Welcome, everyone, to the next chapter of HP: Path of Trials! Before the chapter begins, this must be said...
Disclaimer: Same old song and dance, no ownership of HP save for OC's.
Now, here's...
Chapter 7: A Great Reunion
Enjoy, one and all!
As all of them were getting untangled from each other, Marcus looked at what appeared to be a deserted stretch of a misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired 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, however poorly done: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.
"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 beeside him; Marcus could see an old newspaper, an empty drink can, and a punctured football.
"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil 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," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.
As they set off across the deserted moor, Marcus walking behind everyone else, he saw that Cedric was joining him.
"I'm really sorry about my dad," said Cedric. "I love him and all, but sometimes, he can be a bit much."
"It's all right, Cedric," said Marcus. "He's proud of you, nothing wrong with that. Though, it would be nice if he had a bit more tact."
"I agree with you there," said Cedric, who then continued, "So, mind if I ask you something?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"Your physical training regimen," Cedric stated. "You keep up with it at Hogwarts, right?"
"Right."
"Which means you found a place in Hogwarts that allows you to do such a thing, correct?"
"Your point is?"
"Well, I want to join you in your workouts."
Marcus looked at Cedric with a sort of amused look on his face. He looked at everyone else to make sure they weren't listening to their conversation and said, "And what would be your reason behind this request?"
"When I helped you with your workouts back when you were staying with Dad and I, it was clear that, even though you're going into your fourth year at Hogwarts, you'd be capable of dueling seventh years and possibly some overage wizards," Cedric stated, a serious look on his face. "And seeing that made me realize that I can't be like most magic folk, who only rely on the magic they cast. If I want to make a difference in the Wizarding World, I've got to push myself in every aspect of my life. And I know you'd be able to help me realize this."
Marcus found himself reminiscing on the time when Lorelei Flamel said the same thing to him. He allowed a smirk and said, "All right, Cedric. I normally do two-a-day workouts, but I believe you should be able to join me and Lorelei Flamel for the evening workouts. We'll learn from each other and make a name for ourselves in the Wizarding World."
"Absolutely," Cedric said with a smile. "Thanks, Marcus."
"Oh, no problem."
Suddenly, Marcus saw a small stone cottage next a gate swimming into view. Marcus could also see, just beyond it, ghostly shapes of hundreds of hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon.
"Looks like this is where we go our separate ways, Cedric," Marcus said, extending his right hand. "See you at the match!"
Cedric shook his hand, said, "See ya, Marcus!" and went with Mr. Diggory towards their campsite.
Marcus approached the cottage door, rejoining everyone else, to see a man standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Marcus knew that this was the only Muggle that he'd see for several acres. When the Muggle heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.
"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.
"Morning," said the Muggle.
"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"
"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"
"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"
"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked o the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"
"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.
"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.
"Ah - right - certainly -" said Mr. Weasley. Marcus saw Mr. Weasley retreating a short distance from the cottage, beckoning Harry toward him. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a - a - a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now...So this is a five?"
"A twenty," Harry told him in an undertone voice. Mr. Roberts was trying to catch every word of their banter, and Marcus knew that they had to tread lightly.
"As yes, so it is... I don't know, these little bits of paper..."
"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes.
"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 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."
"Uh oh," thought Marcus, unsure of what was going to happen next.
At that moment, out of nowhere, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Robert's front door.
"Obliviate" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.
Instantly, Mr. Robert's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Marcus recognized the symptoms at once of a person that had their memory modified.
"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."
"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.
Marcus sighed in relief as the wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, 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, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"
"He should," said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading them 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."
They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most of them looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible. They would've succeeded, had there not been chimneys, bellups, or weather vanes on them. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Marcus was hardly surprised of Mr. Roberts' suspicions. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a minature 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.
Marcus found himself disbelieving his surroundings as Mr. Weasley said with a smile, "Always the same. We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."
They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here 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." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "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?"
Marcus was quite certain that Harry had never gone on a camping trip in his life, due to those awful Muggles he lived with. He only gone a few times with his parents himself, as camping was really not something his parents enjoyed doing. However, he, Harry, and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thorougly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-men tents.
As all of them stood back to admire their handiwork, it was quite clear that not a single person would be able to guess that the tents belonged to wizards just by looking at them. Marcus only hoped that there would be more space inside the tent then what it looked like it had.
"We'll be a bit cramped," Mr. Weasley called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."
Marcus went in behind Mr. Weasley, stood up straight, and was mildly impressed. Inside the tent was what was basically a three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. The only thing odd about the setup was that it reminded Marcus strongly of old Muggle ladies that owned a lot of cats. It even had the same odor, as well.
"Well, it's not for long," said Mr. Weasley, 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."
Mr. Weasley picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water..."
"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed Harry inside the tent. "It's on the other side of the field."
"Well, why don't you, Marcus, Harry, and Hermione 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," said Ron. "Why can't we just -"
"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley, 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 girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, Marcus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.
As the sun was stretching over the horizon, the mist fading away, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around.
Their 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 salami. As they 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 them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells - "You bust slug! You bust slug!"
A short way further on, they 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 wiard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Marcus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione 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 are staring to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; other 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, while a group of middle-aged Amercian witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: SALEM ACADEMY. Marcus picked up on numerous conversation in different languages and, while he only knew the French conversations, the tone of every single voice was excited.
"Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone patriotic?" said Ron.
"It's not just your eyes, Ron," said Marcus, who couldn't help but smirk.
The four of them had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of red, white, and blue objects; realistic pointed stars were abound at just about every tent. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names.
"Marcus! Harry! Ron! Hermione!"
It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own star-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?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."
"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting the U.S. All-Stars, of course?" she added, eyeing Marcus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. While Marcus told Mrs. Finnigan that the U.S. All-Stars would have his full support, the other three only said it out of sheer pressure and being anxious to get away. Once they did, Ron said immediately, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."
"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.
"Let's go and have a look," said Harry, 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 pointed stars, 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," said Ron quietly.
"What?" said Hermione.
"Krum!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"
"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them.
"'Really grumpy'?" Ron raised his eyebrows 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."
Marcus could tell that a majority of people were awake now, because not only could he hear people talking around him, but also people that he could only surmise were on the other side of the field, as well. He was hoping this mysterious symptom wouldn't kick in today, as it had been on and off all summer, but he figured his luck wouldn't hold.
"Dang it, why can't I just tune all these people out?!" he thought angrily.
Himself, along with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, joined in with the already small queue of people for the watertap in the corner of the field, 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 them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."
While Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles that she had to walk away, Marcus facepalmed himself, hardly believing the ignorance and lack of common sense of some people.
When the old man named Archie had collected his water and walked away, the four of them had barely started to get water when Marcus heard a voice shout out, "There he is! GET HIM!"
In his continuous attempt to block out the multitude of noise bombarding his hearing, he didn't notice this until too late. He turned around and gave out a small yelp of surprise as two people tackled him from out of nowhere.
He was brought to the ground, but not before Marcus growled and cocked his right fist back in retaliation. However, when he saw who the two people were, he ceased, instead saying in a tone of surprise, "Ben? Jack?!"
Two boys around Marcus' age, kneeling next to him, were grinning from ear to ear, looking awfully akin to Fred and George Weasley. Though they were looking rather stocky, like the Twins, Marcus knew that they weren't really related. Ben usually had blond hair and Jack had black hair, but today they seemed to have dyed it red for Ben and blue with silver stars for Jack, getting in the spirit for the Quidditch World Cup.
"My God, it took forever to find you, Captain!" said Ben, who helped Marcus to his feet.
"And here the team was, getting all frantic that you might not have shown up!" said Jack, dusting Marcus off. "Honestly!"
"Wait, the whole team is here?!" Marcus asked, looking between the two boys.
"Of course the whole team is here, Captain!" Ben exclaimed. "You think we'd miss out on the U.S. All-Stars trouncing Bulgaria?!"
"Of course not," said Marcus, forming a smirk. "How could -"
Marcus then heard a forced cough coming from Ron, and he looked at his friends, who were looking at Marcus with puzzled looks.
"Oh, right!" said Marcus. "Ben, Jack, these are my closest friends. That one's Ron Weasley, the one with the red hair, the young lady is Hermione Granger, the only person smarter than me in my class, and Harry Potter, the awesome Seeker I was talking about at camp."
Immediately, Ben and Jack walked up to Harry and Ben said, "Well, well, the famous Harry Potter! Exciting to meet you at last! Marcus told us that you're talented enough to embarrass the other Seekers at Hogwarts!"
"Well, I'm not sure that's accurate," said Harry, who looked slightly embarrassed.
"Nonsense!" said Jack with a hearty smile. "I'd believe it, especially with that Firebolt you own! Wonder how Ariel would do against him. What do you think, Ben?"
"Ooh, now that'd be an interesting matchup!" said Ben. "It would be pretty close, I think!"
Jack then saw Ron and said, "Greetings, old chap! I see that you naturally came prepared to cheer on the U.S. All-Stars with that red hair."
"Um," Ron started to say.
"Actually, boys, he's cheering for Bulgaria," Marcus stated, intentionally goading Ron.
"Bulgaria?!" said Ben, hardly daring to believe it. "You mean cheering for that ogre, Krum?!"
"I swear, that guy only has the capacity for Quidditch and nothing else," Jack stated.
Ron looked like he wanted to punch the two boys, but then Ben said, "Aw, don't let what we're saying get to ya, Ron. We're all fans of the same sport, after all. Let's enjoy the game, eh?"
Ron put on a forced smile, which satisfied Ben and Jack, who turned their attention to Hermione.
"Well, well, Jack, look who we have here," said Ben, who gave this sort of sheepish look on his face.
"Yes, quite," said Jack, who approached Hermione and said, "Hello, fair lady. I'm Jack, he's Ben. It's nice to meet a well-rounded lady of your calibur." Jack then reached a hand out and said, "May I?"
Hermione, who looked quite flustered, extended her right hand, which Jack gently grapsed and kissed the top of her hand.
Marcus took a quick glance at Ron, who suddenly looked beside himself with anger.
Suddenly, Ben and Jack stood on either side of Marcus and Ben said, "Hope you folks don't mind, but we need to borrow our Quidditch Captain for a few hours."
"You know, catch-up with the others and all that," said Jack.
"Wait," said Marcus. "I'm supposed to help bring back water to the camp. I can't just -"
"Oh, don't worry about that," Hermione quickly said. "Harry and Ron can help me bring it back. You should really catch up with your Quidditch Camp team, Marcus."
"Well, if you're sure -" Marcus began.
"Of course she's sure!" Ben exclaimed. "She knows her stuff!"
"Right!" Jack said. "We'll bring him back to your campsite around lunchtime, for sure! Now, Captain, let's get going!"
As the three of them walked toward the sea of stars and patriotic colors, Marcus asked, "So, how was it that the whole Quidditch Camp Team secured tickets?"
"Oh, that was rather interesting, to say the least," said Ben.
"See, since we all play on the same school house team, it was easy to win the Salem Academy Quidditch Tournament," stated Jack. "Almost no contest, really."
"But, then the school turns around and signs the team up to play in the U.S. tournament, comprised of the best teams of different U.S. Schools of Magic," Ben stated. "A long time, that tournament took."
"You guys participated in the U.S. Schools Tournament?!" Marcus asked, shocked.
"Right-o, Captain!" said Ben, grinning. "Eventually, we get to the finals match after beating the other teams, taking place at Salem Academy. Our opponents were the Los Angelas Phoenixes."
"Oh," Marcus said, grimacing. "That team won the national tournament five years running, right?"
"One and the same," said Jack as the three of them walked into U.S. All-Stars territory. "We knew we would have our work cut out for us, as their Chasers were frontrunner prospects for the U.S. All-Stars themselves."
"But, we knew we had nothing to lose!" said Ben. "So, Peros, Edwards, and Spinnet busted out of the gate and, wow, were they on fire!"
"You mean Alicia Spinnet?!"
"Yes, same one!" exclaimed Ben. "Those three put on their best and hardest moves like it was child's play! The L.A. Phoenixes were getting flustered, and it didn't help any that they were getting plastered by our Bludgers."
"Oh, do you remember the one that blindsided that pretty boy captain in the face?!" said Jack suddenly.
"Ah, yes," said Ben,who closed his eyes, smiling as if the mere thought made him feel serene. "That one will hold a special place in my heart."
"The best thing to happen in that match, however, was Ariel," Jack told Marcus.
"What do you mean?"
"Right after the Snitch was spotted, she tracked it down and grabbed it in five seconds, a U.S. tournament best!"
"Wow!" Marcus exclaimed. "That fast?!"
"Dude, since that camp two years ago, she's been nigh unstoppable," said Ben with a serious face. "Give her another few years, and she could compete with Krum himself!"
"You're kidding?!"
"Definitely not," said Jack. "We're grateful she's on our team."
"Anyway, we beat the L.A. Phoenixes, 300-100, securing the national title and tickets to the World Cup," stated Ben.
"Which brings us here, obviously," said Jack. "Speaking of which -"
He gestured to a circle of tents, all covered with patriotic stars, and Marcus saw that the rest of his Quidditch Camp team was circled around the fire, having breakfast and talking amongst each other.
"Team!" said Ben in a raised voice. "We have found our Captain!"
Immediately, every member of the team looked in their direction and hollared in joy, almost bombrushing Marcus on the spot.
"Finally!" he heard Peros say to him, one of his Chasers, a rather tall boy with sandy brown hair and a gentle smile.
"I told them that you would most definitely be showing up, Marcus," said Edwards, a rather burly boy, but slightly taller than Ben or Jack. "But, they doubted me."
"Wow, this is just amazing!" said Ariel, who had sleek, black hair with a slim body with slightly bigger curves and just exuded confidence. She was no longer the shy, crestfallen Seeker Marcus had at the camp. "All of us are together again!"
Marcus, feeling a sudden wave of deja vu, shook it off and said, "Well, let's sit down by the campfire!"
As the team sat down at the campfire, Marcus looked around and said, "Where's Alicia Spinnet?"
"Oh, she's around here somewhere, catching up with her Hogwarts buddies, I'm sure," said Edwards. "She was beside herself the moment we arrived."
"Well, okay," said Marcus. "You didn't tell me the team won the national title when we were watching the All-Stars beat Ireland, Edwards!"
"That's because the match was a month and a half away at that point," said Edwards.
"Oh, okay," said Marcus. He turned to the rest of the team and said, "How has your studies been, guys?"
"We've been on top of those since day one," said Peros, who must've hit his growth spurt as Marcus didn't remember him being so tall. "Since Salem Academy doesn't allow our marks to go below Excellent for O.W.L.s standards, we've put in just as much studying time as we have time on the Quidditch Field."
"Still doesn't compare to our workouts," said Ariel. "All of us has been keeping in tip-top shape, though I'm sure none of us hold a candle to you, Marcus."
"Says the girl who's been shaming us all," said Ben. "Do you know she's got a toned up six-pack, Marcus?"
"Really?" said Marcus, feeling quite impressed.
"Stop it, Ben, you're embarrassing me," said Ariel, who started to blush.
"Oh, yes, our dear Ariel has caught the eye of many boys," said Edwards. "But, we've been quick to scare them away. Only the best for her, I'd say."
"Oh, dear," thought Marcus as he couldn't help but smirk. It was hard to believe that this group became so tight-knit that they thought themselves as family when they nearly quarreled with each other the entire camp two years ago.
"So, what kind of seats did you guys score by winning the national title?" Marcus asked.
At this, every single one of them grinned and pulled out their ticket parchments and Marcus saw they all had -
"Top Box seats?!" said Marcus, astounded.
"Right again, Captain!" said Ben. "And, since we know you're sitting in the Top Box, we'll all get to watch the match in some pretty sweet seats."
"Oh, crap, we haven't gotten our attire on!" said Ariel.
"Holy crap, you're right!" said Edwards. "Marcus, in the guys tent!"
"Wait, what?!" said Marcus, who was suddenly dragged into the guys tent.
Once in there, he took a seat at the dining room table and Edwards said, "Peros, we need to decorate his face! Red on one-half, blue with silver stars on the other!"
"First, however, we need him to put on the patriotic attire!" said Peros, who got out what looked like -
"Is that an exact match to my battle suit?" asked Marcus.
"We asked your dad about the details of your battle to match specifications," said Peros, who got out a white battle suit save for the cloak, which looked exactly like the U.S. Flag.
"Hurry, get this on!" said Edwards.
Once Marcus got the battle suit on, Peros started to paint his face.
"Um, how long -?"
"The paint will last for fourteen hours without smudge, wear, or removal," said Peros. "That'll place it around midnight. After that, then you can wash it off."
"Oh, okay."
By the time they were done, the rest of the Quidditch Camp Team had doned their own attire, all of them with either red, white, or blue hair, with similar face paint, wearing white clothing to match his battle suit, and wearing the U.S. Flag for cloaks.
"You look fantastic, Marcus!" said Edwards.
"And we said we'd have you back to your campsite by lunchtime," said Ben, who looked at his watch and saw that it was 11:15 am. "Team, let's move out!"
They didn't get to take five steps out of the camp when he heard a familiar voice saying, "There you are, young Mr. Williams."
Marcus looked to the source of the voice to find -
"Mr. Booker," said Marcus, who couldn't help but grin. "I was wondering if you'd be here today. The British Ministry of Magic actually gave you permission to run business here?"
"Since I plan on opening a branch on England soil, they figured they'd let me do a trial run," said Mr. Booker with a half-grin. "Business has never been better, my young friend. So many people betting lots of money, it's almost hard to keep track of it all. Speaking of business, let's get down to it."
"I've been waiting for this," said Marcus with a smirk.
"Our usual standards do not apply here, young Mr. Williams," said Mr. Booker. "As this is the biggest Quidditch event in the world, and considering your history with my business, I will accept nothing but the most specific bet from you."
Marcus frowned at this. Up to this point, Mr. Booker was satisfied with his usual bets, merely giving the outcome of who'd win and what the score would be.
However, something happened in that moment that he couldn't explain. He felt calm, much more than he should have and, while he was aware of his surroundings, it was as if no one was near him. The answer, somehow, came to him. He was ready.
"All right, Mr. Booker, you want specifics?" Marcus said. "I'll bet that the U.S. All-Stars will win against Bulgaria, 170-160. Viktor Krum will catch the Snitch, but Percival Braxton will score the first goal of the match."
Mr. Booker gave him a raised eyebrow, but calmly stated, "Those odds are 50 to 1, young Mr. Williams. How many Galleons will you be betting?"
Marcus hefted a sack of Galleons meant only for his bet against Mr. Booker and said, "I bet 200 Galleons."
His teammates gasped in awe.
"Marcus, do you know how much you'd win if you bet becomes true?!" Edwards told Marcus.
"Ten thousand galleons," said Mr. Booker, who cracked a crooked half-smile. "Feeling lucky, young Mr. Williams?"
"I've got nothing to lose," said Marcus, who was feeling quite confident about himself, despite making such a far-fetched bet.
"Indeed," said Mr. Booker, taking the sack of galleons from Marcus. "Should you win your wager, one of my representatives will find you after the match to discuss your winnings."
"I'll be waiting, Mr. Booker," said Marcus, who watched Mr. Booker walk away.
For the next fifteen mintues, walking back to the campsite, his team talked of nothing but all the possible outcomes of the match.
Finally, the team made it back to the campsite, where they were greeted by Fred, George, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley.
"All right, Captain!" said Ben. "We'll all be back here tonight, before we make our way to the match!"
"We'll see you tonight, Marcus!" said Edwards, who took the rest of the team with them back to their own campsite.
"Marcus," said Fred. "You look -"
"Festive?" Marcus asked.
"Wicked!" said Fred and George together.
Not a minute after Marcus returned, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made it back to the campsite with the water they got back at the tap.
"You've been ages," said George.
"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You haven't gotten the 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 the 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 they got the fire lit, though it was another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their 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 and Marcus cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry's and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested while Marcus wished he could avoid them all.
"That was Cuthburt Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liasion 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 Harry.
"They're from the Department of Mysteries," stated Marcus. "All of their work is so top secret, not even my Dad knows what goes on there some of the time."
At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them.
"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"
They were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to their feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding towards them. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"
Ludo Bagman was, bar none, the most noticeable person Marcus had seen so far, and that was with old Archie wearing that 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 the wayside; the robes in question were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely did not have in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (no doubt, Marcus thought, from a Bludger), 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 in the air.
"Well, hello there, young Marcus Williams!" Mr. Bagman said to Marcus as he shook his hand. "Looking quite festive in that U.S. All-Stars outfit, lad!"
"Thank you, sir," said Marcus. Truth be told, out of all the Ministry officials he knew, Mr. Bagman was one of the very few he actually liked.
"It's thanks to your parents that things are going so well," Mr. Bagman. "A shame I don't have them in my department, it is! Ah, no matter, they do the finest work around!"
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 and Harry Potter."
Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry's forehead.
"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 very nice odds, considering U.S.'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."
Marcus, knowing his infamous reputation for gambling, decided to one-up Bagman. He proceeded to sneak over to Fred and whispered instructions in his ears. Fred, grinning from ear-to-ear, whispered it to George while Marcus sneaked back to Bagman's side.
"Oh...go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see... a Galleon on U.S. 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 -"
"Three, two, one..." thought Marcus.
"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that U.S. wins - but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll thrown 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!"
While Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval, Marcus looked to Fred and George, giving them a thumbs up, the Twins grinned back at him.
"Boys," said under his breath, "I don't want you betting...That's all your savings...Your mother -"
"Don't be such a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly."They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon U.S. 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 Ludo 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 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."
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," said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, "As does Michael Williams. But, we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!"
A wizard had just Apparated at their 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 unnatually straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were highly polished. It left little wonder why Percy idolized him and Marcus couldn't stand him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager. Marcus doubted that a single Muggle could've guess that Mr. Crouch was really a wizard.
"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.
"No thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, 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?" said Bagman. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."
"Mr. Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh," said Mr. Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes - thank you, Weatherby."
Marcus, Fred, and George 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 dobut that all his ancestors had abided 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?" said Mr. Weasley.
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!" said Bagman, 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," said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."
He pushed back 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?" said Fred at once. "What were they talking about?"
"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr. Weasley, smiling.
"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 Marcus and Fred at the same time.
A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.
As Marcus' Quidditch Camp Team rejoined him at the campsite, Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - blue for U.S., red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed patriotic hats bedecked with dancing pointed stars, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Harry and Marcus as they and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing pointed star hat and a large blue rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the blue rosette above him.
Marcus, having no need to buy any U.S. All-Star attire, saw a piling cart of brass binoculars. Upon recognizing them, he said, "Team, over here!"
As his team followed behind him, Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed closely behind with Harry saying, "Wow, look at these!"
"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action...slow everything down...and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."
"I'll take nine, please," said Marcus, who took each Omniocular to a member of his team, made sure to pocket one, and then proceeded to give the last two to Fred and George. He also bought the Twins dancing pointed star hats and blue rosettes, as he sort of felt bad that he convinced them to gamble their savings.
Everyone's money bags were much lighter as the giant group went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting blue rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying a U.S. Flag.
Finally, after waiting all day for it, a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, white and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.
"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"
As the gong resonated in the air, the man was ready to watch the Quidditch World Cup when, suddenly, he felt his right shoulder burn, which could only mean one thing -
"Darling, can you take our son outside the tent for a bit?" the man asked his wife. "I won't be long, I promise."
She nodded, taking their son outside. As soon as she crossed the threshold with their son, the man raised the hood of his cloak, pressed the source of the burn on his right shoulder, and knelt down on his right knee.
In a couple of seconds, he felt the inside of his tent go dark, as if light didn't exist. He heard a whoosh, and before him stood a man with slightly feathered black hair with slightly curled bangs at the roots, standing six foot seven inches, wearing a black suit with a white tie with a black cloak over the suit, staring down at the hooded man with intense, red eyes was The Dark Prince.
The Dark Prince flicked his wand a few times in the time it took for the man to blink, after which the Dark Prince said in his semi-deep, confident voice, "Rise."
The man stood on his feet and the Dark Prince said, "Report, servant."
"All that are involved are in place, my Prince," said the man. "We can begin at anytime."
"Good," said the Dark Prince, though his face did not convey any satisfaction. He removed a small roll of parchment from his cloak, handed it to his servant, and said, "Take this scroll, servant. Open it, read it, memorize it as if your life hangs in the balance, then relay these set of tasks to the members involved."
The man did what he was told. As he finished reading the contents, he said, "My Prince, wouldn't it be more prudent to -"
Before the man could finish, the Dark Prince raised his left hand so that it was level with the man's face. One second, it was merely his left hand. The next second, it was engulfed with Dark Energy, swimming around the hand, flickering like a fire. There was a sort of otherworldly feel to this energy, which sent a shiver up the man's spine.
"You dare questions the choices I have made for you, servant?" the Dark Prince in a dangerous tone.
"No, my Prince!" the man hurriedly said. "Forgive me!"
The Dark Prince put his Dark Energy covered hand closer to the man, putting the man closer and closer on edge.
However, the Dark Energy dissipated, and the Dark Prince said, "I've learned that, if left to your own devices, plans have a way of falling apart. Stick to what I've told you to do, and you'll be able to keep your status. Understand, servant?"
"Understood, my Prince," said the man.
The Dark Prince then started to swirl within the darkness and left the man with a single sentence: "Do not fail me, servant, unless you wish to deal with my wrath."
Once the Dark Prince was gone, the man lowered his hood and left the tent, all too aware of his task at hand...
And this concludes this chapter of HP: The Path of Trials! Feel free to leave this story a review, as this always helps me refine my abilities as a writer. If you want to ask me any questions, feel free to leave me a PM and, I promise, I will answer them to the best of my abilities. Until then, keep your eyes peeled for the next exciting chapter of HP: The Path of Trials!
