I heard something weird.
I glanced down to my shoes and had to do a double take. Taking them off, I put my hand inside them and I saw my fingers digging outside. They were ripped! The two of them!
I groaned. They were my good tennis shoes. Not to mention my only pair of Running shoes.
"Are you okay?"
I saw Cedric lean towards me with a slightly worried expression. With all my might, I tried to not blush at his attention. Yes, I find him attractive, okay? Don't sue me!
"Besides the fact that I haven't slept well, that I had to walk up to a hill, fell on my butt and my shoes finally expired their use?" I breathed sarcastically. "Yes, I think so."
Cedric looked at me, amused by my ranting.
"Here, let me," he grabbed them both and put them on the grass. I saw withdrawing his wand from his grey sweater. He muttered something and they transformed right into their original form. They looked like if they were just new!
I grabbed them carefully to confirm my suspects. I was right. There were no holes.
"Looks like you are an Ace on Transfiguration," I said. He chuckled.
"Is that a way to say 'thank you'?"
I flushed. I put on my new Transfigured Nikes. He thrusts his hand in front of me. Looking away, I took it and Cedric pulled me up.
"Thanks," I mumbled, still looking anywhere but Cedric.
"It's nothing."
He let go of my hand and walked to his father. I stared after him.
"Friendly with a Hufflepuff?" someone asked giggling on my ear.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Ginny yanking my side and Hermione wrapped her arm on my right side.
I rolled my eyes and pleaded to God that they couldn't see my pink tinged cheeks.
Looking around, I saw we had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tried and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.
Weren't Wizards taught how to blend in as a Muggle to not rise suspections?
"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; I could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.
"Hello there, Arthur," Basil said wearily. "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 consulted 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," Mr. Weasley said, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.
We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist.
After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, I could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon.
We said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. By the way he was correctly wearing his Muggle clothes, I can safely say he really is a Muggle.
When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us.
"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly.
"Morning," the Muggle said.
"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," Mr. Roberts said. "And who're you?"
"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"
"Aye," Mr. Roberts said, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"
"That's it," Mr. Weasley said.
"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts said.
"Ah—right—certainly-" Mr. Weasley said. He walked a couple of steps off and pulled Harry with him. I saw him pull out Muggle money and asked Harry about it. I gaped. It was too much money!
"You're foreign?" Mr. Roberts asked.
"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.
"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."
"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley nervously.
Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.
"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…"
"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.
"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 plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.
"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.
Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. I quickly recognized the effects of the spell, as I had once had performed it successfully on Carol before the beginning of our Second Year. His mind was modified.
"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."
"Thanks very much," Mr. Weasley said.
Once Mr. Roberts was gone, the man said, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Need 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 to worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you around, Arthur."
He Disapparated.
"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," Ginny said, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"
"He should," Mr. Weasley said, smiling, and led us through the gates into the campsite, "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."
We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that I could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance.
A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.
"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
At the end of the tents, there was an empty spot with a sign that said WEEZLY.
"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley said happily, not fazed that they couldn't spell his name correctly. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be. Right," Dad said, taking off his backpack, "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...Muggles do it all the time...Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"
With Hermione and my help's, the four of us (including an overexcited Mr. Weasley) finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.
All of us stood back to admire our handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards. But I spotted something. Wouldn't there be a trouble when Ron's older brothers arrive here and there isn't going to be enough space?
Hermione and Harry seemed to have spotted this problem too; they gave me, and then each other a quizzically look as Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.
"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
I bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt my jaw drop. I had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.
"Well, it's not for long," Mr. Weasley said, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago — Ron, get out of the kitchen. We're all hungry," Mr. Weasley yelled. I looked over at the kitchen and saw Ron searching on one of the small cabinets.
"Yeah, get out of the kitchen, Ron!" yelled the twins.
"Feet off the table!" Mr. Weasley yelled to the twins.
"Feet off the table!" the twins called back, taking their feet off the table before putting them right back on. I chuckle.
"Just when I think I'm beyond being shocked by this world, something like this happens," I murmured to myself looking around.
"Tell me about it," Harry agreed behind me.
Mr. Weasley 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 once he returned from his bunk. "It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, and Anya go and get us some water then" - Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans - "and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"
"But we've got an oven," Ron said. "Why can't we just -"
"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" Mr. Weasley said, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"
After a quick tour of the girl tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys, though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.
Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, we could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. We made our way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on me how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; I had never really thought much about those in other countries.
Our fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As we drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.
"How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecchh! "
She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after us on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells - "You bust slug! You bust slug!"
A short way farther on, we saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Harry, Ron, Hermione and me he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose -"
Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire.
We passed some deep royal blue, majestic purple and scarlet red tents that each of them had the pentagram symbol. As I hear the witches talking from the tents, I guessed they were American-witches. It was confirmed when I saw a banner that said THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE.
"Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" Ron asked.
I shook my head, "Definitely green."
And we were right. We had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind us, we heard our names.
"Harry! Ron! Annie! Hermione!"
It was Seamus Finnigan, our fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.
"Like the decorations?" Seamus asked, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" Mrs. Finnigan said. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing us. When we had assured her that we were indeed supporting Ireland, we set off again, not before Dean reminded me of our bet.
Last day of classes, Seamus, Dean and I had made a bet as to what was going to be our teacher in DADA this year. Dean said a vampire, Seamus a Banshee (dunno what's into his obsession with Banshees) and I said an Auror. Aurors were dark-wizard catchers.
"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot," Ron said once we were a safe distance from the Finnigans.
"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling over their tents?" Hermione said.
"Let's go and have a look," Harry said, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze.
The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.
"Krum," Ron said quietly. I looked over at him and found him staring in awe and gaping at the big poster.
"What?" Hermione asked.
"Krum!" Ron said. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"
"He looks really grumpy," Hermione said, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at us.
" 'Really grumpy'?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "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."
There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Ron, Hermione and me joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.
"Just put them on, Archie, 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 stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."
"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.
"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."
Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away.
"It's a dark day for skirts," I said darkly to Hermione.
Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there, we saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemore United reserve team.
Next we were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on we saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back grinning.
I suddenly felt my insides boil for no reason.
"Who d'you reckon they are?" I said quickly, pointing to a group of girls. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"
" 'Spect they go to some foreign school," Ron said. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a pen friend at a school in Brazil...this was years and years ago...and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His pen friend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."
"You've been ages," said George when we finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.
"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You've not got that fire started yet?"
"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.
Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.
"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.
"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.
At last we got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while we waited, however. Our tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for my, Harry, and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.
"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?"
"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to..."
At last we got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while we waited, however. Our tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for my, Harry, and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.
"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?"
"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to..."
At last, the fire was ready, and we had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Percy, along with two other older redheads came out of the woods. They presented themselves to me as Charlie and Bill. I had hear of them a lot but never actually met them. It was a bit of a surprise when I saw Bill nearly dressed as a rock star, already had vision him as an older version of Percy. Charlie worked with dragons in Romania, so I wasn't surprised when I felt a few burns on his hands as we shook hands.
We were halfway through our plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward us.
"Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"
Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person I had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.
"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.
"Arthur, old man," he puffed as he reached the campfire, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming… and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements… Not much for me to do!"
Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.
Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.
"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, Harry Potter and Anya Barton."
Like everyone we had met, Bagman did a double take at Harry's name and his eyes flickered towards his forehead, were rested the shaped lightning bolt that had made Harry famous.
"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets -"
Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.
"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes.
"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 weeklong match."
"Oh… go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"
"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well… any other takers?"
"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "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, "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; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when 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 an attitude of stunned disapproval.
"Boys," Mr. Weasley said under his breath, "I don't want you betting...That's all your savings...Your mother -"
"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Ludo Bagman boomed, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to knkow what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chanch, 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 Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.
"Cheers," George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. 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, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "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."
"Good to know for the next time," I said to him. I shuddered to think about the Trolls we had met. They liked to drool staring at me. It was disturbing.
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 us 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 , 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," Bagman said, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!"
A wizard had just Apparated at our fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished.
I could see why Percy idolized him. The man practically was the meaning of Muggle impeccability.
"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Ludo said brightly, patting the ground beside him.
"No thank you, Ludo," Crouch said, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. "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?" Bagman said. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."
"Mr. Crouch!" Percy said breathlessly, sinking into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh," Crouch said, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes - thank you, Weatherby."
I hid my face behind my cup, trying to not giggle at the surname. Meanwhile, Fred and George had choked into their own cups.
Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.
"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Mr. Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."
Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh.
"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 Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. "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 Mr. 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 to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.
"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman breezily.
"Fairly," said Mr. Crouch dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."
"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" Mr. Weasley said.
Ludo Bagman looked 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?"
Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.
'We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details -"
"Oh details!" Bagman said, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. "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," Mr. Crouch said sharply, cutting whatever Bagman was going to say. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."
He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.
"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!" He waved. Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.
"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred said at once. "What were they talking about?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Mr. Weasley said, smiling.
"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," Percy said stiffly. "My. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."
"Oh shut up, Weatherby," Fred said.
I couldn't help it. This time we all laughed.
