In the morning, Mrs Weasley roused the household bright and early, and treated them to a hearty breakfast. Afterwards, they all congregated on the front lawn, and Mrs Weasley waved goodbye to them, wished them a pleasant day at the match, and promised to have a fine meal waiting for them when they got home. Mr Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Neville set off in the direction of the slowly rising sun.
“We’ve got to take a Portkey from the top of the hill over there,” Ron explained to Neville. “There’s tight security around the match, to keep the Muggles from noticing, so Dad says.” This news did not particularly thrill Neville, as he had never used a Portkey before and all his previous first experiences with new forms of wizarding transportation had been unpleasant and uncomfortable ones.
Neville was not a morning person, and found the dawn hike arduous and exhausting. Occasionally he would start to fall behind, and Mr Weasley would call back to encourage him to keep up. “Come on, or we’ll be late,” he urged. Neville complained silently to himself about how unfit he was, and how he was still shorter than nearly all his classmates. He wondered if he would ever start to grow properly.
At last they approached the summit of the hill, where they saw two figures sitting on the grass waiting for them, a middle-aged wizard with a short, unkempt beard and a tall, brown-haired boy, somewhat older than Neville. He looked familiar, though Neville couldn’t immediately place him. The man called out in a genial voice, “Arthur! There you are, we were getting worried. You’ve only got a couple of minutes.”
The party approached the pair and the man got up and shook Mr Weasley’s hand. “Good to see you, Amos,” said Mr Weasley. “I don’t believe you’ve met the family. Everyone, this is Amos Diggory, a colleague of mine at the Ministry. He lives just down in the valley and is sharing our Portkey. I guess some of you already know his son Cedric.”
There was a quick round of introductions. When they got to Harry, Mr Diggory said, “So this is Harry Potter, the boy that’s single-handedly preventing my Cedric from getting his hands on the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. I’m sure you’ll find a way round him this year, eh Ced?” He turned away and glanced at Neville and gave a little gasp. “My, Neville Longbottom,” he exclaimed. “This is a surprise. An honour to meet you, Neville.” He shook Neville’s hand enthusiastically and tried to give him a hug. Behind him, Cedric just smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if to apologise for his father’s over-exuberance. Neville decided he liked Cedric. He now recognised him as the Seeker of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, whom Harry had played the year before.
“Time to go, Amos,” called Mr Weasley. “It’ll be a tight squeeze; they’ve only given us this old hat.” Everybody lined up crouched around a battered white broad-brimmed hat, making sure they had a finger touching the brim. Neville knew that Portkeys were usually disguised as everyday objects. Those that weren’t activated by touch were designed to transport at a pre-arranged time. Neville reached in his right arm, his middle finger just making contact with the hat. There was a pause, and Neville closed his eyes and braced himself.
Suddenly he felt a sharp, painful tug at his abdomen, as if something was trying to suck his intestines out of his body, and he was pulled violently forward. For a moment he was completely disorientated, until he tumbled onto soft ground. Well, at least that didn’t last long, he thought, whereupon he was knocked to the ground as someone else collapsed on top of him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Neville,” apologised Ginny.
“That’s all right,” he mumbled, his mouth full of grass. Ginny stood up, offered a hand, and helped Neville to his feet. Neville found his head was still spinning.
“Wow, look at that,” said Ginny, pointing. As his eyes refocused, Neville saw that they were standing on a wide open moor. Laid out in front of them was a vast campsite teeming with witches and wizards from across the world. Many had been camping out for days in preparation for the final and the result was a kaleidoscope of world wizardry.
They all made their way down to the site. Ginny, still leading Neville by the hand, followed along close behind Harry and Ron. At the entrance to the site, they said their farewells to the Diggorys and promised to look out for them in the stadium. Then they looked for a place to pitch their tent. The match wouldn’t begin for a while yet and they had time to wait.
Mr Weasley had borrowed a magical tent from a colleague of his and eventually they found a clear patch of ground to set it up. Bill and Charlie helped Mr Weasley assemble the tent whilst the rest sat around waiting. Just as they were finishing, a tall, plump wizard with a shock of blond hair and an over-eager smile approached the group. “Arthur!” he called out. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” He reached into the pocket of his robes, pulled out a sheaf of tickets and handed them over. “Ten of them, all present and correct,” he added. “Best seats in the house. You definitely earned them.”
“Thank you, Mr Bagman,” replied Mr Weasley. “May I introduce you to my family? Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the man whom you can thank for these tickets.”
“Not Ludo Bagman, ex- Wimbourne and England?” exclaimed Fred.
“The very same,” beamed Bagman, shaking Fred and George’s hands, who were obviously very impressed. “So what do you reckon to the match, then? Hard to see past the Irish in the form they’re in, but can Connolly and Quigley keep Krum under control?”
“If half the stuff I’ve heard about Krum’s true, I’d be willing to bet they can’t,” replied George.
Bagman’s eyes lit up. “Really? How much?” Mr Weasley shot a disapproving glance in their direction and Bagman changed the subject, and moved on to greet the rest of the Weasleys. When he caught sight of Neville over Ron’s shoulder, he gave a little start. “Well, batter me with a Bludger, it’s Neville Longbottom,” he said, and rushed past Ron to greet Neville, giving him a warm handshake and a pat on the back. “You never told me you knew the Boy-Who-Lived, Arthur. So Neville, any ideas on the match?”
“Er, not really,” answered Neville.
“Hedging your bets, eh? Smart boy. But if you want a tip from me, Troy for top scorer. Keep that to yourself, okay?” He smiled a little too broadly and gave a conspiratorial wink. Not knowing what to say, Neville just nodded politely. Eventually, much to Neville’s relief, Bagman moved on to ingratiate himself with the remainder of the Weasleys, and Neville took the opportunity to dive into the tent. The last he saw was Bagman talking quietly with Fred and George once more.
Neville had been wizard camping once before, on a dull holiday to the Cotswolds with his Gran back when he was nine, so he wasn’t surprised by the grand interior of the tent. Hermione, on the other hand looked much impressed, and there was an expression on her face that Neville recognised instantly. It was the expression she always had when trying to work out exactly how something worked, and whether she could learn to use it herself.
Harry and Ron retreated to a corner to conspire, joined later by Fred and George, so Neville found himself talking to Hermione and Ginny. In fact, the two girls did all of the talking, and Neville just sat and listened, and dozed, for it was a warm summer day.
At long last it was time to leave and make the short journey over to the stadium. They followed the crowds on a path through woodland and eventually the vast bowl of the great World Cup stadium loomed up in front of them. It was huge, big enough to seat 100,000, and shimmering in bright gold. Neville was awestruck just by the sheer scale of it.
Thanks to Ludo Bagman, they were seated in prime position, at the back of the Top Box opposite the scoreboard. A few of the wizarding great and good gave disapproving looks at the rag-tag Weasleys as they took their seats, including the Minister for Magic himself and, as Neville bitterly noticed, Lucius and Draco Malfoy, sitting just along from Cornelius Fudge.
Neville found himself sitting in between Harry and Hermione. The Marauders had all decked themselves out in green, in support of the Irish, but Neville had foregone the opportunity to do the same, even if he was still behind Ireland. Drawing more attention to himself was always the last thing he’d want to do.
In front of him sat a tall, stiff, sour-faced looking wizard by the name of Bartemius Crouch, according to Mr Weasley. Apparently he was Percy’s boss at the Ministry, though Percy was not present. The man sat so tall and straight that Neville could not see over him and had to lean round to get a decent view of the pitch, which annoyed Hermione somewhat. Seated obediently at Crouch’s feet was a short female house-elf, apparently not in the least concerned that she could see nothing from where she was, merely dutifully attending her master. Neville, whose sole knowledge of house-elves was the rebellious Dobby, found the sight rather disturbing.
The pre-match entertainment came and went, but Neville could make out very little, and it was not until the players arrived that he properly began to sit up and take notice. The Irish side looked lean and fast, but the Bulgarians looked stronger, and very determined. Ludo Bagman formally introduced the match and the balls were released.
Neville, used to watching Hogwarts matches, was amazed at the speed of play. The Irish Chasers zipped around the stadium at such breathtaking speed, it was hard for the spectators to keep up with them, never mind the Bulgarians. As Ireland raced into an early lead, Bulgaria’s tactics became clear. Unable to compete effectively in Quaffle play, they were concentrating on slowing the game down as much as possible, by fair means or foul, and relying on their Beaters to protect their Seeker at all costs.
Even Neville, with his limited tactical knowledge of Quidditch, could tell that the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, was easily the best, and certainly the fastest, player on either side. Harry by Neville’s side was watching on in awe. Great Seeker though Neville knew Harry was, Krum easily put him in the shade. But the Snitch continued to prove elusive, and the Bludger battle was becoming more ferocious and violent.
As the goals racked up, the Bulgarian play became ever more desperate and ragged. More than once, Neville saw Krum pause from his pursuit and look round at his colleagues, angry that he was not getting more support. Then, in a blistering attack, a ninth goal for Moran meant Ireland extended their lead to 180-20, enough to secure a win even if Krum caught the Snitch. “Now we’ll see what Bulgaria are made of,” confided Harry to Neville. “If they can’t put together a serious counterattack, this game is over. Personally though, I think it might be better if Krum put them out of their misery.”
Barely had the words left his mouth than Neville saw Krum go into a spectacular steep dive from high above the stadium, just as another Irish goal went in. The Irish Seeker Lynch tracked him, but Krum’s dive seemed almost reckless, out of control, hurtling towards the ground. “If he’s pulling a Wronski Feint, he’s going way too fast,” yelled Fred. “Lynch can’t keep up with him. They must have seen the Snitch.” But Krum’s hand was not out for a catch.
He barrelled towards the ground, but now a Bludger was coming up to meet him. Lynch had already pulled out, arcing away to approach the Snitch from another trajectory. Krum continued on, directly into the path of the incoming Bludger. Suddenly at the last moment, he slipped his right leg off his broom, leaving the broom dangling below him. The Bludger missed Krum and impacted the back of the broom hard, slamming it upwards. Somehow, Krum kept one hand on the broom and reached out with the other. Now travelling much more slowly, he grasped hold of something just before hitting the ground. He rolled over and came to rest, before staggering to his feet and holding aloft the Snitch in his right hand.
“Amazing!” exclaimed Ron. “He used the Bludger to slow himself down, cut his speed just enough to catch the Snitch and make a safe landing. Incredible!” The 100,000 strong crowd in the stadium all went wild, and chants of “Krum!” rang out from all sides. The fact that the Irish had won 190-170 was briefly forgotten as the crowd acclaimed their new hero.
* * *
On the way back to the campsite from the stadium, there was much excited talk about what was reckoned to be the best World Cup final for several decades. Widespread praise could be heard for the Irish Chasers, and also particularly for Viktor Krum. “They’ll be calling that move the Krum Manoeuvre from now on,” predicted George.
“It was brilliant!” said Ron, who had been buzzing with excitement ever since the match ended. “Best Seeker I’ve ever seen… sorry Harry.” Harry merely shrugged modestly. “Still, I’m glad the Irish won. They were by far the better overall.”
The crowd was slowly funnelling from the path out of the woods back into the campsite, with the Weasleys’ group in amongst them. The sun was just setting and the last rays of sunlight were lighting the way back to the tents. Everybody, Irish and Bulgarian supporters and neutrals alike, was in a celebratory mood.
Neville had just reached the edge of the first line of tents when he heard a low rumbling sound from the middle of the campsite and the ground seemed to shake slightly. Looking up, he saw a ball of light rise into the sky from the middle of the site, lighting the field in a gentle glow. His first thought was that someone was launching fireworks in celebration, but as the ball of light faded into redness and dissipated, the glow around did not fade but grew brighter.
Licks of flame could now be made out sprouting up in a dozen places. The whole place seemed now on fire, and the fire was spreading at an unnatural rate. People were transfixed in panic and confusion, with no idea what was happening. Some had started running, but without any direction. Those inside the campsite were trying to get out, but they found themselves trapped between the approaching flames and the crowds behind, who were pushing forward to see what was happening.
Neville found himself packed in amongst the crowd, barely able to see the rest of his group. Ginny was close by him, but she too looked at a loss of what to do. From in front of him he heard yells and shouts of warning, and he fear being crushed from those behind him.
Up ahead he could now see flashes, but not of fire. These were wand blasts. Panic now truly set in and people began to run wild. Some were struck and fell, or hoisted into the air. Neville and Ginny found themselves buffeted and had to start running themselves, to avoid being overrun. Nobody seemed to know where to flee, for the route back to the Portkeys by which they had arrived was through the flames. Some of those that could were already Disapparating.
Grabbing hold of Ginny’s hand and sheltering behind a tent, Neville looked out, but none of the other Weasleys or Harry or Hermione could be seen. He thought he caught site of Cedric Diggory running past, wand in hand, for a brief moment, but not his father. All was chaos. Ginny pointed away to their right. “Look!” she said. Advancing between the tents were a group of hooded and black-cloaked wizards, moving in formation, wands outstretched. It was they who were casting the spells left and right, causing the havoc.
Neville and Ginny ducked down behind the tent. “What do we do now?” asked Neville.
“We need to find Dad and the rest somehow,” replied Ginny. Noises close by suggested duels had broken out; some people at least were fighting back against the attackers. “The only way we can get out of here is our Portkey up by the entrance. Maybe we should try and get there, if only we could get around the fire. Do you know any fire extinguishing spells?” Neville just gave her a look which he hoped conveyed how absurd the question was. “Well, we can’t stay here.”
Keeping their heads down, they set off at a run between the tents, unsure of exactly what direction they were headed in. Barely had they gone a few yards however when from somewhere away to Neville’s right he heard a hissed voice cry out a strange word. It sounded foreign, something like “Morsmordre.” Neville whipped his head round to look, but he could see no one there. Only a spurt of green light, shooting up into the sky like a rocket.
High over Neville’s head, the light slowed and expanded, forming a hideous shape against the night sky. It took the appearance of a macabre grinning skull, in a sickly green hue. From out of the skull’s mouth and wrapped around it grew a glittering snake. “What is that?” whispered Ginny, staring up in astonishment.
Neville knew what it was, though he had never seen it before. His Gran had told him little about the war, the terrible conflict which had eventually claimed his parents and almost him. But she had warned him about this, about the sign that appeared in the sky above the site of every murder, the calling card of the Death Eaters. “It’s the Dark Mark,” he murmured in reply. The scar on his forehead started to burn.
For a moment an eerie calm spread across the field; all eyes were on the sky. Then the panic set in again, only it was everywhere now. People were running in terror and there were even more sounds of Disapparition. To his amazement, Neville caught sight of the cloaked figures running and Disapparating themselves, along with the crowd. The fighting had stopped.
Neville and Ginny stood still, waiting to see what would happen next as the noise died down around them and slowly stillness returned. Neville’s hand was pressed against his forehead, as if it would stop the scar exploding with the pain. Suddenly a hand was pressed against his shoulder and he jumped. Turning though, he discovered it was Bill Weasley. His face and clothes were streaked with mud and his wand was at the ready. “Thank God we’ve found you,” he said breathlessly “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” said Neville. “What about the others?”
“They’re fine. Only you got separated in the crush and we’ve been looking for you. Dad!” he called behind him. “They’re over here!” Mr Weasley emerged out of the gloom. Seeing Ginny, he ran to her and hugged her tightly. Behind him came the other Weasleys, Harry and Hermione. They all looked shaken, but unhurt. Several were gazing up at the Dark Mark still hovering in the sky.
“W-were they… the Death Eaters?” Neville asked Bill, trembling now the shock had passed.
Bill nodded. “They haven’t shown themselves publicly for some years,” said Mr Weasley gravely, “but it’s always been known some escaped capture or were never proved to be involved. But why should they appear now, and why did they leave as soon as the Dark Mark was cast?”
“Good questions,” said another voice. Everyone turned to see another figure approaching. Neville recognised him from the stadium; it was Bartemius Crouch. He had a pale and haggard look and his head was darting from side to side, as if expecting the Death Eaters to reappear at any moment. His house-elf was running along beside him and behind him came two Ministry wizards. “Who are you?”
“Arthur Weasley, sir,” answered Mr Weasley. “My son Percy works for you at the Ministry.”
“What? Oh yes, er, Percy. Fine lad.” Crouch seemed understandably flustered and was still looking about him for danger.
“Has anybody been hurt?” asked Bill.
“No, thankfully, from what we can tell. A couple Stunned but nothing more. It seems they were more interested in making a point than causing injury. But still…” Crouch’s eyes reluctantly turned skywards to the Dark Mark. “We got a report that it,” he pointed his wand in the direction of the Mark, apparently unprepared to name it, “was cast from around here. Did any of you see anything?”
“Um, I heard someone call out,” said Neville. “Just from over there, but when I looked I couldn’t see anyone. It sounded something like Morsmordre.”
“Don’t speak that word!” snapped Crouch. He stared at Neville, perhaps surprised to see who he was. “That’s the incantation,” he explained. He instructed his subordinates to investigate the place Neville indicated. “Weasley, I suggest you take your family home and leave the clear-up to us,” he continued. “Thank you for your help. Come on, Winky.”
“Yes, master,” replied the house-elf happily, and they moved off.
The Weasleys gathered together, along with Neville, Harry and Hermione, and they made their way out through the smouldering ruins of the campsite, under the eerie glow of the Dark Mark. Harry couldn’t resist one last look up at it. “They say it’s a sign of death, but nobody died,” he observed. “So who cast it, and why?” Neville didn’t answer, but he had the terrible feeling it was no coincidence it was cast directly over his head and that whoever had cast it had known full well he was there.
Neville Longbottom and the Goblet of Fire by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville attends the Quidditch World Cup and encounters a number of new faces.