Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Harry’s hands and feet were freezing. Mr Weasley kept checking his watch.
    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 Harry took was sharp in his chest, and his legs were starting to seize up when at last his feet found level ground.
    ‘Whew,’ panted Mr Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. ‘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!’ said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.
    Mr Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand.
    ‘This is Amos Diggory, everyone,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?’
    Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff house Quidditch team at Hogwarts.
    ‘Hi,’ said Cedric, looking around at them all.
    Everybody said ‘Hi’ back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.
    ‘Long walk, Arthur?’ Cedric’s father asked.
    ‘Not too bad,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘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 …’ Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione and Ginny. ‘All these yours, Arthur?’
    ‘Oh, no, only the redheads,’ said Mr Weasley, pointing out his children. ‘This is Hermione, friend of Ron’s – and Harry, another friend –’
    ‘Merlin’s beard,’ said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. ‘Harry? Harry Potter ?’
    ‘Er – yeah,’ said Harry.
    Harry was used to people looking curiously at him when they met him, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on his forehead, but it always made him feel uncomfortable.
    ‘Ced’s talked about you, of course,’ said Amos Diggory. ‘Told us all about playing against you last year … I said to him, I said – Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will … you beat Harry Potter! ’
    Harry couldn’t think of any reply to this, so he remained silent. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.
    ‘Harry fell off his broom, Dad,’ he muttered. ‘I told you … it was an accident …’
    ‘Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?’ roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. ‘Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman … but the best man won, I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!’
    ‘Must be nearly time,’ said Mr Weasley quickly, pulling out 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,’ said Mr Diggory. ‘There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?’
    ‘Not that I know of,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Yes, it’s a minute off … we’d better get ready …’
    He looked around at Harry and Hermione.‘You just need to touch the Portkey, that’s all, a finger will do –’
    With difficulty, owing to the bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.
    They all stood there, in a