[Editing] Expecto Patronum: Harry Potter One-shots

18 - Escapee [ Barty Crouch Junior x Reader] Part II

The tournament grounds were buzzing with action: elaborate movements of whirling objects and tiny flying toys for children as they spiralled in dizzying acrobatic arcs through the air. Pervading the wintry breeze was the humbling scent of confectionary goods: spiced popcorn crackling with steaming vats of butter, the fatal sizzling of acid pops, the crumble of pumpkin pasties taken straight from the ovens and hotdogs - hot and ready to be eaten - being sold by the dozen. Still early, the weather was perfect - the skies clear and dim, streaked with tiny flares of light bounding from the stadium. A din hung over the tournament grounds like a heavy velvet curtain - it was pandemonium! Excited fans were screeching as they cheered for their favourite players and from every clot of clustered people came the aggravated hollers of pre-match drunkards who were booing the supporters of the other team. There were childish screams of delight as children streaked through the long grasses that pawed at their chubby cheeks. It was festive and inviting. 

I really didn't care much for it. 

"Well, kids," Arthur said merrily, standing with his hands fixed over his hips, "Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup!" 

The raucous sounds of celebration seemed only to worsen. Cedric chortled as I ducked in paranoia, eyeing the flying people dubiously who were circling overhead. It was like passing through into a cheap masquerade: people had streaked greasy paint over their faces, dyed their hair absurd colours, wore fan paraphernalia to commemorate their favoured team. I was undetermined on the part of which team I wanted to support: a subconscious part of me recognised the colour green as safety, as union with others, so I was probably rooting for Ireland. 

It wasn't long before Mr Weasley - or "Uncle Arthur", a name that he had pressed me to use for the three years that I had known him - escorted us towards the tents. A steady stream of people was dancing and cheering amid rows of tiny tents, playing off-tune flutes and trying very uncoordinated Irish jigs that mainly ended up in an irritated and hollow-eyed paramedic dealing with their injuries. He stopped abruptly, at a site where the stadium rose up like an enormous mountain of metal. I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the piercing jays of sunshine as the sun bristled on the horizon. 

"Here we are!" The man proclaimed proudly. 

My heart contracted at the thought of spending time with all those Weasleys clustered in such a pathetically and pitifully-sized tent: it was quite slipshod, the frame of the tent bucking against the wind like someone irascibly batting away a fly. I grimaced. 

"You've got to be joking," I heard Ronald grumble. 

At least I wasn't the one to say it first. The other Weasleys were just as uncertain. The only person, exempting Arthur himself, that didn't seem either disgruntled or disappointed was Hermione Granger. She was wearing a knowing smile on her shrewd face that made me question if she knew something that I didn't. Arthur encouraged his family to crowd into the tent as he peeled back the lip of the door and entered. I watched in mild-mannered surprise as each Weasley disappeared, counting the vibrant auburn-haired offspring clear off one-by-one until only Harry Potter and I remained. He glanced at the door hesitantly and I was reminded that he was raised as a Muggle. 

"Ladies first," Potter offered politely. 

I could see through the act, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Coward," I accused and walked through the tent, ducking my head and watching for a step. It took me a moment to get my bearings and a moment more for my eyes to adjust to the dramatic change in light, but then I could see my surroundings quite clearly as I stumbled to the side to allow the boy in through the doorway.

"Oh," I muttered, rolling my eyes at my slow mind, "That was obvious." 

The tent had been enlarged by a particularly effective undetectable extension charm. A charm that served to enlarge the internal dimensions of any space or object without affecting its outward dimensions. Unlike the pitifully small exterior of the tent, the insides were capacious and large. With furniture that was quite like the Weasley's own furniture, the walls of the tent were carpeted with oriental rugs of peculiar and exotic prints. There were several large chairs scattered around a central table as if they were planets orbiting a sun. I paced into the room observantly, marking every individual factor of our new temporary dwelling.