Two days passed quickly, and soon the day of the Quidditch World Cup finally arrived.
At the moment, Victor was standing inside the Burrow's living room with Hermione's bag slung over one shoulder. His own luggage wasn't a problem.
Years ago his father gifted him a storage box enchanted with both an Extension Charm and a Shrinking Charm, able to hold an absurd amount of luggage while remaining small enough to fit inside a pocket.
As a result Victor never carried suitcases — which Hermione knew, and was exactly why she had casually handed him her bag the moment they were preparing to leave.
Victor was still trying to determine when exactly carrying Hermione's belongings had become his responsibility.
The living room was crowded. Arthur, Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, and Victor were all gathered together while waiting for the final preparations to finish.
Arthur's gaze landed on Victor. He hesitated briefly. "I have to admit, Victor, you aren't quite what I expected."
"Should I be worried?"
Arthur chuckled. "Not at all. I suppose I expected Lucius Malfoy's son to be... different."
He carefully chose his words. What he actually wanted to say was less willing to associate with Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and the Weasley family — but saying that aloud felt unfair.
Victor wasn't Lucius. That much had become obvious.
"I get that a lot."
Fred immediately grinned. "Translation: everyone expects him to be an arrogant git."
George nodded. "Then they meet him."
"And discover he's just a different kind of git."
Laughter spread through the room before everyone gathered their things and left the Burrow.
The group made their way through the woods while Arthur led them along a narrow path. Hermione naturally ended up walking beside Victor.
The bag she had given him remained firmly on his shoulder — he had already accepted that returning it wasn't happening.
"Why didn't Luna come?" Hermione asked.
"She's working on The Quibbler with her father."
Ahead of them, Harry looked around the forest with growing confusion. He knew they were heading to the World Cup, but at the moment all he could see were trees.
"Where are we going?"
Arthur smiled over his shoulder. "Well, we'll eventually arrive at the location, but before that we'll meet another person."
Before long, voices could be heard ahead. A wizard stood in a small clearing waiting for them. Beside him stood Cedric Diggory.
Harry immediately recognized him — older than them, captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.
"Arthur!" Amos Diggory called cheerfully. "Thought you might be late."
"Weasleys are never late," Fred said confidently.
"Occasionally delayed," George corrected.
Amos laughed as the group approached, his eyes sweeping across the younger witches and wizards before he began greeting them.
Cedric's gaze landed on Victor. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Victor Malfoy was hardly an unknown student at Hogwarts — through academics, or the countless rumors surrounding him, most students knew who he was.
Cedric certainly did. Still, seeing him traveling with the Weasleys was unexpected. He was far too polite to comment on it, simply nodding in greeting. Victor returned the gesture.
After a brief exchange of greetings, Amos checked his watch. "We've got a few minutes."
The group continued following him until they reached the top of a large cliff overlooking the countryside. Harry stopped and looked around. There wasn't a stadium. There wasn't a campsite. There was only an old boot lying on the ground.
Harry stared at it, then at Arthur, then back at the boot. "That's our way?"
"That's our way."
"A shoe?"
Ron started laughing. "It's a boot, Harry."
"That isn't the point." Harry pointed at the object. "How is that supposed to get us to the World Cup?"
"That's a Portkey, Harry," Victor explained.
"A Portkey?" The word sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember hearing an explanation before.
"An ordinary object that's been enchanted to transport anyone touching it to a predetermined location. The Ministry uses them whenever they need to move large numbers of people quickly or discreetly."
Harry looked back at the boot. It somehow became even less impressive. "Why make it look like rubbish?"
Arthur answered before Victor could. "So nobody steals it."
Harry considered that. Actually, that made sense. Nobody in their right mind would willingly pick up an old, battered boot lying in the middle of nowhere.
"Once the Portkey activates," Victor continued, "it pulls everyone touching it to the destination. The sensation feels like an invisible hook attached behind your navel, dragging you through the air."
Harry looked concerned. "That doesn't sound pleasant."
"It isn't," Fred said.
"It's terrible," George agreed.
"But it's fast," Arthur added.
Amos checked his watch again. "One minute."
Everyone gathered around the boot. Harry continued staring at it suspiciously. After everything he had experienced in the magical world, he really should have learned not to judge things by appearance.
Still, the idea of being transported across the country by touching an old boot sounded ridiculous.
"Three..." Amos watched his watch.
Everyone reached toward the Portkey.
"Two..."
Harry placed a hand on the boot.
"One..."
The boot jerked. Instantly Harry felt exactly what Victor had described — as though a hook had caught him behind the navel and violently yanked him forward.
The cliff vanished. The sky vanished. Everything vanished as the Portkey carried them toward the Quidditch World Cup.
*****
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