Miranda Harding had lived on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, for nearly fifty years in that time, she had noticed some rather odd things about the small village and its inhabitants. Take that morning for example, Miranda had been out in the garden watering her begonias and admiring her the sunrise when she saw a group of red-haired teenagers walking by her home, she could have sworn that the oldest a tall wiry boy with untidy auburn hair and horn rimmed glasses had conjured fire from the end of a narrow wooden stick, at that precise moment however a strange daze overtook her and the next thing she knew she was in her bed, and cast it off as some strange dream.
Outside in the meadow, the boy shuffled his horn rimmed glasses staring after Miranda. He looked over at the girl next to him, a tall delicate young girl with fiery red hair whose blue eyes were boring into him.
“James, you could have exposed us! All because of your stupid cigarette habit” she reprimanded him, putting her hands on her hips. A smirk cocked on the boy’s face as he looked down at his younger cousin, Rose Weasley.
“Lucky, you were here to cast that memory charm eh Red?” he drawled running a hand through his hair. She huffed shaking her head. There was no point in arguing with James Potter, he was the master of argument and the only person that could perhaps win with him was his fifteen year old sister Lily.
“One of these days, Potter. I’m not going to be here to have your back and—“
“I know, I know I’ll end up in Azkaban—“
“James Sirius Potter, you’ll wish you were in Azkaban after I’m through with you” James gulped as he saw the rest of his family standing there all with identical glares cast in his direction. A tall red haired woman stomped up to him and grabbed his ear to the sniggers of many of his younger siblings and cousins. She turned to face her husband a man with untidy jet black hair and emerald green eyes. “This is what we get for spoiling him for eighteen years, Harry, do you now see what I mean?” she said almost pleadingly.
As the rest of the family was focused on James’s humiliation, Rose took the opportune time to slowly shrink away. Being from a huge family it was often hard for the seventeen year old to get time for herself, so she milked every opportunity she got. Besides she could barely stand still as excitement had gripped every nerve in her body. Today was the start of the first Quidditch World Cup, since the war had ended and coincidently Britain had won its way in after nearly half a century. Rose closed her eyes imagining herself her on a broom stick clad in blue red and white heading towards the goal to the cheers of millions of people all across the world. It was then that she felt someone clap her shoulder, and she jumped turning around and looking at a man in his mid-forties with flaming red hair identical to her’s.
“Dad…you scared me!” said the girl to the hearty chuckle from her father.
“Sorry, Rosie dear I couldn’t help but sneak up on you. You were so lost in thought. What were you thinking about?” Rose shook her head; her Quidditch obsession was a huge secret from her family. No one knew except her best friends Albus Potter and Ariella Longbottom. Of course from a young age she had always wanted to play, but when she got to Hogwarts a combination of fear and her obligations to her mother and the way she wanted Rose to live her life always got in the way, so she hid her obsession away under loose floorboards and false bottoms in trunks. It was her secret dream, guilty pleasure and at times it got difficult to lie to the people she most cared for.
“Nothing Dad, just N.E.W.T. stuff” lied Rose, giving her the father the answer he had expected of her. Ron Weasley ruffled his eldest child’s hair affectionately smiling down at her warmly, he still saw her as the five year old little girl that he used to take on broomstick rides with him.
“You are so like your mother, Rose” Rose nodded, wanting to change the subject desperately.
“So…is James all right? Aunt Ginny hasn’t killed him has she?”
“Nahh he’ll be fine, Harry ‘s having a talk with him and Hermione’s calming Ginny down. Now we best get going don’t want to miss the Portkeys do we?” Rose shook her head, following her father as he walked ahead of her picking up an old can of sardines as he looked over the horizon at the oncoming Weasleys. Rose was the eldest daughter of Hermione and Ron Weasley but definitely in the middle of the Weasley chain. The oldest was of course Victoire Lupin nee Weasley, who was six years older than Rose, and the youngest was fourteen year old Lucy Weasley. And Although Rose was in the middle somewhere everyone looked up to her, perhaps it was because she was the golden girl. Perfect O.W.L scores, Winner of the Great Samaritan award and a shoo in for Head Girl once badges started going out at the end of August. Sometimes Rose was perfectly content with her reputation but others, well she wished she wasn’t so boring and typical…and predictable.
In no time the rest of the family had caught up with Ron and Rose. There were eleven of them in total, which meant that they would have to go in two groups. Ron, Hermione, James, Ginny, and Grandpa and Grandma Weasley took the first portkey out while the others waited for the second. Rose took this time to catch up with Albus who was in charge of escorting Grandma Weasley and thusly was at the back of the throng of people walking to the hill.
“Lucky you were there to catch my moron brother” said the sarcastic dark haired boy with emerald green eyes like his father’s. He was a bit shorter than Rose, who had inherited her father’s height and towered over most boys her age absolutely hating it. “I swear he’s going to get himself killed one of these days, you know he’s been a year out of Hogwarts and still hasn’t found work”
“Meh he’ll be fine, Al don’t worry James is brilliant but lazy” Rose said as she saw her Uncle Harry pick up a pair of lady’s gloves and calling the pair of them towards it.
“Enough about that idiot, who do you, reckon will win? Britain or Bulgaria” asked Al as he walked towards his father and little sister.
“I don’t know the team that plays the better game I guess” answered Rose, stifling the Quidditch inside of her, a part of her was ready to concede facts, stats, plays and explain how Bulgaria was the better team but Britain had the underdog advantage, but then she remembered she was within earshot of the rest of her family who would undoubtedly find it rather odd if studious and plain cousin Rose started bantering about a sport she was supposed to know nothing about. Albus rolled his eyes, he hated the fact that Rose kept her passion for Quidditch a secret and she knew she was going to hear a sermon from the boy when they were alone.
The Weasleys and Potters were considered something of royalty in the Wizarding World. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were head of the Auror department revolutionizing its practices due to their endeavours thwarting Lord Voldemort. Hermione Weasley was head of the Magical Creature Cooperation Network, and had written some highly controversial laws regarding the treatment of house elves and centaurs. And Ginny Potter, well she was of Quidditch royalty having played for the Holyhead Harpies for five years finally retiring to be the lead Quidditch correspondent in the Daily Prophet after the birth of her eldest son, James Potter II. With such accolades they were given VIP seats in the top box something Rose Weasley was very excited about.
Normally she hated her family’s fame. Not only was there the constant YOU’RE THAT WEASLEY? moments wherever she went, but there were also the intrusive media that always seemed to single her out as some harlot. But sitting atop the stadium staring down at the refs gathering their equipment suddenly she felt as though it was all worth it. Rose, Ron, Hugo, Al, and Harry were the first ones in the box, perhaps it was because they were more excited than the rest of the family who were more treating this like a vacation. Rose gripped the edge of the seat, as she saw her cousin cast the muffliato spell on his father and uncle before turning to the scarlet haired girl.
“So now will you tell me, who you reckon will win the cup?” said the boy impatiently turning his green eyes on hers again.
“Such a traitor Rosie, you really don’t think England’s got a shot?”
“They’ve got the underdog potential, but Bulgaria’s got Krum”
“Krum’s one good player and even his dad couldn’t win the World Cup back in ‘96”
“But Britain doesn’t have a star player, they’re all sort of mediocre and the only reason they’ve gotten so far is just…pure luck” Albus couldn’t refute his cousin there, she was right. Only by some grand miracle would England win this game, still he loved debating with her and he tried to search deep in his mind for some hint, finally he remembered an article he had read about “England’s secret weapon”.
“What about…that new seeker?”
“You know the one they’ve been keeping all hush hush about”
“I reckon that’s just a bluff to psyche Bulgaria out. They’ve got nothing—“
“BLOODY HELL MALFOY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
Track This Story: Feed
JOIN HARRY POTTER FANFICTION
Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.Register Today!