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Chapter Twenty
The Campsite

Lizzie's POV

Mum pulled Sarah off of me. I got to my feet, and looked around. We had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted moor. In front of us was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards. One of them was holding a large, gold watch, the other held 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, and his colleague, a kilt and poncho.

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, picking up the boot, and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys. There was 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 beckoned everyone to follow him.

We set off across the moor, unable to see much through the mist. After twenty minutes or so, a small, stone cottage next to a gate came into view. Beyond it, you could just make out the shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. We said goodbye to the Diggorys, and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking at all the tents. I could tell from a glance that this was the only real Muggle for miles. When he heard our footsteps, he turned to us.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly.

"Morning," replied the Muggle.

"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 asked.

"Certainly," Mum answered, pulling a roll of Muggle money out of her pocket, and began to peel the notes apart. Mum handed over the right amount.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out at the field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…"

"Is that right?" Mr. Weasley said as Mum held her hand out for her change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to her.

"Aye," Mr. Roberts said. "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?" Mr. Weasley said anxiously.

"It's like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally," Mr. Roberts continued. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard Apparated next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Immediately, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, and a look of unconcern crossed his face. The symptoms of one who had their memory modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mum. "And your change."

"Thank you very much," Mum said kindly.

The wizard accompanied us towards the gate of the campsite. He looked exhausted. Once we were out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered, "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?" Ginny asked, surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," Mr. Weasley said, smiling, and leading 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."

"Shut up, Harry," four voices snapped, just as Harry opened his mouth to speak.

"Girls, be nice," Mum chided. "No, Harry, you're still not allowed to say anything about the Wimbourne Wasps."

We traipsed up the misty field between the long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had tried to make them as Muggle as possible, but slipped up by adding chimneys, bell-pulls, or weather vanes. But here and there was a tent so obviously magical, it was no wonder why Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant tent, it was made of striped silk like a miniature palace with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little further on we passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets, and a short way after that, there was a tent which had a front garden attached, complete with a birdbath, sundial, and a fountain.

"Always the same," Mr. Weasley said, smiling, "we can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look this is us."

We had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space with a small sign in the ground that read 'Weezly'

"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley said happily. "The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He removed 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… Lily, where do you reckon we should start?"

Mum, Henri, and Hermione sorted out the poles and pegs, and had the rest of us do small jobs. Though Mr. Weasley wasn't much of a help, because he got thoroughly excited when it came to using the mallet, we finally managed to erect a pair of two-man tents.

We all stood back to admire our handiwork. No one would guess these tents belonged to wizards. Hermione and Henri looked very doubtful that fifteen people would fit in two tents. 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."

Harry went in first, and I followed. It looked like a three-roomed flat, with a kitchen and a bathroom. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs, and a strong smell of cats. Henri had followed me in, and she looked completely amazed.

"Well, it's not for long," Mr. Weasley said, peering in at the four bunk beds in the bedroom. "I borrowed it from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He 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," Ron said. "It's on the other side of the field. "Well, why don't you, Harry, and Hermione go 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. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I've seen them at it!"

After we quickly toured the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', but without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off with the kettle and saucepans, while the rest of us headed into the forest for firewood. The sun had finally risen, and the mist was beginning to lift. I looked at the campsite, and it was a city of tents.

We each collected an armful of wood and twigs. When we had deposited the wood into the makeshift fire pit, Mr. Weasley pulled out a matchbook, and began striking the matches. He didn't have any success. I was surprised Mum hadn't taken over yet. He looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Maybe you should take over before we run out of matches," I said to Mum.

"Probably," she replied, walking over to him. Taking the book, she started showing him how to do it properly.

"You've been ages," George said as Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally returned.

"Met a few people," Ron said, setting the water down. "You not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad was having fun with matches, and Lily let him have his fun, before showing him how to do it properly," Fred said.

We finally got the fire lit, but it would be another hour before we could cook anything on it. We had something to watch while we waited, though. Our tents seemed to be pitched right next to a sort of street to the pitch, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mum and Mr. Weasley affably as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept a commentary going mainly for Henri and Hermione's benefit; the Weasley children, and my siblings and I knew enough of the Ministry.

"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 awhile 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 Bill, Charlie, and Percy came out of the woods towards us.

"Just Apparated, Dad," Percy said loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

We were halfway through lunch, when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was coming towards us. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Mr. Bagman was the most noticeable person I've seen here. He was wearing long Quidditch robes with thick, horizontal stripes of yellow and black with an enormous picture of a wasp splashed across his chest– his Wimbourne Wasps uniform. He had short blond hair, and a rosy complexion.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He wasn't walking, he was springing. I think he was more excited than us.

"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 Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of magical fire which was sending violet sparks twenty into the air.

Percy rushed forwards with his hand outstretched. Apparently, his disapproval of Ludo Bagman didn't prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

"Ah– yes," Mr. Weasley said, 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, and Ron– my daughter, Ginny– her friends Henrietta Hawthorne and Elizabeth Potter– Lizzie's sisters Sarah and Emma-Lynn– and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Bagman did the smallest double-take when heard Harry's name, and his eyes looked up towards Harry's scar, before turning to Mum.

"Know who you are, the infamous Lily Potter," Bagman said. Mum didn't ask how Bagman knew her name– Sirius worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

"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 stay it had been nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur? Lily?" he said eagerly, jingling his pockets. It sound as if a lot of gold were in there. "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 Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."

"Five Galleons," Mum said; my jaw dropped as did my siblings and Henri's, "that Ireland will win."

"Very well. Arthur?" Bagman inquired.

"Oh… go on, then," Mr. Weasley said. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but quickly recovered himself. "Very well, very well… any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly wouldn't like–"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," Fred said, as he and George quickly pooled their money together, "that Ireland win– but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we'll through 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. His face shone with excitement as he took the wand from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk, and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman laughed.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one this convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in 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!" Bagman boomed. "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 watched helplessly as Bagman took out a notebook, and began writing their names down.

"Cheers," George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman gave him.

Bagman turned 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 a hundred and fifty languages.

"Mr. Crouch?" Percy said suddenly, abandoning his look of disapproval. Oh, boy, here we go, I thought as Percy began to positively writhe in excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…"

"Anyone can speak Troll," Fred said dismissively, "all you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred a nasty look, and stoked the fire to bring the kettle to a boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman joined us on the grass.

"Not a dicky bird," Bagman said. "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 in some time 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 Bagman was handed tea by Percy.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," Bagman said, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh– talk of the devil! Barty!"

A wizard had just Apparated next to our fire. Crouch was a stiff, elderly man, dressed in a flawlessly crisp suit and a tie. The parting of his hair was unusually straight, and his shoes were highly polished. It was easy to see why Percy idolized him. Percy believed in rigidly following the rules. Mr. Crouch had dressed like a Muggle so thoroughly, that, if he hadn't Apparated, I'm sure Henri wouldn't believe he was a wizard.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Bagman said brightly, patting the ground next to him.

"No, thank you, Ludo," Crouch said. "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 asked. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy exclaimed breathlessly. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," Crouch said, looking at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes– thank you, Weatherby."

Fred and George choked into their cups, and I snorted into mine. Mum smacked me lightly on the head with a grin. Percy, very pink around the ears, occupied himself with the kettle.

"Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you, too, Arthur," Crouch said, his eyes resting on Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr. Weasley sighed. "I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once, I've told a hundred times: carpets are defined as a Muggle Artefact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," Crouch said, accepting a cup of tea from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" Bagman asked.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," Crouch replied. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve– but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" Bagman asked breezily.

"Fairly. Organising Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo," Crouch answered drily.

"I expect you'll be glad when this is over?" Mr. Weasley inquired.

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 organise, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details–"

"Oh, details!" Bagman exclaimed, waving the word away. "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," Crouch interrupted. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He gave his untouched tea back to Percy, and waited for Bagman. He struggled to his feet, finishing the last drops of his tea.

"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me– I'm commentating!" He waved, Crouch nodded, and both Disapparated.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred said immediately. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out about it soon enough," Mr. Weasley said smiling.

"Mum?" four not-so-innocent voices chorused.

"Lily?" Henri asked at the same we spoke.

"Like Arthur said, you'll find out soon enough," Mum said with a grin. I knew that grin, it was the same grin I used when I knew what Harry or Rhiannon was getting for their birthdays or Christmas. That grin meant, 'I know a secret, but you'll find out eventually.'

"It's classified information, until such time the Ministry decides to release it," Percy said stiffly. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," Fred said.

As the afternoon wore on, a sense of excitement rose like a cloud over the campsite. By twilight, the air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation. As the darkness spread over the thousands of waiting wizards, the Ministry seemed to have given up. They had stopped fighting the obvious magic popping up everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts of merchandise. There were luminous rosettes– green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria– which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats festooned with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries, which played their national anthems when waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which walked across your hand, preening themselves.

Ginny, Henri, and I walked excitedly amongst the salesmen. We all bought rosettes –I bought three, I felt bad Fred and George wouldn't have anything–, I bought a flag, and a model of my dream broom, while Henri bought two models of the Firebolts to give her brother and sister, and the dancing shamrock hat to give her brother on his birthday.

"Ooh, look at these! Wow!" Henri exclaimed rushing over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except they had all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," the salewizard said eagerly. "You can replay action… slow everything down… and they flashed up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain– ten Galleons each."

Mum was in front of us with Sarah and Emmy. "Three pairs, please."

The salewizard handed her three, and she gave a pair each to Sarah and Emmy. No one would guess Mum was an avid Quidditch fan, but she was just as excited as us.

"One pair," Henri said.

"Two pairs," I said. I handed a pair to Ginny. She opened her mouth to speak. "Don't worry about it," I said, hushing her.

We walked back over to the tents. Henri dashed into the girls' tent to put away what she had gotten her siblings. Bill and Charlie also had Ireland rosettes, and Mr. Weasley a flag. I chucked the two other rosettes at Fred and George.

"Here," I said.

"Thanks, Liz," George said.

"Yeah, thanks," Fred said.

"It was nothing," I said. I had considered buying them Omnioculars, but I reckon that was pushing it.

Henri and Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned as a gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and, at once, green and red lanterns sprung to life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.

"It's time!" Mr. Weasley said, looking as excited as the rest of us. "Come on, let's go!"

Author's Note: Does anyone know why the HBP was pushed back to July 17, 2009?