12

"Harry!" half a dozen voices yelled as the boy in question tumbled out of the fireplace and landed on the Weasley's kitchen floor.

"Hey guys," Harry said, hauling himself up from the floor and attempting to brush some of the soot from his clothes.

"Harry, dear!" Mrs Weasley came bustling into the room, having heard the commotion, and immediately grabbed him into one of her patented bone crushing hugs. When he was released, he finally managed to look around the room he was in. It was just as full of clutter and strange, magical items as usual, and he found a strange sense of calm settle over him as he took in the sight. If Hogwarts was his first home, then The Burrow was definitely his second, and it was brilliant to be back. Just then, however, Sirius came strolling out of the fire and Harry's sense of calm dissipated.

"How come you can do that so calmly, Pads?" he asked, pouting slightly at his inability to travel by floo and retain his dignity.

"It just comes naturally, you know?" his godfather replied with a wink and a grin, "And hello, Weasley's! Molly, cheers for having us to stay the night, it's a real help, we don't want the ministry knowing where we live now, do we?" Molly smiled indulgently, ever since Sirius had 'rescued' Harry from the Dursley's, she had had somewhat of a soft spot for the ex-convict. Sirius was sure that it would be forgotten if she ever found out a) where he'd taken her precious Harry this summer, b) all the fights they had both gotten into together, c) some of the swear words he'd taught him and d) some of the spells and pranks he had shown his godson. So, he was making the most of it while it lasted.

"Oh, now, you know it's no bother," Molly replied, waving it off, "besides, it gives me a good excuse to feed my two favourite boys up!" Her sons all turned to her, incredulous.

"Oh, sure-" Fred started.

"Just because we're not orphans-" George continued.

"Or Boys-Who-Lived-"

"Or dark wizard defeaters-"

"And just because we haven't spent half our lives in prison after being-"

"Wrongly accused-"

"And betrayed-"

"Apparently our mother doesn't-"

"Love us anymore!" they finished together, both sporting identical expressions of mock anger and hurt. The kitchen was silent for a heartbeat, before Molly spoke.

"Oh, shut up, boys." Sirius and Harry took one look at the twins before bursting out laughing. And that, I'm glad to say, rather set the tone for the rest of the evening.

It was a happy and full up Harry that slumped into a make-shift bed in Ron's room that night. The evening had been packed full of food and laughter and family, and Harry lay in bed for a while, in awe at how rich the Weasley's really were. Yes, so they didn't have much money, but they had each other and that was worth so much more than galleons. He had Sirius now, and he loved his godfather, but he wasn't a parent figure like Mr and Mrs Weasley were. Sirius was more of an older brother who was determined to be a bad influence, which was a complete contrast to Molly's worrying and Arthur's quiet advice and concern. Oh, he was sure that he would hate the lack of freedom and privacy if he lived at the Burrow full time, but just for a few days it was nice to be a part of the bustle of family life.

It was not long before Harry was asleep, a smile on his lips as he dreamt of music and dogs and family and punching blonde-haired gits. And all too soon, it was morning, and Padfoot was waking him up in the most disgusting way ever.

"Really, Pads?" he asked as he sat up, trying to wipe dog slobber off of his face, "Every fucking morning?" If he wasn't in dog-form, then Harry would have sworn that his godfather was laughing at him just then. Harry climbed out of bed, dislodging Padfoot who ran out of the door.

"Don't let mum catch you swearing, mate, or we'll never hear the end of it," Ron mumbled as he crawled out of bed, "Remind me again why we're getting out of bed at this unnatural time of the morning?" Harry grinned crookedly, knowing that his best mate would gladly get up this early every morning of his life if it meant he could go to the World Cup.

"Quidditch, mate. Krum. Top Box. Best day of your life," Harry told him as he fished around in his backpack for some clean(ish) clothes. He settled on the black, sleeveless Weird Sisters T-shirt that Tonks had bought him for his birthday along with a pair of faded, three quarter length jeans with grass stains on the knees. Ron was still getting dressed, but Harry wanted time for some breakfast before they left, so he grabbed his dragon skin boots and his backpack and headed for the door.

"See you down there, mate," he called over his shoulder, receiving a grunt in return as the red head attempted to fit his head through the arm-hole of a t-shirt.

Down in the kitchen he found Fred, George and Sirius already sitting around the kitchen table with slices of toast in their hands.

"Cheers," Harry grinned as he stole a piece of toast from Fred's plate. The red head was too tired to notice though, all of his efforts going into trying to stay awake.

"Dozy lot in the mornings, aren't they?" Sirius laughed.

"Maybe you should try out your novel way of waking me up on them," Harry smiled. Waking up to dog slobber was no fun if it was you, but inflicting it on others was definitely amusing. Just then, the fire turned green and spat Neville onto the floor of the kitchen.

"Alright, Nev?" Harry called over, as Sirius helped him off the floor.

"I might be if it wasn't so early," Neville grumbled, brushing soot from his shoulders. Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he had a horrified look on his face, "Not that I'm not grateful or anything, I really am! If Mr and Mrs Weasley hadn't invited me, then there was no way I'd be able to go, Gran would never have tickets and-"

"Neville, mate, calm down, you're rambling," Sirius said, throwing an arm around the boy's shoulders and leading him towards the table, "Just sit down, have some toast, and stop worrying that you've offended anyone. We're all pretty damn hard to offend." Neville had jumped slightly at having an ex-convict putting his arm around him, but he soon relaxed and joined the three boys at the table as they waited for everyone else to drag themselves out of bed.

The trip to the portkey was uneventful. Sirius annoyed them all by barking the entire way there, whilst Ron lagged behind everyone, complaining about not being able to apparate yet. They met Cedric and his father at the portkey, and Amos immediately got off on the wrong foot with Harry and Sirius.

"Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Played my boy in Quidditch, didn't you? When Cedric told me he beat you I said, that's something to tell your grandkids! You beat the famous Harry Potter!" Amos chuckled as though he had told a funny joke, oblivious to both his embarrassed son and the glares coming his way from everyone else.

"Actually, sir, I was attacked by dementors which caused me to fall off of my broom. They make me hear my parents dying, see," Harry spat out before turning to Cedric, "but you're a bloody good player, mate, I'll give you that." Harry gave the older boy a crooked grin which was returned, both ignoring the spluttering Amos who could hardly believe that he had been spoken to in such a way.

"And with that taken care of, let's get the portkey, eh?" Sirius exclaimed jovially, clapping his godson on the back. They all gathered around the old boot, jostling each other in order to reach it.

"Three... two... one..." Mr Weasley counted down, looking at his watch. Harry was unprepared for what came next though; it felt as though a hook in his stomach had jerked him upwards and for a second there was nothing but swirling colour and howling wind before his feet slammed into the ground. It was only the reflexes he had gained this summer (it turns out that fighting in pubs, sparring with Sirius and avoiding the many pranks and traps that his godfather liked setting up around the house was a good way to hone such things as reflexes) that stopped him from falling on his face, although several of his companions were not so lucky. In fact, only he, Sirius, Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric were the only ones standing, everyone else was slumped on the ground in varying states of disarray.

"Come here," Harry chuckled as he held out one hand for Ginny and one for Ron. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cedric doing the same for Neville and Hermione whilst Fred and George hauled themselves from the floor.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," a voice behind them said and a minute later they were being sent away. It was with growing excitement that the group headed towards the campsite: they were almost there, almost at the Quidditch World Cup.