic throughout the English countryside.

The first day of the Quidditch world cup would see the Ivory Coast against Norway, and depending on how long it would take, the Bulgaria versus New Zealand would be fought either on the same day or in the next one, or even the next one still.

Since many Quidditch fans didn't have the Galleons for the entire tournament, the first match had the stadium filled with the fans of both Quidditch Teams for the most part. The Ivory Coast's mascot was a genie which made a nice water show, gliding through water which the Ivory Coast's players floated in the air with their wands. On the other side, the Norway team had a troll dressed in the flag of their country, and with bellowing screams roared something in Norwegian that seemed to excite the Norwegian hooligans.

The seats we had weren't Vip-Seats, but were still comfortable enough.

"Hestia! Glad you could make it," Emily Jones said, beaming a smile towards a fellow witch, with dark curly hair and a tough-looking face. "Have you seen Gwenog? I need to thank her for the tickets, she really shouldn't have."

The fellow witch by the name of Hestia smiled back, hugging Megan's mother tightly. "Well, you know her. She found some fans and is currently signing their autographs."

I raised an eyebrow, a puzzled expression on my face. "You have a professional Quidditch player in the family?"

"Yes," Megan said. She cringed a second later, following my line of thought to its natural conclusion. "Don't tell Amanda."

"Why not?" I asked, all innocent-like. "Maybe it's a team she cheers for."

Megan shuddered. "My aunt's a beater for the Holyhead Harpies, even if it weren't her Quidditch team, she'd still ask for a signed bludger and probably receive one."

I patted Megan's shoulder amiably. "Then your secret is safe with me, Megan."

The moment Gwenog Jones arrived, I made two plus two and obtained ten. The Jones were three sisters, all witches. There was the burly one, which was the beater, then the wizened one, and finally the motherly one. This all evened out.

The match began a few seconds later, and as the players rushed through their positions, sailed in complicated patterns and actually nearly butchered each other trying to avoid the Beaters' Bludgers, while the referee whistled on, giving fouls right and left. Nobody wanted to be the team sent back during the first rounds, and it showed.

The points tallied up for a while, hitting the hundred as the Quaffle moved quickly right and left, up and down, and there were a few short calls too for the Keeper.

Yet, in the end, Norway achieved its victory after two hours. The Norwegian Troll, and the Norwegian hooligans, cheered loud enough to make the stadium tremble while the Ivorian Coast players left the grounds head low, crying and hugging one another in shame. Even the fans left in disarray, sorrowful about the state of things.

"So it's over?" I asked.

"They'll start the next match this afternoon," Megan said. She then hopped off her seat and stretched, "Hey Auntie Gwenog!" as she cheerfully said that and waved, I stood up in turn and walked behind her. I reckoned it was just fair to shadow her, since Megan had probably done the equivalent of gifting a Ferrari to a friend without a car. Sure, the Ferrari had been in itself a gift, but it was just fair that I'd follow through a modicum of favor-returning.

"Hey there little Meg," the witch said, before glancing over at me, "And this is your friend, isn't he?" she narrowed her eyes and bent slightly down to stare me right in the eyes. "You taking good care of my niece, ain't ya?"

"Yes ma'am," I said, snapping to attention.

"Good, then there's hope," she winked, much to Megan's sudden whine. "Hope you're enjoying the matches. Not like a certain cousin of ours that decided getting married was more important than the Quidditch World Cup!" as she said that with a slightly angry tone, I awkwardly sent my positive vibes and thoughts to that courageous man or woman that picked marriage over a Quidditch match.

"Yeah, they're really good! They do all sorts of things I haven't seen done at Hogwarts either," I added.

"It's a pity Megan didn't get into the Hufflepuff team," Gwenog continued, "She used to be so fast on the broomstick-"

I glanced at Megan, who coughed and looked away. "It's just not something I enjoy more than as a hobby, auntie," she said.

Gwenog huffed, but then broke into a small smile, "Fine, you little rascal," she ruffled the girl's hair, much to Megan's displeasure. "You two should go get something to eat, my treat," she flipped out a galleon, and handed it to Megan. "Try to stay clear of carbs and sugars," she playfully grabbed hold of Megan's cheek and began to pull it, much to the girl's increasing groans of frustrations. "They'll make you slow on the broomstick!"

With a feigned offense, Megan managed to swat away her aunt's hand and then move, with me in tow, towards the stalls selling stuff. I had a couple of sickles myself in my pockets, just for that one time emergency when you needed to take the Knight bus and thus needed those eleven sickles, so the fact I wouldn't need to spend them was already a big plus in my books.

"What kind of treats can you even buy that don't have carbs or sugars?" I asked offhandedly, looking at Megan who seemed lost in thoughts over what to buy, and where.

"Bovril?" Megan suggested. I raised both of my eyebrows. What the hell was Bovril to begin with? "Pies too," she continued.

As it turned out, Bovril was some kind of beef hot drink. I was actually undecided on dipping the pie into it, since it was a meat pie to begin with, but settled for just letting the warmth of the entire thing fill me up with determination.

Thus snack-filled, we began to tour the stadium. Megan's desire to get some autographs were accompanied by mine to just ensure nothing bad happened to the tender kindhearted Hufflepuff, because if something happened, then I'd unfortunately have to break legs, snap arms, and ensure punishment would be meted to whoever hurt a clear morality pet of sorts.

Nobody hurts those who give me food and lives. Nobody.

Perhaps it was obvious where my thoughts were going, because in a surprising show of kindred spirit or perhaps survival instincts, some Quidditch players signed Megan's autograph with a bright smile. Though they probably did it because they had to, and not because I oversaw the exchange with twitchy fingers.

"Between Bulgaria and New Zealand, who do you think is going to win?" Megan asked as we returned to our seats, her mother not at all bothered by her sudden disappearance for most of the lunch time. Had I disappeared for lunch, my mother would have called the SWAT team. Well, she would have because chances were high that if I missed lunch, I was either dead, or fighting off the apocalypse with a spoon in one hand and a fork in the other.

"Bulgaria," I answered nonchalantly. "I say the final match is going to be Bulgaria versus Ireland, and Ireland will win even when Victor Krum gets the snitch."

Megan snickered at that. "Yeah, sure," she rolled her eyes.

"Is that so, kiddo?" Hestia, one of Megan's aunts, took that as the cue to pipe in. "Want to bet on it?"

"It wouldn't be fair to steal Galleons from one of Megan's sisters," I answered with a tiny, charming smile.

"Ah! Good one!" Hestia laughed, "Charming little fella, just like Albus described you," she winked. "Well, I guess I'm going to go and make a bet on it," she hummed and stood up, "And if I win, I'm going to share half with you."

"I'm holding you up to it," I told her, not really expecting her to.

And even if she did, and went to Ludo Bagman, he'd pay her in Leprechaun Gold and she'd never get anything back.

Thus, the matches went by with regular precision, the days going on and on in what could be described as a near bucolic experience of British Countryside trekking and Quidditch Matches, until the Quidditch Final arrived.

And on that day, on that beautiful final day, Hestia's eyes were half-twitching as Bulgaria and Ireland met each other in the finals while I rubbed the front of my robes.

"Half of it, ain't that right?" I said offhandedly, looking sideways up to Hestia's stern-looking face.

"Aye, half of it, not a Galleon less," Hestia answered. "Half of what's probably going to be more than five thousand galleons," she continued, her voice nearly choking on the sum, her whole body twitching from nervousness.

I hummed, and then returned to look at the play. "Well, I guess that means I'll need a Gringotts account."

The play began.

Megan's aunt cried out through half of it, screaming like a wild banshee near the end, and finally rising up to execute what could only be classified as the most obscene of insults to be hurled at her enemies, for she had just won her bet, and so had I.

Unfortunately, I suspected she had made the bet with Ludo Bagman, and even if she hadn't, I doubted they'd pay her, whoever had accepted her bet would probably run to the far end of the world in order to avoid paying.

I was bodily lifted from my seat, Megan's aunt planting a fat kiss on my forehead and then hugging me tightly. "You're the greatest good luck charm I've ever seen!" she said happily, swishing me right and left as if I were a rag doll. "New apartment, here I come!" and then I was bodily flung down, gasping for air while Hestia ran off to get her money.

I stared at Megan's cross-eyed look, and gave a weak smile in reply.

We were meant to meet with Wayne and Amanda at the end of the match, by the Stadium's exit.

My eyes twinkled with mirth at their sights.

Amanda's narrowed at mine.

Wayne snickered in turn.

"Hey Shade," Wayne said, pointing at his forehead, "You have something of a smudge on your forehead."

I shrugged, and began to rub it off.

"Oh," I said. "Must be the lipstick from Megan's aunt."

Amanda's eyes narrowed even further. Wayne's snickers grew even louder. Megan giggled too, and I was the only one who didn't get the joke, I reckoned.

It was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

I had my friends...

...and there was nothing that could go wrong because of it.