disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, just Arabella. Hope you all like it!
Bagman and Crouch
Arabella scrambled to her feet and helped Hermione up. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty grassland. In front of them was a pair of tired, grumpy wizards, one of them holding a large gold watch and the other a thick roll of parchment and quill. They were both dressed poorly as Muggles. The man with the watch was wearing a tweed suit with thigh high rubber boots while the other man was wearing a kilt and poncho.
"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the Portkey and it to the poncho wizard.
Basil, the poncho wearer, threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him. He then said, wearily, "Hello there, Arthur. Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some… We've been here all night… You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite… Weasley… Weasley…" He looked closely at his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory… second field… ask for Mr. Payne."
"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley.
He beckoned everyone to follow him across the deserted grassland. They were unable to see through the mist for about twenty minutes. They finally reached a small stone cottage next to a gate swam. Beyond the cottage was hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up in a small slope towards the dark wood on the horizon. They bid good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage, where a man was standing in the doorway. He was looking out into the sea of tents, and Arabella was sure he was the only real Muggle they were going to see here.
"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly.
"Morning," said the Muggle.
"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"
"Weasley – two tents, books a couple of days ago?"
"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list on the door. "You've got a space up by the woods there. Just the one night?"
"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.
"You'll be paying now, then?"
"Ah – right – certainly –"said Mr. Weasley.
He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. Arabella smiled as she heard Mr. Weasley whisper towards Harry, wondering what each note meant, and if he was using them correctly. Soon enough, they both came back with the correct notes.
"You foreign?" Mr. Roberts asked Mr. Weasley.
"Foreign?' repeated Mr. Weasley, confused.
"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, looking at Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."
"Did they really?" asked Mr. Weasley nervously.
Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change. "Never been this crowded. Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…"
"Is that right?"
Mr. Weasley held his hand out for some change, but Mr. Roberts did not give it to him, instead, he looked out into the misty field.
"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."
"Shouldn't he?" said Mr. Weasley anxiously
"It's like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."
At that moment, a wizard in golfing pants appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Robert's front door. He pointed his want sharply at the Muggle and said, "Obliviate!"
Mr. Robert's eyes slid out of focus and there was a look a dream look upon his face. He just had his memory modified.
"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said calmly. "And your change."
"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.
The golf pants wizard accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked completely exhausted with purple bags under his eyes. Once they were out of earshot, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur." He Disapparated.
"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," said Ginny, surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"
"He should," said Mr. Weasley, smiling as they walked through the gates. "But Ludo's always been a bit… well… lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."
They trotted up the misty field between long rows of tents. Some of them looked ordinary, trying their best to look Muggle. But some of them had slipped up but adding chimneys and such. However, there were some that was so magical, Arabella wondered how they were not in trouble with the Ministry already. There was one tent that looked like a miniature palace with several peacocks tethered at the entrance. Another tent had three floors and beyond that, one had a front garden with a complete fountain.
"Always the same," Mr. Weasley said gleefully. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
They reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field. There was an empty space with a small sign hammered into the ground that read: Weezly.
"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be. Right, no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult… Muggle do it all the time… Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"
One look at Harry told Arabella that he had never been camping before in his life. Arabella has done it a couple times with Remus and the Tonks. Ted practically had to drag Nymph into the woods so many of those times. Arabella and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go. Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help as he got overly excited with the mallet. But they finally managed to produce a pair of shabby two-man tents.
They all stood back to admire their handiwork. It was perfect for all of them. Mr. Weasley was the first to drop to his hands and knees and enter the tent first.
"We'll be a bit cramped," he called back to them, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
One by one, the rest of the Weasleys followed their father, dropping to their knees and entering the tent. Arabella looked at Hermione and Harry and saw that they were both worried.
"What's wrong?" she asked both of them.
"How are we all going to fit?" asked Harry. "Bill, Charlie and Percy are coming later as well."
Arabella smiled at both of them and jerked her head towards the tent. "Come on, you two. You've forgotten something. Magic."
Arabella bent down and ducked under the tent flap. The room was like an old-fashioned flat. It had a complete bathroom and kitchen, though there was a strong smell of cats. Arabella turned back towards the opening to see Harry's jaw drop.
"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago." He picked up a dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water…"
"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron. "It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you, Harry, Arabella and Hermione go and get us some water then, and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"
"But we've got an oven," said Ron. "Why can't we just –"
"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"
Arabella and Hermione quickly put their bags in the girls' tent, which thankfully did not smell of cats. They then headed out with Harry and Ron across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.
With the sun rising and the mist slowly drifting away, they could see tents stretched out in every direction. Arabella and Hermione looked at each other in wonderment before they made their way around slowly. It was amazing to see just how many witches and wizards came from around the world to see the game.
There was a tiny boy holding a wand and poking at a slug that started to swell slowly. His mother came hurrying out of the tent, yelling at him to not touch his father's wand. Further down, there were two tiny witches riding toy broomsticks that were barely higher than the grass. A Ministry official rushed past Arabella, Harry, Hermione and Ron, muttering about secrecy in broad daylight. There were so many witches and wizards emerging from their tents. Arabella couldn't remember the last time she turned her head this many times, trying her best to look at everyone.
There were three African wizards sitting around in a serious conversation, all wearing long white robes and roasting a rabbit over a purple fire. There was a group of middle-aged American witches gossiping underneath a spangled banner in between their tents. There were so many strange languages coming out from different tents, each sounding as excited as the next.
"Er – is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" asked Ron.
It looked as though they had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks. The tents looked like oddly shaped mounds, though they could see faces underneath the openings.
"Harry! Ron! Arabella! Hermione!"
Seamus Finnigan was sitting in front of his own tent with his best friend, Dean Thomas, and a woman that appeared to be his mother. They had the same hair. Seamus and Dean were both waving them over.
"Like the decorations?" asked Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colours?" said Mrs. Finnigan, robustly. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" She was eyeing Arabella, Hermione, Harry and Ron beadily.
Once the four of them reassured her that they were supporting Ireland, they set off again.
"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot," muttered Ron.
"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.
"Let's go find out," said Arabella.
There was a large patch of tents just a few tents ahead of them with the Bulgarian flag flying high in the breeze. Each and every single one of the tents had the exact same poster attached to it of the Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. He had a surly face with heavy eyebrows.
"Krum," said Ron quietly.
"What?" asked Hermione.
"Krum!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!
"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums that were scowling at them.
"Really grumpy?" asked Ron in disbelief. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see."
Ron then looked at Arabella, as though for backup. She shrugged and offered, "He's the only good player on the team."
Once they finally reached the corner of the field, they were faces with a small line for the tap. Arabella, Hermione, Harry and Ron joined it right behind two men having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard earing a long flowery nightgown while the other was a Ministry wizard holding a pair of trousers.
"Just put them on, Archie," cried the Ministry wizard in exasperation. "There's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious –"
"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard. "Muggles wear them."
Arabella was smiling as Hermione turned her face away, sniffling some giggles.
"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these." The Ministry wizard was holding up the trousers.
"I'm not putting them on," said Archie defiantly. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."
It was too much for them. Arabella and Hermione had to leave the line and go giggle next to a big tent while holding onto each other's shoulders. They only returned once they saw that Archie had collected his water and left.
On their way back, they were moving more slowly now due to the weight of the water. They saw more familiar people in the campsite. Oliver Wood, who had just left Hogwarts the previous year, dragged them, mostly Harry, over to meet his parents, and announced that he had just sighed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. They saw Ernie Macmillan, Cho Chang, and a large group of strange teenagers.
"Who d'you reckon they are?" asked Harry. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"
"'Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron.
"Hogwarts isn't the only school in the world," said Arabella. "There must be at least one or two in each country, depending on the size."
"Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil," said Ron. "This was years and years ago… and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."
Arabella laughed at the image. She's never met anyone else from a different school, but it was be exciting to meet some new people and learn about their school as well.
Finally, they got back to the Weasleys' tent.
"You've been ages," said George.
"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You not got that fire started yet?"
"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.
Mr. Weasley looked as though he was having the time of his life. He was not successful, but he was really trying. There was many splintered matches on the ground around him. For a second, he managed to light a match, but dropped it promptly with a, "Oops!" in surprise.
"Come here, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said kindly. She took the matchbox from him and showed him how to do it properly.
When the finally got the fire going, they had to wait for another hour before they could cook anything. But there was certainly plenty for them to watch. Their tent was pitched right alongside some sort of access road to the field as many Ministry member kept hurrying up and down it with scattered greetings to Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley kept a running commentary of each Ministry member for the benefit of Arabella, Harry and Hermione.
"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office… Here comes Gilbert Wimple, he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms. He's had those horns for a while now… Hello, Arnie… Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator – member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know… and that's Bode and Croaker… they're Unspeakables…"
"They're what?" asked Hermione.
"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to…"
When they fire was ready and they had just started cooking some eggs and sausages, Bill, Charlie and Percy came strolling out of the woods towards them.
"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"
They were halfway through their plates when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding towards them.
"Ah! The man of the moment! Ludo!"
Arabella looked up, eager to see the legendary Quidditch player. He was easily the most noticeable person at the campsite. It didn't even seem like he was making an effort to look like a Muggle. He was wearing long Quidditch robes with horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had clearly lost his Quidditch figure as a large belly was soon forming. His nose was squashed, probably for a Bludger. But he still had a boyish charm about him with his blue eyes and blond hair.
"Ahoy there!" called Bagman happily. "Arthur, old man, what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for a more perfect weather? A cloudless might coming… and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements… Not much for me to do!"
Percy hurried forward with his hands stretched.
"Ah – yes," said Mr. Weasley, grinning, "this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry – and this is Fred – no, George, sorry – that's Fred – Bill, Charlie, Ron – my daughter, Ginny – and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Arabella Black, and Harry Potter."
Bagman was slightly uncomfortable when Arthur announced Arabella's name, but did a double take when he heard Harry's. His eyes flickered upwards to Harry's scar quickly.
"Everyone," continued Mr. Weasley, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good ticket –"
Bagman beamed and waved his hands at the statement. He then said, eagerly, Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur? I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first – I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years – and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."
"Oh… go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"
"A Galleon?" Bagman looked disappointed. "Very well, very well… any other takers?"
"They're a bit young to be gambling. Molly wouldn't like –"
"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money together, "that Ireland wins – but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."
"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that –"Percy hissed.
But Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all. In fact, he seemed quite excited when he took it from Fred. The wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken. Bagman roared with laughter.
"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"
Percy froze in stunned disapproval.
"Boys," said Mr. Weasley under his breath, "I don't want you betting… That's all your savings… Your mother –"
"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" roared Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance… I'll give you excellent odds on that one… We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we…"
Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.
"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away carefully.
Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley. "Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."
"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, looking positively excited. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…"
"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."
Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.
"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.
"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha… memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."
"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea.
'Barty Crouch keeps saying that but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh – talk of the devil! Barty!"
Arabella's breath hitched in her throat. Barty Crouch Sr. had just Apparated at their fireside. She didn't think she would ever see him in her life. But there he was… Stiff, upright, elderly and dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. He had short grey hair and a toothbrush mustache. Arabella understood why Percy idolized him. He's a powerful and power-hungry wizard that believed in followed the rules rigorously. This is the man that threw his own son to the dementors, after al.
"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Bagman said brightly, patting the ground beside him.
"No thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, impatiently. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."
"Oh is that what they're after? I though the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."
"Mr. Crouch!" Percy said breathlessly, sinking into a half-bow. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh," said Crouch, mildly surprised. "Yes – thank you, Weatherby."
Fred and George choked into their own cups as Percy turned pink around the ears.
"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Crouch. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."
Mr. Weasley sighed deeply. "I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"
"I doubt it," said Crouch, accepting the cup of tea. "He's desperate to export here."
"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" said Bagman.
"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve – but that was before carpets were banned, of course."
He spoke as though he wanted everyone there to believe that all his family and ancestors were law bidding citizens. Arabella wanted to scream about how he was a monster, and his son as well.
"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" asked Bagman.
"Fairly. Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."
"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" asked Mr. Weasley.
Bagman was shocked. "Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun… Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"
Crouch did not pleased at Bagman. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details –"
"Oh details!" said Bagman. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts –"
"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Crouch sharply. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."
He pushed the undrunk tea at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise.
"See you all later!" said Bagman. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me – I'm commentating!"
He waved, Crouch nodded, and the two of them Disapparated away. Arabella was glad to see both of them gone.
"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred asked at once. "What were they talking about?"
"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."
"Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred.
As the afternoon wore over, there was a sense of excitement rising slowly over the campsite. When the sky became dark once more, the air was filled with anticipation. Soon enough, any trace of trying to hide their magic was abandoned. The Ministry could not stop the blatant outbreaks of magic everywhere.
Salesmen were now Apparating everywhere, carrying trays and pushing carts full of merchandises. There were glowing rosettes for both Ireland and Bulgaria, pointed green hats with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves with lions roaring, flags from both countries that played the national anthem as they were waved, tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players.
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told them as he strolled through the salesmen.
Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette. Arabella watched him purchased a small figure of Viktor Krum while wondering if she should by one of Troy. He was smiling, unlike the scowling Krum figurine.
"Wow, look at these!" said Harry. He hurried over to a cart piled high with brass binoculars and all sorts of knobs and dials.
"Omnioculars," said the salesmen. "You can replay action… slow everything down… and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain – ten Galleons each."
"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his shamrock hat.
"Four pairs," said Harry firmly.
"No – don't bother," said Ron, going red.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his, Arabella and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.
"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programs, look –"
"Anybody wants a scarf?" asked Arabella. "I'm buying."
Arabella got five Irish scarves. They had tiny little shamrocks dancing up and down the length of wrap. Her money bag was considerably lighter, considering each was about six galleons each. When they went back to the tents, Charlie and Ginny had green rosettes, Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag, and Bill had a red rosette. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.
"Here," said Arabella, tossing the twins two Irish scarves.
Fred and George caught them immediately with wide-eyes.
"We can't accept this," said George, watching the dancing shamrocks. "This must have cost –"
"It was nothing" promised Arabella. She looked around quickly before leaning in and whispering, "Just promise that whenever you open up a joke shop, I get to have whatever I want for free."
"Twenty-five percent discount," said Fred.
"Seventy-five," said Arabella.
"Forty," said George.
"Fifty!"
"Deal!" said Fred.
After shaking both their hands, there was a deep, dooming gong echoing beyond the woods. Green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.
"It's time!" called Mr. Weasley, looking very excited. "Come on, let's go!"
Thank you so much for reading! Tell me what you guys think!
